reservation. See? It’s already full. You’re new here, but the tradition with tables is—”
“Screw tradition. Let’s go. I can make it work.”
“You sound pretty confident,” Gabby said. “Or maybe crazy.”
Why that made her appear so amused, Shane didn’t know. All he knew was that she seemed to like it. She seemed to like him .
After the tough time he’d been having lately, that was irresistible. She was irresistible. If he didn’t get close to her soon . . . “Rules are made to be broken. Come on.”
He tugged her hand. She resisted. For a gut-wrenching moment, he saw all the sentimental bullshit he’d been thinking about her flash before his eyes. The tickling. The bedhead. The hug and the laundry-day clothes and the sneezy sniffles. He needed all those things, damn it! He needed them with her.
Even if it was only for one night.
Especially if it was only for one night.
Gabby bit her lip. Then, “I’m all in. Let’s go.”
As Gabriella followed Shane Maresca to that secluded corner booth he’d pointed out, trailing him with her hand in his as they weaved their way through the brewpub’s boisterous crowd, she experienced a moment of sheer, unbelievable giddiness.
The indisputably hottest guy in the place wanted her . And she wanted him. Not only in the chaste “let’s get to know one another” way that he seemed to be interested in, but also in the “oh my God, your smile makes me dizzy” way. Now that they’d spoken and he’d passed the initial vetting process—by not hazarding a crude 38DD-style guess at her bra size—Gabriella wanted to experience the between-the-sheets version of Shane Maresca. She wanted to know if he did everything as assuredly as he shook hands and led the charge to take over a booth, if he saw everything as a good time waiting to happen, if he really did possess the ability to make her believe in perfect matches.
So far, he was off to a good start.
Thrilled by that fact, Gabriella flashed Pinkie a grin. Her friend gave her a thumbs-up sign, then pantomimed a “call me” signal with the same hand. Seeing that signal—honed during their years of going out together—made Gabriella feel even better.
With that signal, Pinkie meant that Gabriella should give her the scoop on her meet-up with Shane tomorrow—and also that if things went really well Gabriella should text her Shane’s contact details for safekeeping. After all, a girl couldn’t be too careful. Which was (partly) why she’d given Shane a false last name. It was reasonable caution—just like not going straight to her place right now was reasonable caution.
No matter how much Gabriella wanted to know if Shane’s blue-jeaned backside looked as amazing out of his clothes as it did moving in them. Or how much she yearned to press her hands to his thin cotton T-shirt and find out how hard-bodied his chest and shoulders really were. Or how readily she could already picture Shane, with his sun-streaked, brown tousled hair and dazzling smile, lolling in her bed on a sunny morning after.
She bet he’d feel incredible against her. Given all the drama in her life lately, Gabriella had been living like a nun for the past few weeks. She’d barely had time to breathe, much less find someone to get frisky with. But apparently all those racy impulses had been building up inside her all this time, because it had taken only one look—and one husky-voiced word from Shane—to make her start imagining all kinds of sexy scenarios. Shane, pressing her against the brewpub’s wall for a long, lingering, hotter-than-hot kiss. Shane, sliding his hand up the delicate fabric of her dress, making her skin feel hot and tingly and ready for more. Shane, whispering a naughty suggestion in her ear . . . and then making that fantasy a reality.
Whew . If only he hadn’t seemed to know, somehow, that she’d fibbed to him about her name. And about her infamy among the restaurant-industry types who frequented
“Screw tradition. Let’s go. I can make it work.”
“You sound pretty confident,” Gabby said. “Or maybe crazy.”
Why that made her appear so amused, Shane didn’t know. All he knew was that she seemed to like it. She seemed to like him .
After the tough time he’d been having lately, that was irresistible. She was irresistible. If he didn’t get close to her soon . . . “Rules are made to be broken. Come on.”
He tugged her hand. She resisted. For a gut-wrenching moment, he saw all the sentimental bullshit he’d been thinking about her flash before his eyes. The tickling. The bedhead. The hug and the laundry-day clothes and the sneezy sniffles. He needed all those things, damn it! He needed them with her.
Even if it was only for one night.
Especially if it was only for one night.
Gabby bit her lip. Then, “I’m all in. Let’s go.”
As Gabriella followed Shane Maresca to that secluded corner booth he’d pointed out, trailing him with her hand in his as they weaved their way through the brewpub’s boisterous crowd, she experienced a moment of sheer, unbelievable giddiness.
The indisputably hottest guy in the place wanted her . And she wanted him. Not only in the chaste “let’s get to know one another” way that he seemed to be interested in, but also in the “oh my God, your smile makes me dizzy” way. Now that they’d spoken and he’d passed the initial vetting process—by not hazarding a crude 38DD-style guess at her bra size—Gabriella wanted to experience the between-the-sheets version of Shane Maresca. She wanted to know if he did everything as assuredly as he shook hands and led the charge to take over a booth, if he saw everything as a good time waiting to happen, if he really did possess the ability to make her believe in perfect matches.
So far, he was off to a good start.
Thrilled by that fact, Gabriella flashed Pinkie a grin. Her friend gave her a thumbs-up sign, then pantomimed a “call me” signal with the same hand. Seeing that signal—honed during their years of going out together—made Gabriella feel even better.
With that signal, Pinkie meant that Gabriella should give her the scoop on her meet-up with Shane tomorrow—and also that if things went really well Gabriella should text her Shane’s contact details for safekeeping. After all, a girl couldn’t be too careful. Which was (partly) why she’d given Shane a false last name. It was reasonable caution—just like not going straight to her place right now was reasonable caution.
No matter how much Gabriella wanted to know if Shane’s blue-jeaned backside looked as amazing out of his clothes as it did moving in them. Or how much she yearned to press her hands to his thin cotton T-shirt and find out how hard-bodied his chest and shoulders really were. Or how readily she could already picture Shane, with his sun-streaked, brown tousled hair and dazzling smile, lolling in her bed on a sunny morning after.
She bet he’d feel incredible against her. Given all the drama in her life lately, Gabriella had been living like a nun for the past few weeks. She’d barely had time to breathe, much less find someone to get frisky with. But apparently all those racy impulses had been building up inside her all this time, because it had taken only one look—and one husky-voiced word from Shane—to make her start imagining all kinds of sexy scenarios. Shane, pressing her against the brewpub’s wall for a long, lingering, hotter-than-hot kiss. Shane, sliding his hand up the delicate fabric of her dress, making her skin feel hot and tingly and ready for more. Shane, whispering a naughty suggestion in her ear . . . and then making that fantasy a reality.
Whew . If only he hadn’t seemed to know, somehow, that she’d fibbed to him about her name. And about her infamy among the restaurant-industry types who frequented
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