Page 42 of The Fangirl and the Grump

When we drive past the Evening Shade city limits sign, Keegan sits up a little straighter and looks through her window.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Jonas Hill. It’s slightly bigger than Evening Shade, and there’s an Italian restaurant there that makes the most delicious alfredo sauce you’ve ever tasted.”

“And there’s less chance of someone howling or calling you that nickname that shall not be mentioned between us ever again?” she asks, and I can hear the mischievous grin in her voice.

“That, too,” I say, fighting the urge to smile, myself.

Jonas Hill isn’t as charming as Evening Shade, but Keegan smiles as we pull into town, her eyes darting around as if she’s trying to soak in every ounce of it and commit it to memory. Her youth is showing in that exuberance, but for once, it doesn’t make me feel like a lecherous old man.

For once, it makes me feel young, too.

When I pull the truck into the parking lot at Vincenzo’s, Keegan sits forward, peering at the building’s façade with a wide smile.

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes, and I look at the restaurant with fresh eyes.

Hanging plants with long, trailing vines decorate the wide front porch, and there are several rocking chairs spotting the deck beneath a protective, green-and-red-striped overhang. A large, stained-glass window sports the business’s name, and it glows like a beacon in the darkness, backlit by the soft lighting inside.

“Wait,” I say when she reaches for the handle on her door. “Just wait.”

Swinging open my door and jumping down, I slam it shut before jogging around to open Keegan’s door for her. She takes my offered hand with a smile and hops down, and a hiss whistles through my teeth when her hip brushes against me in the process.

“Everything okay?” she asks, worry lines forming in her usually-smooth forehead.

“All good,” I say, closing her door and using my key fob to lock the truck.

I hold out an arm, inviting her to precede me, and she smiles as she moves toward the entrance. I shove my hands into my pockets and fall into step beside her.

I can’t touch her. Not even innocently.

Because my body is going a little haywire, and if I press a palm to her back, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it from sliding down to that delicious-looking ass. And fuck, I don’t want to bethat guy. The guy who cops a feel at the beginning of a date like some skeezy asshole.

I’mnotthat guy. Ever. But tonight? Tonight, I can see myself throwing all caution and morals to the wind. I can see myself touching Keegan like she’smine.

As we approach the door, I take a quick double-step forward and grasp the handle. Pulling it open, I motion for her to go inside with a smile and a slight bow of my head.

“Such a gentleman,” she says in a teasing voice. “And hesmiles, too. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It might ruin the whole ‘town grump’ persona you’ve got going on.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” I tease back, and her soft, husky chuckle makes all the hairs on my body stand on end.

Jesus.

Admitting to myself that I like Keegan and am physically attracted to her seems to have opened the floodgates. I’ve lost all control, and everything she does and says sparks a chain reaction in my body. I’ve been half-hard since I picked her up at the lodge, and if she keeps flirting with me like this, I’m going to embarrass myself in my favorite restaurant.

And if Chef Enzo has to ask me not to come back to his restaurant because I walked through the dining room with a raging hard-on, I may never live it down.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Bardin. I have your table ready,” the hostess says as she grabs two menus and leads us toward the back of the dining room.

Keegan falls into line behind her, and I take up the rear. My gaze drops to Keegan’s ass of its own accord, and I stifle a needy groan.

I give myself a mental slap and try to focus on my surroundings, but it’s too late. My toe catches on something, and I’m going down before I can take my next breath. A shout bursts through my lips as I fall, followed quickly by a grunt as my body slams onto the carpeted floor. There’s a collective gasp from the dining room at large, and I groan as I push myself back up.

“I’m so sorry,” a feminine voice says, and I look over to see a woman picking her purse up from the floor to hang on the back of her chair. “I didn’t realize it had fallen off.”

“It’s okay,” I grumble, then turn back to see the hostess and Keegan staring at me from a few feet away.

The former looks horrified, like she’s afraid I might sue the place, or something. And the latter? Well, that one looks like she’s trying her best not to dissolve in a fit of laughter. I narrow my eyes at her as I approach, and she takes a long, shaky breath.

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