He laughs, lacing our fingers together. We both look at our hands on the table, moving them around in the candlelight. His palm envelops mine, the roughness of his in contrast to the softness of mine. He brings them together and kisses them.
“You know, since I got hurt, I’ve struggled,” he says, clearing his throat and sitting our hands on the table again. “I’ve been a little lost. I mean, I play baseball. It’s what I do. Or what I’ve always done,” he says, his voice distant for a split second. “I was really having a hard time. But since I got off that elevator and chased you to your office, things haven’t seemed so bad.”
“You have to do what you can for your shoulder and let it be,” I say. But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize that’s not what he meant.
“Life hasn’t seemed so bad,” he clarifies. “Not that it seemed bad before, but the entire thing was getting old. The parties. The trips. All of it,” he says, his cheeks blushing a little.
“You mean the naked pictures?”
He bursts out laughing. “Those too. I shut my ‘baseball phone’ off, as a matter of fact. But it was like cutting off a part of me and I didn’t know how to fill my time.”
“So you’ve filled it with what?”
“Things,” he grins. “Ideas. Thoughts.”
The waitress comes in again and sets a plate of food in front of each of us, refills our glasses, and disappears.
The moonlight shines behind Lincoln, almost illuminating him. A cool breeze trickles in through the open glass doors, yet we’re not cold. I’m not sure if it’s from the excitement of being with him or if there’s a heater somewhere. Either way, it’s so comfortable, so cozy tucked in this little room that I don’t want to leave. I just want to sit here and stare at this handsome man.
He slices through his steak, spearing a piece. “Want to try it?”
I don’t really want to, but I’m not turning down the opportunity for him to feed me. “Sure,” I say, opening my mouth a touch and leaning forward. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the fork extends over the candles in the center.
My lips wrap around the silverware, my eyes focused on his. His pupils dilate as I pull back slowly, running my tongue along the bottom of my lip.
“Keep it up,” he warns, resting his fork on the side of his plate.
“And what?”
“And we will jump to dessert right here, right now.”
The authority in his tone goes right to the apex of my thighs. I can feel my muscles pull together, my panties dampening. “Promise?”
He pulls his lip between his teeth, chuckling mischievously. “Careful what you wish for, babe.”
“I’m pretty certain I know exactly what I’m wishing for,” I say, taunting him. “It involves your tongue running up my—”
“Stop,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Even if we leave now, it’ll take ten minutes to deal with the check, and I’m going to need to get you out of here in way less than that.”
Smiling, I spear a tomato and bring it to my lips. “I’d call for the check now then.”
“Damn you, woman,” he says, jumping to his feet. The door opens and shuts behind me, and for the first time since walking in this room, I take a long, deep breath.
I both know what’s coming and have no idea what’s coming. Where will we go? What will he do? All I know is that I want the answers to both those questions. And if it fucks me in the long run, so be it. I just need fucked right now.
The sound of the door opening rolls through the room and his hands are on my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“You paid that fast?”
“Fuck yeah, I did. Want to follow me to my house or just ride with me?”
Getting to my feet and grabbing the vase, I look at the most dazzling man I’ve ever seen. “I’ll be riding enough later. I’ll follow you.”
Lincoln
“Slow down,” I remind myself. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see her puttering behind me as slow as molasses. I can’t help but laugh at her little law abiding self.
My fingers tap against the steering wheel as I hum a along with the radio. I have a rule about bringing girls to my house. I simply don’t do it. I go to theirs or get a hotel room because you never know what’s going to go down after it goes down. But the thought of having Dani in my house seems right.
I’m scared as fuck. I’ve had relationships before. Serious ones, even. I’m good at them, if I do say so myself. My mom and sisters taught me a thing or two about girls. Even with my past girlfriends, I’ve never felt like this. Before, they did their thing and I did mine. I’d send flowers when I needed to or make sure they had a cute dress to wear to an event, but that was it. There was no desire to actually get to know them. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure there was much about them to know.
Dani is not that way. She makes it easier to be with her than to be without her. She’s not needy and I love that. She asks about things, but not like she’s digging for information. It’s like she actually gives a fuck.
We’ve talked late into the night every night this week and when we hang up, I want to call her right back. I tell her stories about my brothers and sisters and growing up in Savannah. She tells me stories about volunteering at a children’s hospital in college and how she hopes to do something bigger with her life than just a nine-to-five.
I love that. I respect that. I admire that.
I admire her.
I might be screwed.
Danielle
HE’S WAITING ON ME IN the driveway, leaning against the side of his charcoal grey SUV, his keys twirling in the air. “You are the slowest driver ever,” he laughs as I climb out of my car.
“I had to exceed the speed limit by fifteen miles per hour to almost keep up with you.” I smack him when I reach him. “What’s the hurry, Landry?”
His arms fall around me, his hands locking at the small of my back. He pulls me to him. “You are the hurry,” he whispers. “Next time we ride together.”
We exchange a look and I read exactly what he’s saying: that he doesn’t want to rush this, even though he does. I’m feeling the same way. The ride over gave me a second to regain some control and I want to keep that. At least for a bit.
He laces his fingers through mine and leads me to the front door. A key switches in the lock and we step inside.
“Bachelor pad much?” I comment, taking in the interior. It’s stark white walls and light gold carpeting mixed in with dark hardwood and bright white tile. It’s expensive with all the trendy, newer hallmarks yet lacks a feel of being lived in. Even the pictures dotting the walls look like they were hung up there solely to break the vacant feeling.
He shrugs. “I don’t live here much. I’m on the road half the year and the other half, I’m usually out with friends or visiting my family.” He shrugs again.
“There are no personal touches at all,” I note. “This doesn’t feel like you, Landry.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What feels like me?”
“Well,” I gulp, looking around again. “Something more masculine. Warmer colors, maybe. I expected art, for some reason.”