Page 36 of Cade

Weston shrugged.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” he said with a wink, and the waiter gathered our menus before toddling off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving us to our own devices.

Weston shook his head, his dark hair swaying from the motion as he breathed a contented sigh.

“You’re refreshing, do you know that?” he said as he took a sip of his scotch, straightening the wrinkles in his button-down once more.

The sight made little flashes pop up in my memory, of just how I’d watched those fingers slide over the miniscule wrinkles, over his taut chest... shirt soaked in sweat.

I shifted in my seat, my cock jumping at the memory.

“I don’t see how. You aren’t the only one who’s given a doozy of a first impression,” I say honestly, dispelling my momentary Weston impression.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said as he dug for another chip, this time taking a little less of a giant heap of the dip.

“I mean, I know I kind of came off... abrupt the other morning, maybe even a little standoffish. Then at the fundraiser... I... I just wasn’t myself. I was kind of... stressed.”

Weston took a sip of his scotch before speaking.

“Would that stress have anything to do with my... reassurances?”

It was now my turn to dive into the dip and hide my words.

“You were a little... cold.”

“You seemed worried about what had happened. Remorseful. I only wanted to assure you that if it meant nothing to you...” His words disappeared as his gaze dipped to where my hand still lay, fingers curled into a fist not far from him.

Understanding befell me as I realized all at once what he meant.

“If it meant nothing to me, you wanted to reflect that.”

“Stage five clinger is not a good look for me, Cade,” he said as he shoved a chip in his mouth.

“I know the feeling. All my exes used to say I was too needy,” I breathed, instantly regretting the moment the words left my mouth.

Why the fuck would I say that?

Even if it was true, that’s like date etiquette 101! Never talk about your exes!

Weston laid his free hand on the table, fingers curled into a fist only a hair’s breadth away from mine.

“I wish I could be, though. Needy. Clingy. Affectionate. But most of my affections have come with a price tag, because that is how my exes preferred it. They didn’t want my feelings, either.”

The admittance makes my heart break for this man. Weston didn’t move his hand, instead he stared at it, looked at the space between us with anticipation, longing.

I slowly uncurled my fingers, which put my pinky only an inch away from his wrist.

The desire to touch him, to soothe his worries, to reassure him was so strong, it was practically magnetic.

And suddenly all the nerves I had before went up in smoke as I slid my hand closer, next to his, our skin brushing in the lightest of ways.

Teasing, asking for permission.

“Kinda sounds like you dated some assholes,” I said.

Weston jumped a little from the contact, but eased up nearly instantly. His green eyes gazed back at me with a depth I’d never seen in anyone else before.

“You sound like you have experience with that,” he said softly.

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