Steal(Seaside Pictures Book 3)(16)

“You did good today, Ang.” He held out his hand.

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this a trick?”

“No.” He smirked. “This is a hand. You take it in yours, see?” He demonstrated by lacing our fingers together. A shiver erupted down my right arm, goose bumps popped up.

People didn’t touch me.

But Will did.

I forgot what warmth had felt like.

Until he held my hand.

“Dinner.” He squeezed my hand and let it fall against my side before he nodded to the busy main street of Seaside where families ran back and forth between ice cream and taffy shops like sugar addicts. “It’s the least I can do.”

“For?”

He grinned. “For actually not sucking today.”

I smacked him in the shoulder. It was a kneejerk reaction. He laughed harder and rubbed the spot.

“I see you still know how to hit pretty hard.”

“And you’re still a sarcastic ass,” I said sweetly.

“Always will be.” He winked.

My diaphragm refused to work.

I nearly stopped breathing.

Why did he have to remind me how easy it had been between us? Because in a life full of harsh realities — he’d always made me realize one thing about love.

In the beginning, it should be easy.

Involuntary.

Like sucking the sweet salty air through my teeth and exhaling in the same breath.

Love was as simple as the air surrounding us.

And between us, it had been more than natural; it had been effortless. Love shouldn’t start out hard, the struggles happen once you’re together long enough to realize that the other person isn’t perfect, and the anger comes when you blame them for not living up to expectations.

I knew it well.

Because it had been easy.

Until it was so hard that I bailed.

I didn’t recognize the dark restaurant we walked into. Will gripped my hand and led me into one of the back corners, where a table was set up for us.

Water. Not wine.

Just another reminder that I was to be on my best behavior.

And like I needed another kick to the gut, Will handed the wine list back to the server and asked to have the wine glasses removed.

“You can have wine even though I can’t,” I mumbled, looking down at my menu. “I don’t care.”

“I care,” was all he said.

More silence blanketed us.

Tears tried to force their way onto my cheeks.

The last time we’d had dinner was the night before we broke up.

The night before he told me he was going to marry me.

The night I betrayed us.

I’d ordered chicken.

He’d had steak and told me that he wanted three kids, and even though we were young, I laughed and said I wanted that for us too.

He had no idea that I was high the entire meal.

Or that all I could focus on was getting my next hit.

Or that I was willing to do anything to get it.

Anything.

We were the epitome of the awkward dinner date, it was probably just as painful watching us as it was to be there.

“You didn’t have to do this.” I closed my menu and set it on the table. “We could have just eaten at the house.”

“We could have.” He didn’t look up. “But the house doesn’t have paparazzi that need to see how good you can be for the cameras. The house doesn’t give us free press.”

My stomach sank.

I suddenly felt like I was going to puke. “So we’re not really celebrating?”

“We’re still celebrating.” Will set the menu down and reached for my hands, I jerked them both away, hating that they were trembling as much as my lower lip. Do not cry. Hold them in. Don’t let anyone see weakness.

I suddenly took in the scene. The dark restaurant. A few photographers seated by the window watching us.

An older couple sat at the table nearest, one of them had a cell phone out.

And a few tweens walked in and pointed.

Suddenly sick, I took a sip of water.

“Do you know what you want?” Will asked gently as the waiter approached.

“I want to leave,” I said in a low voice. “Please.”

Will frowned. “Ang, this is part of the job.”

“The job,” I repeated. “See that’s the thing, Will. I don’t want to be your freaking job. I don’t want you to smile at me about going to dinner, I don’t want you to talk about celebrating when all you’re really talking about is free publicity. I just spent eight hours doing my damnedest to be a good actress, and you’re asking me to do it again through dinner.” I stood. “Don’t.” I leaned over until we were nearly face-to-face. “Because I don’t think you’re going to like the results.”

Will stood, placing his hands on the table until we were nearly nose-to-nose. “Are you threatening me?”