Page 28 of Relationship Goals

“Might be fun.” A devilish grin lights up his face.

“You think so?” A flutter of anticipation builds low in my stomach. “You think this is fun?” Itisa hell of a lot more fun than letting someone else control the narrative. I can’t stop grinning.

And I can’t stop thinking about kissing him. Luke Wolfe.

Briefly, I wonder what Jean would say about it, me kissing him, then quickly decide she’d love me getting the attention.

“Do I think being stalked by the paparazzi is fun? Not really. Dating you? In public?” He shrugs. “Not terrible.” He’s smiling at me, though, and it’s warm and makes me feel fuzzy.

“A ringing endorsement. Love being the ‘not terrible’ option.” I laugh.

He glares at me, a hint of that terrifying Los Angeles Wolf persona in his expression. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, but I would love even more hearing it spelled out.” I give him an outrageous wink.

His grimace disappears, a slow, delicious grin replacing it. “You are thebestoption.” There’s an aching ring of truth to that, and it makes my breath catch in surprise.

Oh god, I want to kiss him, I want to know what all that intensity is like completely focused on me, completely focused on my body.

Oof. I’ve got aseriouscrush on him.

And it’s kind of fun. When was the last time I let myself crush on someone? It’s been a long time. A really long time.

“I agree,” I say airily, pretending like everyone says shit like thatto me. Like I’m used to it. “Going home and stuffing ourselves with pasta? That is definitely the best option.”

I can’t lie to myself about how it makes me feel, though. All kinds of warm and fuzzy.

I tilt my head, arching a brow at him. “You want to go out the front? Where they’re all waiting?”

He grunts. “That depends.”

“On what?” I cross my arms on top of the table, leaning in to hear him.

“On what you have in mind. I’m not about to be your secret husband while you have an allergic reaction to shellfish.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Fine. No secret husband, no EpiPen on the pavement. Boundaries are important. Anything else?” I arch one eyebrow, feeling slightly devilish as I consider an array of scenarios.

There’s one in particular, though, that I’m dying to try.

For science.

“No,” he says slowly, the word laced with a challenge. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, then I’m in.”

I let out an evil laugh. “Good. You ready?”

“Fuck.” His lip is curled in disgust, but his blue eyes are full of laughter. “I guess so.”

“This was your idea. You said you’re game foranythingelse,” I remind him sweetly.

“You’re not making me feel great about this.”

“Your safe word isYo-Yo Ma,” I tell him as I stand up, folding my napkin neatly on the table.

“Fuck no, it’s not.” He stands, too, surprising me by sliding an arm around my waist.

Heat curls through me, and I bite my lower lip. I look up at him through my lashes. “Was there a safe word you preferred, then?EpiPen?Anaphylaxis?”

“I can’t think of three worse safe words.” He shakes his head, butI can tell he’s amused as we walk through the restaurant. If anyone inside is snapping pictures of us, it’s discreetly, and I don’t even feel like glancing around for cell phones like I usually do.

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