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Not that I’m letting Michelle’s craziness get to me. Nope, not in the least.
Nor am I thinking about how good Bruce looks all dressed up tonight, or how hot he looks all sweaty at practice in baggy athletic shorts, or how sexy he was when he delivered that watermelon water with his abs on display. And I’m definitely not thinking about how his kisses alone have led me to take matters into my own hands, even after he fingered me to that earth-shattering orgasm.
Nope, just a date. Dinner and talking. That’s it.
I don’t believe it, either. But a girl’s gotta have goals. They’ve been my saving grace over the last few years and might keep me making good choices for the next few hours.
“Stay there,” he instructs me as he gets out. He comes around, opening my door and helping me down. He’s not doing it because this is a date. Bruce always did things like that. He might look like a big beast of a man, but Mrs. Martha taught him right and he’s got manners and always treated me well. It’s good to know that hasn’t changed, especially since my appreciation for it has grown.
He leads me to the back of the truck and holds out a hand for me to wait while he gets to work. In minutes, he’s turned the bed of the truck into a luxurious spread with a thick egg crate cushion covered with a soft blanket. He moves a cooler from the backseat into the bed and then examines his work. It looks pretty, nice and cozy.
Satisfied, he turns and offers me a hand. I take it, and he pulls me close, his hands going to my waist. “Hop up.”
He helps me sit on the tailgate, and then his hands catch my right foot, where he unfastens the ankle strap of my sandal. It feels oddly intimate, and my breath catches. He notices, his thumb tracing along my arch before he slips the left one off too.
“Scoot back.” He lifts his chin toward the cab, indicating for me to climb into the truck bed. He shucks his boots too and follows me. I notice that even his socks are pristine tonight, and it makes me all the more tingly inside.
Yes, I’m getting turned on by socks. I really do need help.
“Hungry?” he rumbles, and I don’t think he’s talking about those sandwiches, but my stomach answers anyway. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He opens the cooler, handing me a thick foil square. He sets one down for himself too and then pours wine into plastic cups.
“Ooh, fancy,” I tease, holding up the cup before taking a small sip. “Good, though.”
“Katelyn told me what to buy,” he admits. “She works at the resort and knows all about that stuff. But I have other talents.”
He’s flirting again. I make a quick call that I like it and play along. “You do have some big talents.”
He seems pleased with my favorable response, which breaks the tension as we both grin and dive into the sandwiches.
Somehow, it all goes okay. I don’t say anything weird, he doesn’t press me, and we talk about everything and nothing, laughing and flirting, the thread of connection that had been snapped between us comfortably knitting itself back together strand by strand as the sun goes down and the sky turns indigo. Stars begin to twinkle, and the air gets the slightest chill, celebrating that fall is coming soon.
Having thought of everything, Bruce grabs a light blanket and lays it over our laps before pulling me to his side and wrapping an arm around me. He’s a big furnace, warming me instantly. Though that might not be entirely because he runs so hot but rather because his body is hard to my softness, making me all too aware of him.
He seems unaffected, or at least is pretending to be, as he simply snuggles with me, eyes on the sky.
After a while, I can feel his arms tense around me, hugging me tight. “I missed this,” he whispers into my hair, and goosebumps break out along my skin. It’s a confession on his part, highlighting how amazing the evening has been. It was always comfortable and easy with Bruce, and tonight feels like we slipped right back into that groove together.
That time and space where there was an us. Or maybe where there is an us.
I owe him more than I’ve given so far. I know that, even as I loathe dipping into the past. I have fought those demons into boxes, their own personal prison cells. I wrapped them in layers of tape and shoved the stacks of them away into the recesses of my mind. But for him, maybe I can take off a single layer of tape, not on the biggest, ugliest monsters, but on the little ones? He deserves that.
