“Not because I’m trying to make Camille jealous, if that’s what you’re getting at. They love each other. She’s in my past.”

“Is she?” I asked before I could stop myself. I braced for his reply.

He looked at me for a long time. “Why?”

I swallowed. That is the real question, isn’t it? Why do I want to know? I cleared my throat, chuckling nervously. “I don’t know why. I just want to know.”

He breathed a laugh and looked down. “You can love someone without wanting to be with them. Just like you can want to be with someone before you love them.”

He looked up at me, a spark in his eye.

From my peripheral, I saw that Sawyer was standing next to our table, waiting with Tessa, who had a tray in her hand.

Thomas didn’t look away from me, and I couldn’t look away from him.

“Can I, uh…excuse me,” Sawyer said.

I blinked a few times and looked up. “Oh. Yes, sorry.” I stood to let him by, and then I returned to my seat, trying not to shrink under Thomas’s unfaltering stare.

Tessa placed the appetizers on the table along with three small plates. She filled Thomas’s half-empty glass, the dark merlot splashing inside, but I put my hand over mine before she could pour.

Sawyer lifted his glass to his lips, and an awkward silence hung over the table while the rest of the restaurant hummed with a steady chatter, broken up only by intermittent laughter.

“Did you tell her about Camille?” Sawyer asked.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my mouth suddenly felt parched. I gulped the last of the red liquid in my glass.

Thomas bared his teeth and squinted his eyes, looking regretful. “Did you tell Tessa about that rash?”

Sawyer nearly choked on his wine. Tessa tried to think of something to say but failed, and after a few bounces, she retreated to the kitchen.

“Why? Why are you such an asshole?” Sawyer said.

Thomas chuckled, and I fought a smile but lost, giggling into my water glass.

Sawyer began to laugh, too, and he shook his head before slathering his slice of pita with hummus. “Well played, Maddox. Well played.”

Thomas looked up at me from under his brow. “How are you getting home, Liis?”

“You’re driving me.”

He nodded once. “I didn’t want to assume, but I’m glad you agree.”

Chapter Ten

“THANK YOU,” I said quietly.

I tried not to look at the sliver of beautifully tanned skin between Thomas’s belt and the bottom hem of his white T-shirt. He was hanging the painting, one of the first things I’d purchased after training. It was a canvas print, wrapped around wood, and it was too heavy to be wall decor.