Page 93 of Wishing Hearts

“Ah,” Evan says knowingly. “You’re already there. Gotcha.”

“Already where?” I ask.

He waves a hand through the air. “The serious phase. Y’know, like you’re together together. I was there once. Before it fell apart.”

“Sorry,” I say because even though this guy is a total stranger, I know exactly how that goes.

He shoots me a small smile. “Aren’t you sweet? Oh, mine’s comin’ back. Have a good night, Harrison.”

“You, too,” I say, chuckling a little as Evan faces his table again. The guy in the black shirt takes a seat across from him just as Sam looks over his shoulder. When our eyes catch, he grins, and my pulse jumps.

Together together. We are, though, aren’t we? Sam is mine. I know it on an instinctual level. I can feel it down to my toes. This man is mine for good if only I wish it. He’s been hinting for a while now, or saying outright, how much he likes my baggage. How he wants me, a home, a family.

Winnie, Tigger, and I… We could be that for him.

My breath catches as I roll those words back through my head.

We could be that for him. He could be ours.

Sam returns a minute later, setting two pint glasses onto our table before sliding into the booth next to me. “Here we go,” he says, thigh resting against my own. He lifts his glass, sipping his beer and then humming. “That’s the stuff.”

“Sam,” I say, tugging his chin toward me.

“Mm?”

I kiss him, a short but sincere thing. “Thank you for tonight. This is just…perfect.”

“You’re welcome, stud,” he rumbles, looking at me a little curiously before the expression shifts into his usual smile. “But the night’s only startin’. And you haven’t even taken a sip of that beer. Better hop to before it grows legs and walks off.”

I chuckle, doing as he says. My eyes slip closed as I swallow down a mouthful of the stout, all fresh and cold and frothy against my lip. For tonight, I don’t have to worry about being Dad. Winnie is still on my mind, sure, but I refuse to let myself get hung up on worst-case scenarios. Unless I find out otherwise, I’m going to assume she’s having a wonderful time at the museum with my parents.

And me? I’m damn well going to enjoy being just Harrison for the night.

And Harrison really wants Sam.

“There it is,” Sam says, sounding pleased.

“What?” I ask, opening my eyes.

“You look like you just shed twenty pounds.”

I huff a laugh. “I feel like it.”

“Good,” he damn near purrs, shifting until his lips are ghosting over my ear. “’Cause I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” His fingers slide up my inner thigh, and heat coils in my stomach. “I don’t want you to feel a thing other than happy”—his knuckles glide over my half-hard cock—“and horny”—teeth whisper along my earlobe—“and satisfied.”

“Shit, Sam,” I mutter, looking around the room. Luckily, we’re in the corner where it’s darker and less people are around, but still. It wouldn’t be impossible for someone to see where Sam is touching me underneath the table.

“Mm,” he says, sliding his hand down my thigh and holding tight as he shifts back against his seat. He picks up his beer and takes a sip.

Clearing my throat, I grab my own pint glass. “You really are going to tease me tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” he says, grinning and looking so boyish I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re something, Sammy,” I tell the man.

“Somethin’ good, I hope,” he says, a tiny bit of vulnerability leaching into his tone.

“The best,” I tell him honestly, shifting enough that I can lean my elbow on the back of the booth. I run my hand up the back of Sam’s neck before teasing my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt.

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