Wood (A True Lover's Story #2) - A.E. Via Page 0,82

if he was doing it mindlessly while he flipped his menu to the seaside and farm favorites page. “Now where is the thickest, juiciest steak they got?”

They ate their food with bits of conversation thrown in between, but everything was so delicious they didn’t want to risk any getting cold. Wood ate all of his bacon-wrapped scallops and over half of his sixteen-ounce rib eye. Where in the hell he put all of that food Trent would never know. He pushed away the last couple of bites of his own blackened red snapper, unable to consume even one more fork of the buttery fish.

“I know two big guys like yourselves saved room for dessert?” their waiter said with a teasing glint in his blue eyes. “You can’t possibly come all the way down here to pass on our famous vanilla bean panna cotta.”

Trent frowned. “A who’a-whatta?”

Wood grinned slowly, then leaned into Trent’s side. “It’s an Italian dessert, like a creamy, thick pudding,” he purred in his ear.

Trent adjusted in his seat, hoping Sean didn’t notice how hot he was getting. He could feel the dampness along his temples, his body on fire everywhere Wood was touching him. Trent could even smell Wood’s sexiness over the aroma of their dishes. “It’s up to you if you want dessert. I’m stuffed,” he managed to say.

“Mmmm,” Wood agreed. He eyed him for a moment before he spoke to their server without breaking his and Trent’s eye contact. “I think I’ll pass on the panna cotta. I have something sweet already at home.”

Trent had to clear his throat. “Can I get the check, please?”

“Of course.” The waiter pointed to Wood’s plate. “I can box the remaining for you if you’d like.”

Wood patted his flat stomach. “No, I’m finished. Thanks.”

The server continued to clear their table. “You guys come back and see us soon.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Wood whispered when Sean was out of earshot. He lifted the cross resting around Trent’s neck, his knuckles brushing gently against his sternum. “Do you have religion, Trent?”

Trent dropped his eyes to his cross. “If you’re asking do I believe in God, then the answer is yes.”

“Do you go to church?” Wood asked cautiously.

Trent almost snorted. “Have you once seen me go to church since you’ve been living with me?”

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“All right then.” Trent chuckled, but his laugh faded when he noticed Wood didn’t appear to find his response funny.

“Are you against church or worshipping God?” Wood released his necklace.

“No, of course not.”

Wood was staring out at the empty beach when the waiter returned with their check. Trent quickly whipped out several twenties and slid it inside the billfold. When Sean left around the corner, Trent pressed his chest against Wood’s back, idly massaging his big shoulders as he spoke softly against his ear. “I know you come from a religious home. If you want to go to church, Wood, then I’ll go. I guess I can experience something like that with you.”

Wood reached up and removed Trent’s hand where it lay on his bicep. He practically melted as Wood brought it to his mouth and placed a long appreciative kiss in the center of Trent’s rough palm. He dipped his head and nudged Wood against his temple, hoping he hadn’t insulted him by making light of his faith. Somehow, they’d infused themselves together again at the first opportunity, their bodies connected and lips close to doing the same. “I don’t want this thing between us—whatever it may be—to be one-sided. I care about what you want too, y’know. So, yeah. Let’s go to church.”

Wood fully turned to look at him with an expression of shock and maybe a little confusion.

“Stop gaping at me like that. I’m not as selfish as Bishop and Mike say I am.”

“You’re not selfish at all, Trent.”

Trent nodded, then thought of something. “You will make sure we’re home before Sunday kickoff though, right? I mean, it’s the playoffs.”

Wood shook his head, his gaze slightly amused. “Baby, you are nothing like they said you were.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Wood

Instead of taking a left when they walked out of the restaurant doors, Wood took Trent’s hand and led him the few feet toward the boardwalk.

“The truck is the other way,” Trent said, pointing across Atlantic Avenue.

“I know that.” Wood wrapped his arm around Trent’s shoulder, smirking at the annoyance he saw in his eyes. “What’s the rush, huh? It’s early.”

Trent shivered as a gust of chill blew through them. “It’s nine thirty, and it’s like