Page 37 of Under His Touch

“I’m driving,” he says and my heart wobbles in my chest.

“I wish you would have met my parents, Alec. You would have liked them.”

“I’m sure I would,” he says. “I feel like I know them anyway, from all your stories.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You were always such a good listener, so patient with me when I was sad. You barely knew me, and yet you took such good care of me. I don’t think I would have made it without you.” I pause for a moment as my mind trips back to high school. “In thinking back, I don’t think it was fair of me to put that burden on you. I wasn’t your problem.”

His hand slides across the table and captures mine. “Megs, come on. You were going through a hard time, and I wanted to be there for you.”

“Why?” I ask, and hold back the question I really want to ask.

Why did you leave me after prom?

“Sara and I were friends, and you were her cousin. You were like a lost puppy and I kind of have a thing for puppies,” he says with a grin.

“You just lost points.”

He sits up straighter, his shoulders square, and I can’t help but grin at his cute yet confused expression. “What did I do?”

“Somehow in there, I think you called me an ankle biter.”

He bursts out laughing, and I laugh with him, the mood around us softening, mellowing. The waiter comes with our drinks, and we place our food orders, and fall into easy conversation. The woman two tables over, however, keeps an eye on Alec and I do my best to ignore her.

Our meal arrives, a dinner for two, and in the center of the table the waiter sets out an enchilada, a burrito, a taco and a chimichanga for us to split.

“Looks amazing,” I say as Alec slices the enchiladas in half and divvies them up on our plates.

“I haven’t had Mexican in years,” he says.

“Remember when we used to eat it every weekend?” I ask him. “It was always between pizza and M

exican.”

“And nine times out of ten you always won the thumb war and got your way,” he says.

I glance at his big hands. “Wait, did you let me win on purpose?” I bite into my food and moan at the delicious flavors.

“Me, let you win?” He arches a brow. “Are you forgetting how competitive I am?”

“Nope, you were competitive.”

“Still am.”

I take a sip of wine. “Win or die trying, right?”

He laughs. “Something like that?” He forks the enchilada into his mouth, and nods. “This is good,” he says.

“Try this one.” I cut the chicken burrito into two and put half on his plate. He takes a generous bite, and moans. “I think this beats pizza every day.”

“Pizza has its place,” I say, remembering the first night we shared a pie at his apartment and the way we played afterward. Okay, get your mind off sex before your nipples poke through your dress. It’s all fun and games until someone puts an eye out. Changing topics, I ask, “You’re still coming to the anniversary party tomorrow night?”

“Still planning on it, unless you’re sending me out on another date.”

“I’m not. I figured you needed a night off.”

“I’m looking forward to catching up with Sara.” A little sound escapes me when he brings up my cousin. “What?” he asks, and takes a drink of water.

“Did you know back in high school all the girls had a crush on you.”

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