Page 74 of Puck Me Twice

Vanessa stares at our clasped hands for a moment. “I knew I could trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me, not on purpose, and you wouldn’t take advantage of me.”

The thought makes me sick. “No. I would never—no.”

“I know,” she says quietly. She squeezes my hand. “I’ve always liked you, given our history, and I… I’m very glad that we’re here, that we are where we are.”

“Me, too,” I tell her, and her smile lights up my entire world like fireworks.

We might not have started this in the traditional way, but that doesn’t discount where we are. Or where we could go.

twenty-four

. . .

Vanessa

Sven seems to relax more and more the longer we sit at dinner. He finishes his glass of wine but waves off the bottle when I offer more. His eyes are bright, his face flushed, but it doesn’t seem like the alcohol has gone to his head.

I think… I think it’s me.

Which is absolutely ridiculous. There’s no way he’s serious about his supposed feelings for me. We barely know each other. He only likes the fantasy version of me he’s concocted in his head.

Except… Squeezing my legs together, I ignore the ache at my core, and try to focus on what he’s saying. My attention keeps getting caught on his mouth, his plush lips, the faint scruff lining his jaw, the long blond hair I want to run my fingers through…

Sven clears his throat, and I startle.

“What?” I ask.

“Are you okay?” he asks seriously. “You seem… distracted.”

“I am,” I admit readily.

His eyebrows go up, but he waits patiently for me to regroup.

“Do you want dessert?” he asks when I don’t say anything.

I’d rather have him for dessert.

“I think we should head out,” I tell him.

He blinks a few times. “Okay.”

Reaching across the table, I squeeze his hand. “I think we should head out.”

His eyebrows knit together. He’s not getting it.

“Take me home, Sven.”

His face falls. “Are you not having a good time?”

Wait.

No.

I squeeze his hand again. “I just think we’ll have a better time in your bed,” I say quietly.

It takes a second for him to understand. When he realizes what I’m trying to say, he swallows thickly, his grip tightening on my hand.

“Oh.” He lifts his other hand, gesturing to the waiter for the check.