Page 63 of Taking Denver

I also hope this could be my chance to see Ethan without having to speak to him. Our phone call earlier is still at the forefront of my mind, and even though I’d told him what he needed to hear, the guilt is tearing at my heart.

I remain quiet as Ranger orders for us. I used to argue against him doing it, insisting I could pick my own food and drinks, but truthfully, he always orders what I want anyway. I wonder how he always knows what I’m craving, whether I’ve had a bad enough day for a glass of wine or feel a tenseness that only whiskey can ease. But he knows. He always knows.

Our drinks are delivered, and Ranger turns his attention to me.

“What is it you do on dates?”

I almost choke on my wine, a droplet running down my chin. I wipe it away with my napkin and clear my throat. “Excuse me?”

Ranger is expressionless. “I don’t date. Women approach me. I take them home. This…” He gestures between us. “…isn’t something I do.”

My neck heats. I swallow again, the wine burning my throat still. “This is a date?”

He frowns. “Forget it.”

“No, no—” I exhale. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised.” Ranger ignores me, focusing on his drink before he sips it.

I’ve accepted my fate with him, haven’t I? I’ve ended things with Ethan, so if this is my life, then I should be grateful that Ranger is trying.

I move closer. “You’d ask me questions.”

Ranger arches a brow. “That's pointless.”

“How romantic.”

His exhale is closer to a growl. “I mean, I already know everything about you.”

I tut. “No, you don’t.”

He narrows his gaze, and the ice in his drink sings against the glass as he places it down. He rests an elbow on the table as he angles his body to face me.

“Denver DeLuca. Twenty-seven. Five foot six. You love running, but only in the gym because humidity makes you crabby. You tell everyone you love horror movies, but you secretly watch Beauty and the Beast in your room after to help you sleep.”

My mouth drops open. “Did Cal tell you that? Judas!”

He keeps going. “You love pistachio ice cream, but you cover it in so much chocolate sauce it pretty much drowns out the flavor. You get heartburn from it, too, but it doesn’t stop you. You first fell in love when you were sixteen with a prick called Danny Leighton. He broke your heart when he said your braces made you look weird.”

A laugh bursts from me, and I cover my mouth.

Ranger’s eyes dance with the kind of light he keeps for me, and my chest warms. He reaches out to me, moving my hair over my shoulder, and shivers creep down my arm. His gaze tracks the small bumps, but his fingers graze the hollow at the base of my throat.

“You like being kissed here,” he says, his voice low. I hold my breath. “You prefer being on top.”

I exhale quickly. “Ranger.”

“Isn’t that true?”

Yes. It is. I like the control, the feel of a man between my thighs, of knowing I have a say over the rhythm of sex, the push and pull of our bodies. Only two men have ever taken me any other way. Ethan and Ranger.

I nod silently.

Ranger laces his fingers through mine. “And when you come?—”

“Risotto!” the waiter announces, and I almost sprain my neck turning away from Ranger.

He levels a glare so heated at the waiter I’m surprised the poor guy doesn’t drop the dishes and run.

Once we’re alone again, we eat quietly, but my stomach is twisted too tightly to eat much.

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