Page 53 of Certified To Handle You 2

“You done?” She asked.

“I ordered breakfast,” I answered.

“You ordered my breakfast,” she corrected me.

“Was I wrong?” I asked her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

I smirked at her. “Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for her mimosa.

“You get on my nerves.”

“I know,” I replied as I reached across the table and took her free hand before she could pull it away.

She looked down at our hands. “Renza.”

“What?” I asked her, already knowin’ what she wanted.

“Give me my hand,” she told me.

“Nah,” I replied.

Her eyes came back to mine. “Renza, give me my damn hand.”

I rubbed my thumb across the back of it instead. “You been keepin’ everything else from me for four days. Lemme have the hand.”

The corner of her mouth moved before she caught herself, and I leaned back in the booth ‘cause I saw that shit.

“You almost smiled,” I pointed out.

“No, I didn’t,” she denied.

“Yeah, you did,” I told her.

“I really didn’t,” she insisted.

I squeezed her hand light and watched her. “A’ight, ‘Nelle.”

She tried pullin’ it back again, and this time I held on just long enough to aggravate her before she finally snatched it away.

I let her have about thirty seconds of peace before I stood up and walked around the table. Her eyes followed me until I slid in the booth beside her.

“Why are you over here now?” She asked, shiftin’ when my thigh pressed against hers.

“‘Cause you too far away over there,” I answered.

“It’s a table, Renza,” she reminded me.

I reached up and moved her hair away from her shoulder, and she looked straight ahead like she had suddenly decided the restaurant was fascinatin’.

I leaned down and pressed my lips against the side of her neck.

“Renza…” she murmured as her hand came against my thigh.

I kissed her neck again, slower this time, and felt her fingers press into my jeans.