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"Hmm."
"You're doing it again."
He laughs. "Maybe."
We stop at a red light. I turn to him. Stare into his dark eyes. I can't quite figure them out.
This is a date. A date he invited me on. But he's insisting it's not.
Maybe he's as terrified of commitment as I am.
His eyes are inviting. Dark. Deep. Beautiful.
Ahem.
"You are not your mistakes." The light turns green. He takes my hand and leads me onto the street. "You messaged me about it a while ago."
"I was working up my nerve."
"It takes a lot of people a while."
"And you?"
He laughs. "Not anymore."
"Now it's more like I have an hour to kill, let's find some free skin?"
"Close. But not quite. That no swimming shit is serious."
"And you're a swimmer?"
"It's not obvious?"
No, it is. He's carefree. Tan. Toned. Broad-shouldered. "You're a surfer?"
"I know." He flips his wavy hair. "Not a blond. I defy stereotypes."
"Are you from Southern California?"
"You won't believe me."
"I'm from the Valley. Try me."
"Ah."
"This again?"
He nods to the coffee shop on our left. It's all white with a blue sign and curvy letters. I recognize the chain. It's from San Francisco and each iced coffee is tiny, expensive, and to die for.
"I'm going to have to call off this non-date."
"You like it." He moves into line behind a guy with hipster glasses. "Besides, I'm buying your coffee."
"But it's not a date?"
"Call it what you want."
The guy in front of us finishes his order. We move forward. Walker orders the fancy black iced coffee. I order the fancy sweetened one.
