Page 156 of A Little Broken

“Here.” Sliding his shirt off, he places it on my shoulders, leaving himself in nothing but a white undershirt showcasing his strong arms.

Aaaand, am I drooling again?

Seriously. Since when are shoulders a turn-on? Since the first time I saw Paxton shirtless. But I digress.

Oblivious to my dirty thoughts, Pax pulls me close, grabs the front of his shirt I’m shrouded in, and uses it to cover me so I can slide my arms into place.

Not gonna lie. It makes my ovaries want to burst.

Once my arms are through the holes, he keeps me close, buttoning it from the top to the bottom, one by one until I’m covered. Satisfied, he rolls the sleeves to my elbows and grabs my hand, giving me a quick spin. “There. Much better. And on that note, are you hungry?”

“Yes?”

“Perfect.” His spine curves as he cuts through the distance between us and kisses my forehead. “Because dinner just arrived.”

“How do you know?”

“Roman texted.” His hand meets my lower back. “Come on.”

He wassmart to hire an Uber because I’m definitely buzzed, and it isn’t only from the shots. Personally, I blame the cologne clinging to his dress shirt and smothering me in all things Pax. Or maybe it’s the slight scratch of his palm on my thigh as he opens the gate through an app on his phone with his opposite hand, refusing to stop touching me for even the briefest of seconds. Once the Uber driver parks out front, Paxton opens the door and guides me outside. Instead of leading me to the front door, he tilts his head and guides me around the side until a candlelit dinner comes into view.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I think you really want to get laid tonight,” I tease.

He pulls one of the chairs out for me, and once I’m seated, reaches for two of the silver covers hiding tonight’s meal. Lifting them, he reveals a tray of cold lobster rolls and another of hot ones. “I didn’t know if you preferred the buttered or mayo version, so I had both flown in.”

My gaze flicks up to him, caught between wanting to hug him or kiss him or just break down and cry. “What did you say?”

“I said, I didn’t know if you preferred the buttered or mayo version, so I had both flown in.”

“Pax,” I whisper.

“I was going to fly us to Maine, so you could order for yourself, but…”

“But because you kind of had to bail me out of jail, you figured this was a solid backup?” I finish for him.

Setting the cover on the edge of the table, he squeezes the back of his neck, looking shy. “If we’re being technical, I didn’t actually bail you out ‘cause you were never arrested, but?—”

I grab the collar of his undershirt and tug him toward me, kissing the shit out of him. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight and joins in immediately, swallowing my thanks without missing a beat. When I finally let him go, he stands to his full height, and I give him a watery smile.

“You, Paxton Turner, are something else.”

His gaze falls to my lips before he meets my eyes. “Only for you,” he murmurs. “Let’s eat.”

44

PAXTON

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since I love you first crossed my mind. Two weeks since I looked down at Tatum in my shirt, the ocean rolling in behind her, the smell of warm, buttery lobster rolls filtering through the air, and I knew she was it for me. Two weeks since Tatum kissed me, pouring every unspoken feeling into it until I nearly fell on my ass and proposed right then and there.

Two weeks of knowing she isn’t ready for that step—or the dozen before it—and if I’m not careful, she’ll run away. But I wouldn’t change these two weeks for the world, even if I’m forcing myself to take things slow. To let her set the pace.

I’ve always chosen the hard route. Maybe it’s because my dad left. Maybe it’s because of Rafe or my mom. But I’ve never shied away from the heavy shit, and even though Tatum’s yet to even fully commit to what she knows I want, she’s letting me in. Slowly. And I refuse to take any minute baby step for granted.

Tonight, we’re at her place, despite her reminding me that my place is bigger and more private. I told her I don’t care. I want to be in her space, too. I figure the more time I spend infiltrating her life, the less likely she is to want to push me out of it.

As Tatum invites me inside, I rock back on my heels, taking it all in. I’ve only been here once or twice, but the studio apartment is nice. Small, but nice. It kind of reminds me of my childhood home. If there was more trash on the counters and it smelled like my mom’s cigarette smoke.

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