Page 197 of Pucking Feral: Part Two
"—the most exciting—"
"Thaaaaane."
He stops, mouth partially open, and shuts it. The light turns green and he pulls forward, ears going pink for the third time tonight, and oh my God, he's serious.
He's worried he's boring.
It is the most adorable thing ever, and I've watched Wraith try to fold a fitted sheet.
"Do you know what I dreamed about in the tunnels?" I ask. "When I let myself dream at all?"
His eyes flick to me.
"Dinner. At a table. With someone who wanted me there." I reach over and rest my hand on his solid thigh, and the muscle jumps under my palm. "You're not boring, Thane. I fucking love that you're sweet and considerate."
He's quiet for an entire block. His hand leaves the wheel—a first—and covers mine, engulfing it.
"I'm not sweet," he grumbles. "You haven't seen me fight yet."
"I have, in clips." I lean way up and over to press a kiss to his jaw. "But I only see the sweet side of you."
He brushes his fingers against his face where I just kissed him, and he's practically on cloud nine as he pulls into the valet parking lot. He gets my door for me, offering his hand, too, and then hands the keys off to a valet who looks like a cartoon butler, swirly mustache and all.
This place really is fancy.
The hostess calls Thane "Mr. Belmont" and walks us past the candlelit dining room entirely, up a narrow staircase to a private balcony overlooking the water.
One table, two chairs. Nobody to stare at my scar or Thane's famous face.
"The owner owes my father," Thane says, pulling out my chair. "I cashed it in."
"Okay," I admit, settling into my chair. "This is incredible."
The water below the balcony glimmers with the last of the sunset, and the balcony itself is lit by strings of fairy lights winding through the railing. A candle in a glass globe sits between us, flickering in the soft breeze.
"The food's better than the view." He sits across from me and immediately tugs at his lapel again, scratching at his neck. "The chef trained in Paris. Order whatever you want. Fuck, order two of whatever you want. Or more."
I order the duck breast. He orders the ribeye, then asks the server a few questions about the wine list and picks one that tastes like blackberries when it arrives.
The duck is so good I make a sound that turns Thane's ears pink again.
"That's the chef's signature," he says, watching me chase the sauce with my fork. "Cherry reduction."
"This is the best thing I've eaten since I started living off vending machines." I point my fork at him. "And before you say anything, that includes the gas station nachos Whiskey drives almost an hour for."
"He made you eat the nachos?"
"He didn't make me. He just looked so excited, I couldn’t say no."
"Yeah, well, excitement is a red flag where Whiskey's concerned. Just a heads up."
I laugh hard enough the candle almost goes out, which makes me laugh harder. Thane watches me in absolute wonder like he can't believe the sound is happening at his table.
"Tell me something," I say, stealing a bite of his ribeye without asking. He'd say yes anyway. Hell, if I asked, he'd probably panic and give me the whole thing. "Something I don't know about you. Not Captain Belmont. You."
He chews, considering. "I wanted to be a marine biologist until I was eleven."
"Seriously?"
