One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(19)

Posed, focus still on me, Hayden stares at me for a few beats before chuckling and shaking his head. “Yes, you put the sauce on top of the pasta. It’s as if you haven’t had pasta before.” The way he teases me, it makes me feel that much more comfortable around him, like we’ve known each other longer than a week. “Here, take the wine, and I’ll grab some plates of food.” He hands me two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “We’re going to eat out on the deck.” Winking, he adds, “Meet you out there in a second.”

Shakily, I take the wine and the glasses out the sliding glass door to a beautiful refinished deck that expands the length of the house and overlooks the valley below. The sun is setting over the lush-green oak trees surrounding the property, fireflies start to play in the darkened woods, and the sound of crickets chirping a lullaby fill the air. It’s the perfect northeast summer evening, even if the air has a small bite to it.

To the right, there is a high-density wood dining set with red placemats, napkins, and silverware already laid out with bright yellow flowers in a short vase decorating the middle of the table.

Well, that’s . . . romantic and thoughtful.

Taking a seat, I pop open the wine and pour us both a short glass. I swirl the liquid around, take a small sniff, and then let the wine slip into my mouth, a small taste.

What do the wine gurus have to say about this one? Herbaceous and spicy with a hint of tartness.

Damn good.

I go in for another sip as Hayden walks through the door, holding two plates in one hand a basket of garlic bread in the other. Next to the sliding glass door, he effortlessly flips on a switch, illuminating the deck with large-bulb string lights. The mood immediately switches from playful to romantic, the yellow lighting casting a soft glow over us.

Past the strong and powerful fa?ade of this hockey player is an intimate and romantic man, with a smirk that can kill, and a stare so devastating, I’m not sure if my heart can take any other surprises.

Placing our plates on the table and the basket between us, he sits in his seat and turns toward me, his hand going to a wayward hair of mine, pushing it behind my ear, his hand lingering on my face. “Thanks for coming over tonight. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since our lunch in the cafeteria.”

“Yeah?” I ask like a dweeb, unsure of what to say to this honest and sweet man.

“Yeah.” Pressing his thumb against my cheek, his eyes fixed on mine, I feel the breath from my lungs slowly evaporate as our bodies inch closer.

Eyes move from mine to my mouth and up again.

Lips are licked.

Fingers wrap around my neck, gently pressing me forward.

My breath hitches.

My body tingles.

My fingers suddenly feeling numb.

Another glance to my lips.

Another inch forward.

Another lick to his lips.

He’s going to kiss me. Hayden Holmes is going to kiss me . . .

Chest rising and falling, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his thick pecs, I await the press of his lips to mine, but just when I think he’s going to close in on the final inches keeping us apart, he clears his throat and slowly pulls away leaving me . . . yearning.

Picking up his fork and knife, he stares at his plate and clears his throat again. “Sorry about that.”

Sorry? Why the hell is he sorry?

Looking frustrated, he sets his silverware back on the table and plants one of his hands firmly in his hair where he pulls on the messy strands. “There’s something about you, Adalyn.” Head dipped, he turns slightly to look at me. “You make me a little crazy with those lips of yours, so pink, so goddamn plump. I want to taste them.”

“Wh-what’s holding you back?” Why am I stuttering? When have I ever been nervous around men? It almost feels like this is the first time I’ve ever . . . cared about a man, truly cared to get to know him, to be with him.

Hands folded in my lap, I turn my attention to my pasta, nervous about his answer.

With his index finger, he hooks my chin so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “What’s holding me back?” He shakes his head as if he’s in disbelief. “Those lips are lethal, Adalyn, and I know the minute I get a taste of them I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“So . . . it’s not because you don’t want to?”

His brows pinch together. “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

Hating my question and the insecurity that slipped in there, I shrug my shoulders. “Forget that last question.” Picking up my fork, I say, “Let’s eat this delicious pasta.”

Swirling the pasta and sauce together, mixing in the parmesan cheese Hayden grated on top, I fork a few pasta spirals and bring the bite to my lips when I realize Hayden is still staring at me intently.

Fork poised mere inches from my mouth, I ask, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, you can.” Reaching over to my lap, he takes my hand in his and fuses our palms together. Picking up his fork as well, he gathers some pasta and says, “There, that’s better.”

With the lights above, the sounds of the nightfall surrounding us, we hold hands and eat a meal I don’t think I’ll ever forget. And it’s not only because Hayden made it for me, but because it’s one of the first times I’ve ever felt self-worth from a man who wasn’t one of my brothers.