Page 75 of After the Rain

His fingers intertwined with mine, and the simple contact sent warmth shooting up my arm. "Smooth talker."

"Just honest." I brought his hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "You have no idea how good this feels."

"What? Holding hands?"

"Being able to touch you in public. Looking at you without worrying who's watching." I turned his hand over, tracing patterns on his palm with my thumb. "I want to touch you all the time, and I'm tired of hiding it."

Ezra's breath caught slightly. "Wade..."

"I know we're in a restaurant," I said quietly, "but I can barely keep my hands off you right now."

"Good thing I feel the same way," he murmured, his foot finding mine under the table.

We ordered pasta and wine, but I was more interested in the way Ezra's lips curved around his wine glass, the way he used his hands when he talked, the way his eyes darkened when I traced circles on the back of his hand with my fingers.

"You're going to get us kicked out of here," Ezra said as I lifted his hand to kiss his wrist, right where his pulse was racing.

"Worth it," I replied against his skin.

When our food arrived, I moved my chair closer to his side of the table instead of sitting across from him. "Better," I said, my thigh pressed against his.

"Much better," Ezra agreed, his hand settling on my leg under the table.

We shared bites of each other's pasta, and every time Ezra fed me a forkful, I let my lips linger on the utensil longer than necessary. When he reached for his wine glass, I caught his wrist and pressed my mouth to the sensitive spot just below his palm.

"You're killing me," he whispered.

"Good," I said, my hand sliding higher on his thigh. "I want you thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you." His fingers found mine under the table, squeezing tight. "But right now I'm thinking about how much I want to get you alone."

"Dessert?" I asked, catching the server's attention.

"To go," Ezra added quickly, making me laugh.

The drive home was torture in the best possible way. I kept one hand on the wheel and the other on Ezra's thigh, my thumb stroking along the seam of his jeans. Every time I hit a red light, I leaned over to kiss his neck, his jaw, anywhere I could reach.

"Wade," he gasped as I found that spot behind his ear that made him shiver.

"I love the way you say my name," I murmured against his throat.

By the time we reached my driveway, we were both breathing hard, flushed, and trying not to act like teenagers. The air between us crackled with everything unsaid and everything we were trying to hold back.

The porch light was still on—Kane’s doing, no doubt—and I could see silhouettes through the living room window. They were waiting, just like we agreed.

Kane opened the front door before I even got the key in. “Cooper went down easy. Jazz finished the leftover pasta and cursed at your thermostat for fifteen minutes.”

Jazz appeared behind him with a smirk. “Kid’s out cold. House didn’t burn down. We’re off the clock.”

I grinned. “Thanks, both of you. Seriously.”

They slipped out with one last teasing look, and suddenly the house was quiet again—just me and Ezra and the rush of everything we weren’t ready to stop feeling.

We spent the rest of the evening on the couch, hands roaming, mouths meeting in kisses that left us both aching for more. Every touch was drawn out, reverent, like we were trying to memorize the moment, not rush it.

Later, Ezra curled against my side, his hair slipping through my fingers as I absently stroked it.

“This feels like a different world,” he whispered.

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