/Esme/
Dinner should’ve been easy. It should’ve been light, simple and boring. Just a meal with my fiancé and his father.
But nothing about Gerald was simple. I walked into the dining room with Dave’s hand at the small of my back and a storm raging in my chest. Gerald was already seated at the head of the long glass table, wine in hand, looking like sin in a fitted black shirt, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled high enough to show those veined forearms that had no business being so distracting.
When Dave and I tried to sit far from him he insisted we sit closer to him.
His eyes met mine and lingered dark, amused, and hungry.
I dropped my gaze quickly and took the seat across from him, next to Dave, who was humming some tune and grinning like the world was perfect.
The waitstaff move
