Screw it.
Grabbing the bucket holding the wine and ice in one hand and my glass in the other, I walk over to the couch and place the bucket on the coffee table. Then I spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to find a position I can feel good about. When I relax and lean back, I feel like my pants are too tight and my gut has some sort of neon sign saying ‘hey, look at me.’ Scooting to the edge makes me look about as nervous as I feel.
Dang it.
Finally, after draining my second glass, I settle on the couch and make a mental note to keep my back straight so my pants don’t get so tight around my middle.
I was just about to reach out and refill my glass—again—when the door clicks and Kane climbs in. His eyes roam from the kitchen to the table, and when he sees that I’m settled on the couch, his eyes go soft. Clearly, he thought I would have picked the table too.
“Get started without me?” he asks with a nod to the bottle in my hand.
“Hey, you’re the one who poured the first glass,” I tell him, a little too loudly, and then—to my horror— I giggle.
Giggle.
I don’t giggle.
He shakes his head, and his smile grows slightly.
“You make me feel so weird.” Uh. Hello? Filter … did you decide to just take a hike and leave me?
He laughs softly but doesn’t move toward me.
“Like really weird.”
“Good weird?” he questions, that darn smile not dimming at all.
“Even your teeth are handsome.” His left brow arches. My eyes follow the movement and all thoughts about his impeccable teeth are abandoned. “Do you pluck your eyebrows?” God, Willow, shut up.
“No, Willow.”
“Well, they’re really nice eyebrows.”
“Thank you.” He laughs. He looks at the bottle, over halfway empty, and then back at my face. “Are you drunk?”
“I didn’t think so five minutes ago, but I think I’m well past tipsy.”
He lets out a low, but deep, laugh and finally moves toward me. “Let’s get some of that food you didn’t think we would need.”
I follow his movements when he walks over to the table and leans down to collect a cooler placed near the back wall. My eyes move down from his face, and I watch the fabric of his black tee shirt pull against his muscles. His forearms flex when he lifts the cooler, and before he turns, I note how good his butt looks in his denim jeans.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask and lean back to fan my face. “It feels hot.”
“It’s not hot, Willow,” he responds, bringing the cooler over and sitting next to me on the couch.
Right next to me.
Not a few spaces down to leave plenty of space between us. Nope, right next to me, so close that his thick thigh presses against mine. The heat his touch brings feels like a scorching burn through the fabric of our pants.
“Hey,” he says, his hypnotic voice soft like smooth velvet.
“Hi,” I squeak.
“Are you nervous?”
I nod. “Uh, clearly. I just sucked back the majority of this bottle trying to calm myself down.”
His laugh is low. His eyes are shining brightly. “What makes you so nervous around me?” He turns his attention to the cooler and pulls out some grapes and cheese slices.
Pulling a plate from inside, he arranges a few slices before passing it over to me. I look at the plate as if it’s a snake about to bite me. I hate eating in front of people. I always wonder if they can hear each bite and then swallow as it settles in my stomach.
Reaching out, I take the offering and pick up one of the grapes, plopping it in my mouth and chewing, not taking my eyes from his.
“Willow, talk to me.”
I grab a slice of the cheese and swallow it down before I speak. “You’re really intimidating.”
His brow furrows. He doesn’t speak, but nods, waiting for me to continue.
“And … okay, well, you make me feel things that I have no idea how to process.”
He nods. “Yeah, Willow, likewise.”
“What?”
“Honesty, right?” he asks and waits for my confirmation before continuing. “A few years ago, I was at a charity function in New York for one of the local hospitals. They were opening a new cancer treatment center, and Kane Entertainment was one of the majority donors. That, Willow, was the first time in my life I felt something burn my senses into awareness. I couldn’t understand it. The spark against my skin, the tingles down my spine—none of it made sense. It wasn’t until about an hour into the event that I found out why … or I should say who had caused it.”
“What?” I gasp, knowing exactly what event to which he was referring.