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I stare at his face, not sure whose turn it is to speak. This is the first time I'm seriously toying with the idea of considering this as an actual date.
True, he is too hot to be mine. Hell, he is too hot to be anyone's. But weirder things have happened. I could probably name a few of them once I step out of the lusty mist I'm intoxicated with.
"So Shane...?" He leaves the question floating. This time I don't hesitate.
"Shane's just a friend. Honest to God, nothing less, but nothing more either."
Ty's eyes cling into mine, desperately seeking the truth.
“Good.” He nods once and swivels, leading the way back to the Hummer. “Now, get into my car before I do something that’ll get us both arrested.”
***
Recipe for a successful second date with a hot MMA fighter you're equally scared of and lust after. Ingredients:
One girl who blocks away thoughts about other girls, particularly ones named Nicole.
One guy who blocks away suspicions about hunky, hetero BFFs, particularly ones named Shane.
One cozy Mexican restaurant.
A problematic trio: Brain, Hormones and Heart, who are surprisingly well behaved and in harmony, for a change.
The Mexican restaurant is on the outskirts of Concord, and we sit in a far corner, on a padded red bench, eating, laughing and teasing each other playfully.
Ty sticks to water, salad and chewing gum. “Don’t worry,” he laughs when I guiltily push and shove my veggie burrito around my plate. “You and I have a binge-eating date in an all-you-can-eat Mexican grill right after the fight.”
We talk about Nana Marty and her life story, hold hands, gossip about the different characters coming to the XWL gym and confess what our dreams are.
"Let's say I retire when I'm around thirty-eight. I'm being optimistic here, because usually accumulated injuries mean you're lucky to make it to thirty-five." He rubs the back of his neck. My eyes flutter when I remember that's exactly where I wrapped my arms around just an hour ago when we kissed. "I hope I can save enough money to open up my own gym. But I'm more interested in kids."
I cock a surprised eyebrow.
Ty laughs. "In training kids, that is. I don't know, it seems more fulfilling. Lots of douchebags want to learn how to fight for all the wrong reasons."
"Like there's a right reason," I grumble, but drop the subject when I notice his expression is still warm and open.
"What's your dream, Barbie?"
"The immediate one is for you to stop calling me that." I bite my inner cheek, thinking about it. He deserves my honesty, but I'm not sure he'd make sense of it anyway. "I don't know what I want to do," I admit. "I want to travel the world, I want to learn how to speak French...I want to be happy."
God, this sounds so stupid. I cover my face, peeking through my fingers to watch his reaction. What kind of loser has no idea what they want to do with their life at twenty-three?
Moi, that's who. Well, at least that's one less word to learn in French.
Ty peels my hand from my face gently, enveloping it with his. "That's some deep shit," he says, and I allow myself to breath again.
It is...?
"It is?"
"Yeah, like that John Lennon quote. When his school teacher once asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he said happy, and she said that he didn't understand the question, and he answered that she didn't understand life." He paused, frowning. "I'm fucking this quote up, I think. Let's look it up on the Internet."
When he fishes for his phone, it's my turn to reach for him and hold his hand in mine. "No, you didn't fuck it up. I got it, and it's perfect. Thank you."
***
Ty insists on paying for dinner, and after a long argument in front of a cringing waitress, who shamelessly checked him out, I finally agree. We leave the restaurant with our fingers entwined and walk to a nearby diner, where I consume a slice of chocolate fudge cake the size of a mature seal, and he chuckles into his closed fist at how cute I am.
It’s weird how Ty shows me this different side of him, the sweetheart part, the kiss underneath the bleachers guy, who brings your mom flowers on her birthday and remembers shit like your first pet’s name and when you get your period. I’ve never seen him so at ease. Usually, he avoids showing those cutie dimples at any cost. Tonight, he is flashing them like Miley Cyrus at a nudist beach.
When the date is over, we roll back to the busy street and he hugs me from behind. He enfolds me completely, tilts my chin up with his finger and locks his lips on mine. Every time we kiss a jolt of warmth flies straight down my spine. When he breaks away, he strokes my face softly.
