Page 4 of Wolf.e

I smile up at him, always wishing for more. More words, more touching, more passion. I squeeze his hand back, forcing myself to be positive. We need this night. For the last year he’s been so busy with school, he’s been more distant than normal. Do I wish he hugged me or kissed me when he came in the door tonight? Sure. Pinned me up against the wall and made love to me with some semblance of hunger or need before his shoes even came off? Absolutely. But that is not Evan’s style. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had cravings for a man who wants me so much he finds it impossible to keep his hands to himself. When my friends craved the good guy in the movies we watched growing up, I secretly always wanted the villain with his hand around the main character's throat. I want a man to look at me like he can’t wait to touch me at any given time of the day.

When I was young, I was told that sex was a sin unless it was with the man I was married to, so I knew my desires would never be met, therefore there was no harm in fantasizing about a man like that.

Reality has shown me that men like that don’t seem to exist in the real world anyway. At least not in my world.

Lovely is as close to a compliment as Evan ever gives me but I know he means it. After two years, the niceties come a little less, but Evan is always kind. I should be grateful to have someone like him in my life. He’s always steady and reliable and we get along very well. We always have.

Just thinking about him wanting me at all has me clenching my thighs together. I try to remember how long it’s been for us and I’m sad to say I think it was his birthday a couple months ago.

“You okay?” he asks when I sigh.

I look up at him in the dark. “Perfect,” I lie before turning my glance back out to downtown Atlanta passing by my window.

When I get frustrated with the lack of time we spend together, he reminds me he’s just trying to secure our future. I secretly hope an engagement is just what we need to rekindle a spark between us. Visions of a white dress and all our friends surrounding us fill my head, followed by visions of him burying his face under it.

God, I need to make sure we have sex tonight.

Evan and I may not have a ton of passion right now but we’re going to create a nice life together and that should be all I want. I can see it all now—the white picket fence, him running a law practice and me maybe having my own shop or consulting with a design firm. Hopefully, we’ll have two or three kids because I’m sure after Evan is over the stress of taking the Bar he’ll change his mind on that too.

“You seem quiet,” he says.

I glance at him. “Just curious to see what you have up your sleeve tonight.” I grin but feel a little guilty for not telling him about losing my job. I quickly shoo it away and forgive myself. I want this night to be memorable. I don’t want to make him worry or ruin the experience or stress him out causing him to change his mind.

I’ll tell him tomorrow.

I have talked myself off the ledge all afternoon. I have three years’ experience and a design degree under my belt now as well as a surprisingly glowing letter of reference from my slimy ex boss. I’m sure I can find something else in no time, even if it’s outside my field.

I reach over in the dark and wonder how much longer of a drive we have. I slide my hand from Evans suit clad knee, up the inside of his strong thigh, maybe we can have a little limo fun—

“Babe,” Evan grabs my hand before it reaches anywhere near his cock. “We’re almost there.”

He places my hand back in my lap and my heart sinks.

“Of course,” I say. “I just miss you.” I hate how pathetic that sounds.

“Aww, Brinley. I miss you too.”

Not I can’t wait to get my hands on you, or any kind of touch at all. Be grateful, I remind myself.

Sixteen minutes later—more than enough time to get some back-of-the-limo sex in, especially when it’s been so long—we pull up to Evan’s favorite restaurant. I should’ve known this is where we’d come. Evan was bred to throw money around and this place is expensive. His family has always been well-off, and he came into a substantial trust fund when he turned twenty-five last year. My favorite place, on the other hand, is a little bistro on Virginia Avenue, a lot more reasonably priced, quiet, and rustic. The food is authentic Italian and incredible.

“Come on, babe, I got us a special table.” He smiles down at me with all his boyish charm, and I can’t help but smile back. He bends down and kisses my cheek. I remind myself of all the effort he’s gone to tonight—renting the limo, the flowers he brought me, the suit he’s wearing.

We turn some heads as we enter. I’m often told Evan resembles a young Brad Pitt. He’s the quintessential dream man every woman wants to end up with—rich, kind, handsome, going places.

We’re seated at the nicest table at Le Cadran Solaire. With a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the Atlanta skyline from the top floor, the picture outside the floor-to-ceiling window is stunning, I’ll admit that.

We chat casually as we drink wine and order appetizers. The meal is pleasant, but I can’t help the sinking feeling that Evan doesn’t seem appropriately nervous for someone who is about to propose. He talks about all the changes happening around his office, our friends, and random gossip. Again, it isn’t exactly proposal worthy as the night wears on.

By the end of our dinner, Evan orders dessert with the sweetest smile on his face. Cheesecake—my favorite—and champagne.

“Brinley, you know how much I appreciate you,” he starts as he grabs my hands across the table.

My heart rate accelerates. This is it. How will he do it? Glass with a diamond ring in it? Hell, I wouldn’t care if he gave me a ring made of twine.

I’m about to get engaged to the kind of man my parents always wanted for me. I just wish they were here to see it.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately. I’ve been under so much pressure with the Bar coming up.”

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