Page 87 of Let's Get Textual

Only Zach.

“Oh hell, Delia. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t know you were going to get all pervy on me!”

Zach groans and turns to the waiter. “You, sir, are getting a massive tip.” Then he turns to me and winks. “I’ll give you way more than just the tip.”

The waiter, so stunned, loses balance with the tray. Two of our meals go toppling over, and our refills pour down the front of his shirt.

He stands there, shocked but composed.

We sit there, shocked and mortified.

“So…let’s go ahead and double that tip,” Zach says.

The waiter simply nods, grabbing his tray and retreating inside.

“Zachary Hastings!”

“What? I couldn’t help it! Besides, you deserved that after letting me go on and on about your fantastic ass.”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.” He leans across the table, and I match his movements. “But just so you know, you’re getting a way bigger tip than he is.”

“That was possiblythe best ranch dressing I have ever had.”

“I told you this place was awesome.”

“Thank you for bringing me here. I never knew it existed.”

“Being the ranch freak I am, I’ve been on the lookout for a restaurant like this for years. I’m surprised one popped up in my own back yard—maybe they pinged all my Google searches or something.”

“You’re so strange, Zach.”

“I’ll own up to that. So…you want to get out of here?”

“Where are we going?”

Nervous, he flits his eyes away. “I was thinking of showing you my place tonight.”

The suggestion alone has my body lit up. The words caress my skin, knowing exactly what it is he’s implying.

“I think I’d like that.”

He stands and reaches out for my hand. I let him pull me from the table and whisk me back through the restaurant.

It’s hot inside the car, and it’s purely because we can feel the electricity thrumming through the air. He’s breathing hard, I’m breathing harder.

That spark I was missing before? Yeah, it’s right here in this car, zinging back and forth between me and Zach.

He’s squeezing the shift knob, knuckles turning white with anticipation.

I reach over and cover his hand, lifting his until it rests on my naked thigh. He inhales sharply and I hold my breath, waiting.

The weight of his hand is doing things to me, things I didn’t expect. I didn’t intend to start anything sexual while he’s driving, but if I said I didn’t want to scoot down in my seat until his hand rested firmly between my legs, I’d be a damn liar, and that’s not who I am.

“Delia…” It’s a warning, and I know it is.

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