Samantha
Colt and I are the first to arrive, and the hostess leads us to the same table we shared during our first dinner together. He pulls out a chair and helps me sit, then takes the one next to me, resting his arm on the back of my chair so he can run his fingers along my arm.
It makes me confident his favorite steakhouse was the right choice for this dinner, because he doesn’t act as guarded here as he did at the food trucks.
“Tell me about your visit with Sawyer while we wait.” I lean into his touch. He didn’t get to finish the story when we spoke the other day.
“Well, you know she wasn’t all that keen on the game idea.” He spins the roll of silverware on the table with his free hand.
“Didn’t she ask if you got a concussion when you suggested it?” I smile, hoping to lighten the
