So, I used my connections and arranged what I hope is a romantic dinner, just us, where we can be alone.
I open my building’s door that leads to the rooftop and lead her through the bar that serves the patrons on Colts game days, finding her hand and leading her out to the open area.
“You guys get access to this? I always wondered what it’s like to watch a game from here.”
“Me too.” We both laugh. “Although I might be able to find out soon.”
She squeezes my hand. “I just know Shane Whitaker will come to his senses.”
“I hope so.”
I open the doors to the small concrete platform before you can take the stairs to go up to the bleachers.
“Deck,” she says, stepping to my side. “It’s beautiful.”
“Just so we’re clear, my idea, not my execution.”
She lays her cheek on my shoulder. “I love it.”
I lead her to the table for two with a black tablecloth, candles lit under hurricanes, and our meals already waiting. “We’re alone, just so you know.”
“I feel like you might be thinking something dirty to tell me that.”
I slide out the chair, and she smooths out her dress and sits.
“You are teasing me with that dress.”
“It’s practically a sundress.” She tilts her head. “And what about you? Slacks, a V-neck shirt?”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter what the other wears, we just want to tear the other one’s clothes off.”
She laughs, knowing it’s probably true. These past few weeks with the away games, we definitely mastered our sexting, and I thanked God baseball players get their own rooms.
“Well, you look very sexy tonight, Decker.” She says it in a polite voice like she’s complimenting the chicken.
“And you look stunning.”
She smiles, her face glowing in the candlelight.
I take the silver cover off her dish. “I can’t cook like you, but if memory serves, this was your favorite.”
“Spinach and garlic?” she asks, perusing the heart-shaped deep-dish pizza.
“Yes. Your own personal pan.”
She peers over at mine. “And what do you have?”
I lift my lid to see my usual thin-crust onion and green pepper shaped in a heart, which I didn’t ask for. Nice of the pizza place to make it special.
“I never understood why you don’t like deep-dish.”
“Too much cheese.”
We both pick up a piece. “And just so you know, you’re outnumbered. Hazel likes everything I like. I’ve already brainwashed her.” She smiles right before she takes a bite.
“I can convert her.” I take a bite of my thin crust and then realize I never even poured our wine, so I put my pizza down and open the bottle before pouring us both a glass.
“No, it’s ingrained now. Sorry.” She shrugs. “Maybe the next one.” She hurries and takes another bite, concentrating on her plate.
