He grinned.
“Roxie, relax. We’re goin’ downtown and walkin’ off the food stupor. That’s it.”
I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.
I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.
I supposed I could go downtown, see a bit of Denver, walk off the food stupor.
“Oh, al right,” I gave in.
He got even closer. Then, I kid you not, he rubbed his nose against mine and then he looked me in the eyes and my breath caught. “It’s after that you need to worry about.” Shit.
I was in trouble.
*
We rode the light rail downtown and Hank walked me through Denver. I wore his jacket and at first, he held my hand. Then, he dropped my hand and pul ed me into his side with his arm around my shoulders. I al owed this because I decided that to get through the night, I was going to pretend to be someone else. I was going to pretend to be the Roxanne Gisel e Logan before Bil y Flynn, who hadn’t yet made a stupid decision that fucked up her life. The Roxanne Gisel e Logan who deserved to be out on a date with a tal , handsome guy named Hank Nightingale.
I was going to give myself this one night of pretend.
“You can walk in those shoes?” Hank asked.
“I can play basketbal in these shoes,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. I’d been wearing high heels since my Mom bought me those little, pink, plastic kiddie go-aheads when I was five.
“Your feet hurt, let me know.”
Shit.
He was a good guy, through and through.
He was a good guy, through and through.
We walked down 16th Street Mal and the streets were packed with people even though it was Monday night. Bars were hopping, restaurants were jammed, lights were shining, it was gorgeous and alive. He walked me through Writer Square and down to Wazee Supper Club where he bought me a drink and we talked some more.
We were heading back up 16th Street Mal and I knew the date was about to come to a close. It was getting late and Hank had to go and do good deeds tomorrow. As for me, I had to sort out my life.
Then, I saw the horse drawn carriages.
I loved horses.
Okay, it was safe to say I loved anything with fur.
“Just a sec,” I said to Hank and pul ed away from his arm around my shoulders and walked to the driver.
“Can I pet your horse?” I asked him with a smile.
“Sure,” the driver replied.
I walked up to the horse and ran my hand down his satin nose. “Hey, big fel a,” I whispered to him. He lifted his head with a jerk then settled and nuzzled my neck. I couldn’t help but let out a low giggle, mainly because it tickled.
“Likes you,” the driver said.
“I smel like food,” I told him.
“Likes food too.”
I kept stroking and Hank al owed it for a little while and then pul ed me away. The horse turned his head to watch me go (so I gave him a little wave) and I started up the sidewalk but Hank guided me toward the carriage.
“What are you…?” I started to ask.
“Get in, we’re gonna ride,” Hank said.
I stared at him, then I stared at the driver.
“No,” I whispered.
I couldn’t take it. An evening with delicious food at a romantic restaurant, wine, good conversation, a walk through the streets of Denver wearing Hank’s jacket, now a carriage ride. It was too much. I couldn’t withstand it. I’d never been in a horse drawn carriage. I’d begun to believe I’d never have anything romantic happen to me, except in a scary Bonnie and Clyde type way where I’d end up riddled with bul ets if Bil y’s stink settled on me.
Bil y had never taken me on a horse drawn carriage ride.
Bil y had promised a mil ion romantic promises but he’d never even bought me flowers. Hel , none of my boyfriends ever bought me flowers.
“What’s the matter?” Hank asked when my body locked and refused to move.
I felt it happening. I hated it when it happened without warning. My nose was stinging and I was trying to fight it but I just knew I was going to cry.
Hank turned me to him and looked down at me.
My nostrils were quivering.
Shit!
There was nothing worse than the nostril quiver.
I dropped my head.
His hand came to my neck. He cocked his head and bent low to look at me. “Jesus, Roxie, what’s the matter?”
“Let’s just go,” I whispered.
“She okay?” the driver asked.
“Sunshine…” Hank said softly, his hand at my neck sliding around my shoulders and his other hand going around my waist, pul ing me to him.
“Let’s just go,” I repeated but it was kind of muffled against his chest because my head was stil tilted down and my face was pressed against him.
“You want my hankie?” the driver asked.
One of Hank’s hands went away then came back to my chin and he tilted my head up. This was unfortunate considering the fact that I was now out-and-out crying.