Page 45 of Drive Me Wild
“Hey, beautiful.”
He pulls me close enough that I can smell the hint of his cologne mixed with the cool late summer air. “Found this place last time I was picking up a load of parts. Thought you might like it.”
“It’s perfect.” I let myself lean into him slightly, savoring the solid warmth of his chest against my shoulder. Being able to touch him openly, even if only here in Port Stratton, feels both thrilling and terrifying.
Inside, the restaurant is cozy and dim, with mismatched wooden tables and paintings of ships in the port on the walls. Our server leads us to a corner table near a window, where the last rays of sunset filter through old glass panes.
“So,” Caleb says once we’re settled with drinks – a local beer for him, white wine for me. “This is weird, right? Actually being out together?”
I laugh, feeling some of my nervousness dissolve. “A little. Good weird, though.”
“Very good, weird, Angel.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and I feel that now-familiar flutter in my stomach.
“Angel? Definitely not,” I laugh. “I already told you we’re going to have to work on your nickname game.”
“Alright, I tried and failed. You look amazing, by the way. That sweater is doing things to me.”
I glance down at my oversized cream sweater, worn off one shoulder. I’d chosen it on purpose, hoping he’d notice the way it slips to reveal more skin. “Maybe that was the plan.”
His eyes darken. “You’ve been bolder lately. When did you get so bold?”
“Maybe I’ve always been like this. Just needed the right motivation.” I take a sip of wine, letting the glass hide my smile as his gaze tracks the movement of my throat.
“Is that what I am? Motivation?”
“Among other things.” I set down my glass, suddenly serious. “You make me feel safe. To be myself, I mean. And that means the world to me, Caleb.”
The confession hangs between us for a moment. Caleb reaches across the table and takes my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles in a way that makes me shiver.
“I like yourself,” he says softly. “A lot.”
Our server appears with bread and oil, breaking the moment, but my skin still tingles where he touched me. We order food and fall into easy conversation about our days. I tell him about the work I got done on the business plan and a custom order for my digital downloads, carefully leaving out how distracted I’d been by the lingering scent of him in his apartment.
“Speaking of work,” he says, tearing off a piece of bread, “did I tell you about Mr. Henderson’s car?”
“No, what happened?”
“Brought it in today thinking it needed new brake pads. Turns out an animal had been sleeping under the hood and shredded half the wiring.” He launches into the story, and I find myself mesmerized by the way his hands move as he talks, remembering how those capable fingers had felt against my skin.
Our food arrives, and I realize I’m hungry – I’d been too nervous to eat lunch. The fish I ordered is perfectly cooked, and Caleb insists I try a bite of his steak, holding out his fork for me. The casual intimacy of it makes my heart squeeze.
I take another sip of wine, sliding my foot against his under the table. “You know what’s kind of exciting?”
“What’s that, Princess?” His voice has that gravelly quality that makes my insides melt.
I tilt my head, studying him. “Why do you keep trying out nicknames?”
He looks caught off guard for a moment, his usual confidence wavering. “I...” He runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I’ve never done this before. The actual dating thing. I keep thinking there are these rules I’m supposed to follow, like having a special name for you. Kind of like Cole has for Renée.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m probably doing it all wrong.”
The admission makes my heart squeeze. “Hey,” I reach across the table and take his hand. “That is not what makes a relationship work. This—what we’re doing right now—that’s what makes it work. Enjoying each other’s company. That’s what I want.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And if you find some cute nickname to call me, then I know I’ll love it. Though ‘princess’ is still definitely not happening.”
His smile returns, softer this time. “Noted.”
His eyes follow the exposed line of my collarbone, and I feel my center warm, moisture pooling.
