He weaves his fingers into mine and holds my hand on my thigh. Bold move, but one I’m more than comfortable with. I want to be close to him. I’ve spent three years thinking he wanted nothing to do with me, so his overt affection warms me like stepping inside after being outside shoveling snow for a few hours.
My skin tingles. I opted for jeans, boots, and a shirt. Casual, but at least three steps up from my daily mom-wear. Raffi’s wearing jeans and a button down. He looks handsome as hell, and there’s a part of me that wants him to find a gravel road and make all kinds of mess in Apollo’s back seat.
But we need to talk, reconnect.
As we wait at a red light, Luke Combs’s “Hurricane” comes onto the radio. I haven’t heard Raffi sing before, but the more he gets into the song, the more I realize he can really carry a tune.
“What?” That lopsided grin is going to be the death of me. It’s the same one Wyatt gives me when he wants snacks or screen time. If the two of them ever pull it on me, I’ll die right on the spot.
"You weren't bullshitting about songwriting, were you?"
He shakes his head. “Gotta get all my feelings out somehow.” He tilts his head. “I’m better at the guitar than singing though. Some of the other guys are way better singers than I am.”
“Don’t downplay your achievements, Raffi. You have talents spanning beyond scoring goals on the ice.” It’s a shot across the bow, probably a tad unfair, but also true.
He falls silent as he pulls off I-380. “How’s it going at the gym with Phil?”
I grunt, rolling my shoulders. “Everything hurts all the goddamn time. As soon as I feel like I’m making progress, or I’m getting good at something, he pivots and makes me do something new. Then everything hurts all over again.”
“You know that’s literally his job, right? That’s what you pay him for. To kick your ass and you say thank you for the footprint. What are you working on?”
“Landmine rows, seated rows, Tabata boxing for arms and step ups onto the bench with kettle bells for legs until I want to cry.”
He nods, an approving grin lighting up his face as we turn onto Center Point Road. “Nothing quite beats lifting heavy shit and putting it back down.”
“Okay, Phil.” My scoff makes him laugh. “Someday I’m going to out lift you, and then you’ll be sorry. I keep telling Phil the only reason I keep showing up is because I can’t lift his body weight yet. Someday I’m going to be able to lift his dead body, and that’s when he should be really scared.”
He scratches his chin as he pulls into the parking lot. “I’ll keep that in mind. When you start deadlifting and bench pressing, I’ll keep closer tabs on your workouts.”
Playfully punching his bicep, I laugh. “You’d better. There’ll come a day I can deadlift your ass too.”
“Can’t wait.” He blows me an air kiss as he gets out of the SUV and crosses in front of the hood. When he opens the door, he offers me his hand, and I can’t help but smile. Butterflies and bees are both going crazy in my stomach, and I’m regretting not wearing something more… I dunno, something.
He holds my hand as we walk through the parking lot and into the restaurant bar. He only lets go when the hostess brings us to our table, and even then, he takes my hand again as soon as I’m seated.
The bar isn’t packed, but it’s also not empty. There’s a nice ambient undercurrent buzz of chatter while he toes at my boot with his shoe.
The warmth, the connection, his need to be touching me is intoxicating, and I’m struck by a flashback to our first date that smacks me square in the chest.
“What is it, Firecracker?”
Pushing the lump in my throat aside, I try to find my voice. “Just thinking back to the last time we did this.” A one shoulder shrug hopefully downplays the emotions swirling in my chest.
“Will you tell me about it once we’ve ordered?”
I nod, though I’m not sure how to keep the tears at bay.
“Do you mind if I…?” He points at the menu, and I smile.
“Feels like ordering for both of us might be your thing. You did it last time too.”
He winks at me. “Can’tnotorder something that’s called firecracker shrimp, right?” He turns to the server. “Firecracker shrimp, pickle chips, and jacked mac bites please. Then we’ll share the tenderloin.”
“Extra bun and side?”
“Of course.” He almost laughs at her question, which makes me laugh too.
“And what’s your sides?”
