I’m going to kill her for this. She knows what happened between Hawke and me way back when and is putting us together on purpose. Forced into a car alone isn’t exactly how I want to reconnect. Not after so long and not after the way we left things when we broke up.
But I’ve learned one thing since arriving in New Jersey. You deny a woman who is eight months pregnant, you do so at your own peril.
I glance at Hawke and can tell he is as horrified as me. Resigned to our fate, I give a weak smile. “Sure thing, Kate.” Using as much courage as I can manage, I turn to the beautiful man I used to know intimately. “Let’s go. I don’t have a car. If you drive, I’ll bring up Gino’s on my GPS.”
Hawke reacts slowly, obviously a little shell-shocked by the sudden turn in events. I can tell his mind is racing to come up with a way out of going. He must come up empty, because all he says is, “Okay.” Without another word, Hawke fishes the keys to his car from his pocket and heads out the front door.
I glance at Kate, frowning when she raises a calculating eyebrow at me. You little sneak. “We’ll be right back,” I grumble.
“Make sure you get extra garlic bread,” Dax calls out as I reluctantly walk outside to reunite with my past.
The tension in the car is heavy, awkward, and totally foreign to me. Hawke and I always got on so well and conversation came easily—when we weren’t fighting, that is. I study his handsome profile as he concentrates too hard on following the directions floating up from my phone.
“Turn right in five hundred feet.”
This is awful. My need to fill the silence overtakes my professional training to let people speak at their own pace, when they’re ready.
I take a deep breath and go for it. “So…”
He licks his lips, stopping to pull that sexy lip ring into his mouth. Hawke worries it between his teeth, waiting for me to continue.
And my brain goes completely blank.
So much for fixing the awkwardness. Instead, I made it a thousand times worse. Aaaaand I’m still staring.
“Sooooo?” Hawke asks, curious enough to hear what I was going to say to prompt me out of my stupor.
Only… “I have no idea what I was going to say.”
Hawke laughs, his lips pulling back to reveal two perfect rows of teeth. “Good to know. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what to say to you either.”
“Oh my god. I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I admit, then immediately groan at my repeated foot-in-mouth behavior. I drop my head into my hands, my face blazing hot.
“Hey.” Hawke’s warm, tattooed hand lands on my knee, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating back to his side of the car. Desire flares and I shiver from his touch, praying he didn’t feel my response before pulling away. How can I still feel this way?
“What?” I ask warily.
“We were friends once, right?” Hawke worries his lip ring between his teeth again, a sure sign he’s nervous.
“We were,” I respond, my voice husky. I clear my throat, hoping to hide the lust with a cough.
“I’m game for a do-over if you are.” His eyes dart to mine briefly before returning to the road.
A hint of insecurity flashes across his beautiful face and everything that didn’t work between us—all the butting heads and snapping at each other—falls to the wayside. If he can put it behind him, surely I can too?
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Hawke’s hand moves back across the center console, hesitant, hovering over my leg. Are his fingers trembling? I suck in a breath and hold it, waiting to see what he does next.
“You have reached your destination.”
Hawke jerks his hand back to his side to yank the keys out of the ignition. I blink, looking at our surroundings for the first time since we got in the car. We’re in a parking space in a rundown strip mall. In front of us is a red and green neon sign that proclaims Gino’s has the best pizza in all of northern New Jersey.
Knowing how many first and second generation Italians live around here, I’d suspect Gino is being a tad optimistic.
Hawke holds the door for me as we enter the restaurant. The shy smile he gives me has my heart aching to reach out to the sad, tortured man I remember. I forgot how fragile he really is underneath all those shields—the tattoos, the glasses, the piercings in his lip, tongue, ears, and eyebrow.
I hope I’m not making a mistake by letting him in again. I can’t save him. I can’t fix him. I learned those lessons the hard way seven years ago.