31. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tatum

“If your ass isn’t down here in thirty seconds, I’m going up there to get you!” I shout up the stairs.

I have a reservation at one of the top restaurants in Detroit, and if we’re even a minute late, they’ll turn us away. I knew I should have told her to be ready sooner than seven, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She doesn’t typically take long to get ready, but I should have known today would be different.

It’s 7:04. The reservation is for 7:30 and the restaurant is at least twenty minutes away.

Thirty seconds come and go. I start up the marble staircase. “Devon, I swear to—”

“I’m here!” she calls out, hurrying down the hall and stopping at the top of the steps.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, frozen in place. I grip the banister so I don’t fall down them.

She moves down the stairs, walking quickly even in heels. She passes by me.

“Well, come on,” she says .

I look over my shoulder at her and still can’t breathe.

She looks amazing.

“Tate,” she urges. “What is wrong with you? Let’s go.”

I snap out of it and move after her. She’s hurrying ahead of me, no doubt in a rush because she knows she’s late.

“Hey,” I say, catching up to her and gripping her arm. She turns to me with a frown, and I move in front of her, cupping her face in my hands. “You look beautiful.”

Her eyes, that were full of concern, soften. She smiles, sighing gently. “Thank you.”

I kiss her, sure I’ll never get enough of how her lips feel.

It’s a shame this can’t last.

There’s no way I’d tire of seeing her dress up like this for me—in a backless black dress that hugs her body way too well. I’d also enjoy seeing her in nothing. More lingerie. And even her usual attire of sweatpants and sports bras. Devon is gorgeous no matter what she wears.

Linking our hands, I walk us out the front door and to my volcano grey Taycan. After helping her in, I get into the driver’s side and we’re on our way.

“This is new,” she comments, running her hand along the dashboard.

“I’ve had her about a year, but don’t typically take her out.”

“But you did tonight?” she asks with a gleam in her eye.

“I did tonight.”

We make it to the restaurant with two minutes to spare, and thankfully, there is no line at the hostess stand. I give the woman my name and she leads us to a table toward the back, which overlooks the gardens outside. The server introduces himself and I order a bottle of wine and the cherry tomato bruschetta appetizer.

“Is this your first big-girl date?” I ask when we’re alone.

“If I said it wasn’t?” she asks with a raised brow.

“I’d say you were a liar.”

The server returns with our bottle of wine, pouring us each a glass before leaving it in the bucket of ice to keep chilled.

“Would you be jealous?” she asks, reaching for her glass.

I see where she’s going with this, and I both love and hate it.

“Do you want me to be?”

She gives a shrug of one shoulder, but I see the mischief in her eyes. She wants me to be jealous, but why? She hates it when anyone tries to control her life, but suddenly now she wants me to?

Because she’s playing games with me.

“I wouldn’t hate it.”

I reach for my wine, taking a sip. “There’s nothing to be jealous about since I know you haven’t been on any other dates.” The confidence she was holding onto falls. “But,” I add, and she perks up slightly. “If you were, then yes. I’d be jealous.”

Her lips quirk up into a satisfied smile.

Playing her game isn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. Somehow, even with the years of strain between us, we’ve fallen right back into how things were. It’s easy for us to get along, there’s always been this natural connection between us. Which is why it’s so easy to lose myself in her, and why I’m so focused on keeping my guard up. It’s imperative that I do.

I was sure being out of the penthouse and back to our daily lives would be hell. Granted, it’s hardly been a full day and things could change. Her father is due back tomorrow evening, and Dane will be home tonight.

Speaking of…

“How do you want to handle this with Dane and Brent?” I ask her.

“I thought you said you had it handled?”

“I said I had this dinner handled. How we deal with them moving forward needs to be figured out between the both of us.”

The server returns with the appetizer and takes our meal orders. Devon gets a pasta dish and I order a steak.

“I think they’ll freak out,” Devon says as she picks up a tomato bruschetta from the plate and puts it on hers.

“So, we don’t tell them for now, but if this goes further, they’ll have to know.”

“How much further can it go?” she asks before taking a bite of the appetizer.

I huff out a laugh. “A lot further, Devon. An actual relationship. Marriage. Children.”

I hardly finish the last word and she starts choking on her food. Grabbing her water, she takes a sip to wash it down. She pats her mouth with the cloth napkin and clears her throat.

“Sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting to talk about marriage and kids after one weekend, Tate.”

I force a smile. “I didn’t say that was my plan. I’m just saying there are things much more serious than us sneaking around to fuck.”

Her brow furrows. “Is that your real-world way of saying dating? Because to me, it sounds a little different. ”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Dating behind their backs will be simple enough. They’re busy. But if this turns into something more, they’ll have to know. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“And if they freak out?” she asks, holding my gaze.

She wants me to tell her that I’ll fight for her. That I’ll talk to them and figure it out. That I’m not going to jump ship and leave her like I did last time. Little does she know I have zero intention of telling her brother or father about us—ever.

“I will handle it,” I assure her, though she doesn’t look so convinced.

“How are you so sure?”

“They were fine with us dating last time,” I say with a sigh.

Giving in to her right away all the time will get annoying quickly—on my part. And it may come across as suspicious to her too.

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. It just was.”

She’s growing frustrated. I don’t want to push it and ruin the night.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and worry about it now. When we get to that bridge, we’ll cross it.”

She takes a breath and nods, finishing her wine. I pour her more.

As we wait for our food, we make small talk. She tells me about her friend, Summer, and her daughter, Astrid. Her birthday is coming up soon and Summer is planning a big party for her. I knew Summer had a kid and have seen her a few times over the years, but I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken to her. Devon asks about work, and the conversation flows naturally and easily. When our food comes, we eat and still talk.

It’s the most normal and stress-free dinner I’ve had in a long time. What a fucking conundrum this is.