302 Forbidden Ave. (A Cherry Falls Romance)

Once she was out of the truck with the door shut behind her, I couldn’t move, could only stare down at her and feel something swirl around me. It had the hairs on my arms standing on end and my body tightening almost painfully.

“Ready?” That lone word was gruff as I forced it past my lips.

She nodded and licked her lips before glancing away, but she wasn’t fast enough that I didn’t catch the color deepening her high cheekbones.

We headed toward the front doors, and I picked up my pace as I reached out to grab the handle and pull the door open for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured and ducked her head again, the long fall of her dark hair becoming this curtain that obscured her face from me. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and tucked the strands behind her ear, my fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek, then sliding over the shell of her delicate little ear. She snapped her head up, and our gazes clashed, locked. I took a sharp, sudden breath in and forced myself not to fuck this up. Taking liberties with Amelia this early, thinking I had any right to touch her, even if it was putting a lock of her gorgeous hair behind her ear, might be offensive to her and crossing lines.

She walked ahead of me, and I followed her in, the instant sound of ’50s era music filtering overhead through speakers. Virgin Street Diner was like a blast from the past, with a ’50s theme that made you think you’d just been transported back to another time. The booths were outfitted with vinyl gray-and-red seats. The tables were stainless steel, the flooring black-and-white-checkered tile.

The wait staff were decked out with the men wearing black slacks, a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, red bowtie, and a red-and-white-striped apron. The hats atop their heads were white with red edging and looked like those folded paper ones.

The women were dressed in red one-piece dresses with white Peter Pan collars, the aprons crisp and white. I could see several of them chewing and popping gum as they flitted to tables, dropping off elaborate-looking shakes and platters of burgers and fries.

We put our names on the waitlist and stepped off to the side. The music and conversations were loud, so actually trying to talk to Amelia was next to impossible, not unless I shouted to her, or got intimately close—which I wasn’t opposed to. I actually felt my body hardening at the very thought.

I leaned against the wall and didn’t cross that line. But I couldn’t stop looking at her, and when she’d glance up at me and give me a small, innocent, and shy little smile, it took a hell of a lot of willpower—the kind I didn't even know I had—to not touch her.

I glanced around the restaurant, trying to look anywhere but at Amelia, because I knew it was fucking excessive. I let my eyes scan over the waiting area and saw two guys who were probably a few years younger than me staring openly at Amelia. I narrowed my eyes and ground my teeth, my hackles rising. Straightening off the wall, I shifted closer to her, our arms brushing together lightly. And my focus was trained on those two assholes who were blatantly eye-fucking her.

One of them glanced away from my date to look at me, and I didn’t hide the murderous anger that was no doubt covering my expression. This was more than jealousy. This was me feeling like I needed to stake my fucking claim.

The asshole’s eyes widened, and I pointedly looked at his friend, who was still staring at Amelia. His buddy nudged him, and when they looked at each other, then glanced at me, I bared my teeth.

What am I, some fucking feral beast?

Well, for Amelia, I sure as fuck felt like it. Both their eyes were wide for a moment before they looked away.

Smart.

I wanted to wrap my arm around her and pull Amelia in close, but I kept my hands curled into tight fists at my sides. It was only five minutes we had to wait before we were escorted to our table. I felt my jealousy still front and center, and I was looking at every male in the room and making sure they weren’t looking at her.

Because she’s mine.

We were seated at a two-seater table in the back, one that was a little more secluded. I was thankful for that. I had my back to the wall, which had Amelia seated in front of me, her back to the crowd. I wanted it like that, so she had her full attention on me and so no fuckers could check her out, not without me shooting daggers at them.

I’d never been a jealous man, never felt proprietary toward another person, but with Amelia, I felt all kinds of things that were foreign and strange… and so fucking good and powerful.