Page 90 of Almost Enough

My hand finds her waist automatically, pulling her against me. “Respectable isn’t the word I’d use.”

“No?” She tilts her head, hair falling over one shoulder. “What word would you use?”

“Trouble,” I murmur, my thumb tracing circles on her hip. “Pure trouble.”

Her laugh is soft. “You like trouble.”

“I like you.” The words slip out before I can stop them, but I don’t regret them. Not when her eyes light up.

“Careful, Sinclair. People might think you have feelings.”

“Can’t have that.” I lean down, brushing my lips against hers. She melts into me, her body soft and pliable against mine as she returns the kiss. When I pull back, her eyes stay closed for a moment longer, lips slightly parted until she perks up and glances over my shoulder toward the front door open slightly ajar.

“Something smells amazing.”

“Dinner,” I say, sliding my hand to the small of her back and guiding her inside. “Figured you might be hungry.”

She follows me into the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove. “Whatcha cookin’, handsome?”

I shrug, stirring the sauce. “It’s just pasta.”

“With homemade sauce?” She leans over, peering into the pot. “That’s pretty damn fancy.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and when I look over at her, I notice her fingers twisting together in her lap, her teeth capturing her bottom lip. She shifts on the counter, her eyes darting between me and some invisible point on the wall. Her usual stream of constant chatter has gone quiet, replaced by a nervous energy that’s so unlike her.

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “Spit it out, Red.”

Her eyes snap to mine, widening slightly. “What?”

“Whatever’s bouncing around in that head of yours.” I quirk a brow at her.

A blush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks. “That obvious, huh?”

“You haven’t made a single inappropriate joke since you walked in.”

She lets out a small laugh, then takes a deep breath. “So the award ceremony is in three weeks.”

I nod, watching as her fingers fidget with the hem of her shirt.

“There’s this whole dinner and speeches and…” She trails off, then looks directly at me. “Would you come with me? As my date?”

The vulnerability in her eyes catches me off guard. This woman who’s always so confident, so sure of herself, suddenly looks uncertain.

“It’s formal,” she adds quickly. “So you’d have to wear a suit. And there will be a lot of people there, which I know isn’t your thing. And you’d probably have to make small talk, which I’m guessing is even less your thing. But…” She takes another breath. “I’d really like you to be there.”

It’s this exact moment when I realize with startling clarity that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this woman. A formal event with crowds and small talk and a goddamn suit is my personal version of hell. But Whitley looks like she’s bracing for me to say no, and I can’t stand the thought of putting any disappointment in her eyes.

“Of course I’ll come, Red.”

Her entire face transforms, that brilliant smile breaking across her features like a sunrise. “Really?”

“Really.” I push off the counter, moving to stand between her legs, my hands settling on her thighs. “Did you think I’d say no?”

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. “I mean, I hoped not. But there’s a lot of stuffy people and speeches and⁠—”

“Whitley,” I interrupt. “I want to be there for you.”

“Even if it means wearing a tie?”