Page 153 of A Little Broken

“Told you I have a good rack,” I quip.

His low laugh brings a blush to my cheeks before he plants a kiss on the tip of my nose that makes me want to melt. Then,he lets me go, causing a swell of disappointment beneath my sternum.

Seriously. When did I get so needy?

“Shall we?” he asks.

Offering his hand, he waits for me to take it, and when I do, my heart flutters even more. After our conversation on the side of the road today, I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt more connected to someone. He’s letting me in. Even when it’s scary. And it’s enough to convince me to do the same.

He brings the back of my hand to his lips, kissing me softly, then guides me toward the hallway. Once my door is locked behind us, we mosey down to The Pelican and find a booth.

It isn’t a flight to a random state or anything like he initially promised, but the comfort pick is oddly thoughtful, and I fight the urge to keep from swooning.

As he slides off his dress coat and lays it carefully on the opposite side of the booth, I ask, “Aren’t we a little overdressed for The Pelican?”

“Nothing wrong with dressing to impress, Birthday Girl.”

I check him out, realizing the man makes a good point. He’s definitely impressive in a button-up. And when he undoes the buttons around his wrists and rolls the sleeves to his elbows? My mouth waters.

Yup. He makes averygood point.

A curve forms at the edge of Paxton’s lips, proving I’ve most definitely been caught drooling over the guy as he picks up his menu, thumbing through it. “So, what’s your stance on drinking games?”

“Are you hoping to get me drunk?” I tease.

“Figured you could use a good excuse to loosen up a bit.” He shifts closer. “And this way, I can make out with you in the back of the Uber when I take you to my house for the rest of plan B.”

“The rest of plan B?” I challenge.

“Don’t order food,” he adds cryptically.

“Fine, but only because you’ve piqued my curiosity.” My mouth lifts. “So, what are the rules for your drinking game?”

“Answer a question or take a shot.”

“Simple.” I lace my fingers on the menu in front of me. “Straightforward. I like it.”

“Thought you might. I’ll get the shots. What do you want?”

“Whiskey, please,” I tell him.

Within minutes, he comes back with six shots, setting three in front of me and lining up his own on the opposite side of the table.

After sliding into his seat, he says, “You go first.”

“Okay.” Drawing a circle along the top of the closest shot glass, I ask, “What did you think of me when you first saw me?”

“I thought,please be legal, please be legal.”

I cover my snort with my hand. “Okay, your turn.”

“What did you think of me when you first saw me?” he prods.

“I thought,if Rory wasn’t here, I’d totally bang this guy in the alley.”

Throwing his head back, he laughs.

“My turn,” I announce. “How pissed were you when you thought I was engaged?”

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