Page 179 of Holding On To Good

Now one side of her mouth lifted, a light-hearted contrast to the heat in her eyes, the telltale flush of arousal coloring her throat. “For me, huh? Very altruistic of you.”

He fought his own grin. “I give. It’s what I do.” And since she was now full-out smiling at him and she wasn’t backing away or saying no to the whole behind-closed-door thing, he edged closer. Cupped her lightly around the throat and leaned in, his voice low and husky. “I want to tug you into the bathroom while no one is looking. I want to see if you can stay quiet while I make you come.”

Her pulse fluttered under his fingers. “Maybe we could table this topic and discuss it further, and in depth, at a later date.”

“Agreed,” he said immediately, but any triumph was short-lived when she wrapped her free hand around his wrist, squeezed him gently then tugged his hand away.

“But we can’t spend the night together,” she said, still holding his wrist, her voice gentle. “And you can’t spring things on me like this dinner. We have to be on the same page, or else this won’t work.”

Damn it. This wasn’t working. Not for him.

Not the way he wanted.

Not the way he’d planned.

He thought if he played by her rules, if he followed her guidelines, she’d eventually let down her guard. That she’d see how good they were together, not as friends or business partners, but as a couple.

He thought she’d want more.

Instead, she was clinging even harder to her rules. Was becoming more distant. Almost desperate to keep them firmly in fling territory.

For the past two weeks she’d been steadily, methodically building a wall between them. And it didn’t seem to matter how quickly he dismantled the bricks, she kept laying them higher and higher. Faster and faster.

He turned his hand, linking their fingers together. “Will you have dinner with me?” he asked, because she was right. He had sprung this date on her and his conscience wouldn’t let him do anything more to try and sway her decision.

So now he was stuck doing what he always did.

What he was starting to be afraid he’d always be doing when it came to Willow.

Waiting for her to choose.

Praying like hell she chose him.

Squeezing his hand again, she smiled softly. “I would love to have dinner with you.”

He smiled back and told himself this was good. That it was progress.

That for now, it was enough.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dinner was perfect.

The lasagna was delicious and their conversation flowed naturally, shifting from J&K to local politics to Elijah’s chances of getting traded to an East Coast team to Lily’s wedding. By the time Willow finished the huge slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting Urban had picked up from St. Honore’s, she was overly full, a little sleepy and completely, one hundred percent positive compromising with Urban had been a mistake.

A huge one.

Because dinner had not only been perfect, but it’d also been the best date she’d ever had.

How were they supposed to move on when their fling was over, how were they going to be able to go back to a strictly platonic friendship, when they kept being each other’s best?

She added the last glass to the dishwasher and shut the door. Leaned back against it, chewing her lower lip as she watched Urban through the French doors where he FaceTimed with Verity on the patio. He mimicked Willow’s stance, except he was leaning against the table, his arms weren’t crossed defensively and he wasn’t gnawing a hole through his own lip.

Then again, he’d gotten what he’d wanted with his whole let’s compromise thing so there was no need for him to be wary and anxious.

Okay, yes, he had every right to want more. More from their relationship. More from her. Just as he had a right to ask for it.

She knew she was being unfair to him.

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