Page 57 of Bought and Broken

Maybe Summer is right about not leaving. Maybe if things stay this way with Tate, I won’t have to go at all. Maybe he will be worth it to stay.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tatum

“If your ass isn’t down here in thirty seconds, I’m going up there to get you!” I shout up the stairs.

I have a reservation at one of the top restaurants in Detroit, and if we’re even a minute late, they’ll turn us away. I knew I should have told her to be ready sooner than seven, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She doesn’t typically take long to get ready, but I should have known today would be different.

It’s 7:04. The reservation is for 7:30 and the restaurant is at least twenty minutes away.

Thirty seconds come and go. I start up the marble staircase. “Devon, I swear to—”

“I’m here!” she calls out, hurrying down the hall and stopping at the top of the steps.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, frozen in place. I grip the banister so I don’t fall down them.

She moves down the stairs, walking quickly even in heels. She passes by me.

“Well, come on,” she says.

I look over my shoulder at her and still can’t breathe.

She looks amazing.

“Tate,” she urges. “What is wrong with you? Let’s go.”

I snap out of it and move after her. She’s hurrying ahead of me, no doubt in a rush because she knows she’s late.

“Hey,” I say, catching up to her and gripping her arm. She turns to me with a frown, and I move in front of her, cupping her face in my hands. “You look beautiful.”

Her eyes, that were full of concern, soften. She smiles, sighing gently. “Thank you.”

I kiss her, sure I’ll never get enough of how her lips feel.

It’s a shame this can’t last.

There’s no way I’d tire of seeing her dress up like this for me—in a backless black dress that hugs her body way too well. I’d also enjoy seeing her in nothing. More lingerie. And even her usual attire of sweatpants and sports bras. Devon is gorgeous no matter what she wears.

Linking our hands, I walk us out the front door and to my volcano grey Taycan. After helping her in, I get into the driver’s side and we’re on our way.

“This is new,” she comments, running her hand along the dashboard.

“I’ve had her about a year, but don’t typically take her out.”

“But you did tonight?” she asks with a gleam in her eye.

“I did tonight.”

We make it to the restaurant with two minutes to spare, and thankfully, there is no line at the hostess stand. I give the woman my name and she leads us to a table toward the back, which overlooks the gardens outside. The server introduces himself and I order a bottle of wine and the cherry tomato bruschetta appetizer.

“Is this your first big-girl date?” I ask when we’re alone.

“If I said it wasn’t?” she asks with a raised brow.

“I’d say you were a liar.”

The server returns with our bottle of wine, pouring us each a glass before leaving it in the bucket of ice to keep chilled.

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