A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (25)

“Just wondering what your hurry is.” He stretched his hand out to capture hers, tugging her back a step. “Slow down and smell the chestnuts.”

“Is that what smells? I thought it was you.”

He swung her around, pulled her flush against him, and slipped an arm around her waist. She fit against him even more perfectly than he remembered, and judging by the way her pupils dilated as she gazed up at him, her body remembered it too. He dipped his mouth close to her ear. “You know, sooner or later you’re going to have to accept that I was there that night too. You’re not fooling me.”

He heard her gulp. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was bored.”

“If that was boredom, I’d love to see you excited.”

She sucked in a small breath. The sound sent a signal straight to his groin, and he released her before he embarrassed himself. “Let’s get something to eat,” he said, reaching again for her hand. This time, she let him take it. Her small fingers folded into his, cold and soft against his guitar-calloused palms. “What sounds good?” His voice was tight.

“What are my options?” So was hers.

“Pretty much anything you can think of.” He pointed with his free hand to a long line of food trucks along First Avenue.

“Hot chicken?”

He grimaced. “Okay, anything but that.” His tastebuds loved Nashville’s staple dish as much as anyone, but his stomach did not.

She grinned up at him. “Does Colton’s tummy have trouble with spicy stuff?”

“Colton’s tummy doesn’t want to ruin the night by spending a half hour in the bathroom.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever discussed bodily functions on a first date.”

“Second date,” he corrected. “And since our actual first date involved a lot more personal stuff than that, I see no reason to hide it from you.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything more personal than your bathroom habits.”

He tipped his head to the sky and groaned. “Can we please stop talking about it now?”

“How about that meat-and-three truck?”

He followed her point to a truck that served another famous Nashville meal, which was as simple as it sounded. A plate of meat—usually meatloaf, brisket, or country ham—and three traditional southern sides. “Deal,” he agreed.

Most people paid them no attention as they wound through the slow-moving throng, but a handful saw through his disguise, as usual. He brought out the keep away head shake as a surge of protective instincts had him tightening his hold on her hand. Dating as a celebrity was hard enough when he went out with other famous people who were used to the attention. But Gretchen didn’t exist in his world, and he suddenly wanted to hide her from it. And from them. The stares from the dozen or so people who obviously recognized him suddenly felt intrusive in a way he hadn’t expected.

Sensing his tension, she looked up and then followed his gaze to a wide-eyed group of women who were one sorority shriek away from rushing him for a selfie.

“Don’t disappoint the fans on my account, Clark Kent.”

“Not tonight,” he said, tugging her closer to his side. “Tonight, it’s just us.”

The line was short at the food truck. He ordered the country ham with mac and cheese, greens, and biscuits. Gretchen ordered the same but with brisket. When he pulled out his wallet, she interjected, “I can pay.”

“Don’t piss me off.”

“Why would it piss you off if I pay for dinner?”

“Because the date was my idea.”

“Fine. We’ll split it.”

He shook his head. “You can buy dessert, how about that?”

Her jaw jutted sideways, and he damn near kissed her. “Fine,” she said, shoving the money back in her bag. Colton handed his credit card to the guy at the counter and shrugged at the man’s bemused expression.

“But I’m perfectly capable of buying my own dinner,” she said as they stepped to the side to wait for their food.

“Quit your bitchin’,” he teased. “I’ll let you buy me a hot cocoa, too, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Gretchen planted her hands on her hips. “Did you just tell me to quit my bitching?”

“I did.” The urge to kiss her nearly stole his breath this time. The only thing that saved him from doing so was the shout of their order number. After collecting their tray, he lifted his chin toward a table where a group of college-age women were getting ready to leave. They approached, and Colton asked if he and Gretchen could grab their table.

One of the young women looked up and smiled. “Sure—” She stopped short, mouth agape. “Oh. My. God.”

Her friends looked up quickly, blinked, and erupted in shrieks.

“Omigod,” another one gushed. “Are you Colton Wheeler?”

Colton set down his tray and tipped the brim of his cap. “At your service.”

The girls squealed as one again. “Can we get a selfie?” the first one asked.

He glanced at Gretchen, who was smothering a smile badly. “Be my guest.”

“Sure thing, ladies,” he said, laying on the drawl. The girls crowded around him, and he had to bend his knees to get in the picture.