Not the careful laugh. Her real one. And she presses the back of her hand to her mouth and laughs into it, helpless, in the middle of a casino, and I stop walking just to watch her do it under all those terrible beautiful lights.
God, she’s gorgeous.
“We almost got caught,” she says, “by Wendy of all people. And we tipped a man a hundred dollars to walk us through a steakhouse kitchen like we’re in the middle of an Ocean’s Eleven movie. And now we're hiding in the loudest building in the world, and it's working; it's the only thing all night that's actually working.”
“I told you I’m good at this shit.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear right there in the open, because up here in the chaos, nobody's paying attention. “How are you doing, though? Real answer.”
“Honestly?” She looks around at all of it, the noise and the light and the crush of strangers, the whole sensory disaster she'd normally have left ten minutes ago. “I should hate this. I'm waiting to hate it.” She squeezes my hand. “But…I think I'm having fun. I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had being terrified.”
“Stick with me, baby,” I smile. “Terrifying dates are my specialty. You’ll never want any other kind now that you’ve had a taste.”
“Okay, Mr. Paperclip,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Take me home before our luck runs out.”
I get her down to the truck through the parking garage, both of us still buzzing, and the second the doors shut, the quiet hits like a wave and she sags into the seat and laughs again, softer now, relaxed.
“Okay,” she says to the windshield. “While I had an amazing time, there’s a new rule. No more rooms with exits I have to map. I don’t know if my heart can take any more terrifying dates with you.”
“Agreed.” I nod. “Next time I find us somewhere with nobody. No Wendy. No window tables. No people at all.” And I mean it, as I sit in the garage with my heart still going. I’m just happy she wants to go on another date with me. So, I start actually thinking about it. Somewhere with no walls and no crowd and no VCU connections. Just her and me and a date that nobody can interrupt.
“You're plotting,” she says, eyes closed, smiling. “I can hear you plotting.”
“Plotting's half the fun.” I start the truck. “Buckle up, Mrs. Paperclip. We've got an hour and a half back home, and I'm going to spend all of it making you tell me the rest of that season.”
“She keeps the wrong guy,” she says immediately. “At the rose ceremony. You're going to be furious.”
“I'm already furious. Start at the beginning.”
And she does, the whole way home, in a truck that smells like a smoky casino we barely escaped. The two of us laugh about the closest call of the year like it was the best night of our lives.
Because it was. Even the part where we almost lost everything. Maybe especially that part.
Turns out the secret is so much better when there's something this damn good inside it worth keeping.
Caleb
I'd planned exactly one date in my life before this, and it nearly turned into the end of both of us in a casino steakhouse, so I'm coming at the second one with a lot more respect for the logistics.
The big one is finding a spot on God's green earth where the coach's daughter and the player on thin ice can sit next to each other without ending up a story with a bad ending.
That rules out anywhere with people in it. After the Wendy thing, I started counting, and it turns out that's everywhere.
So this time I went looking for nowhere, and I found it off Route 9."
“I don't like surprises,” she says, climbing into my truck and yanking the seatbelt across her like it owes her money. “Especially, after the last debacle.”
“I know, I was just about to tell you where we’re going.” I pull out of the lot and check the mirror twice for cars that aren't there. “We’re going to an old drive-in off Route 9. It closed years back; the screen's still standing. I borrowed a projector from a guy in my Greek Mythology class and taught myself to run it. We're going to watch your show on a fifty-foot wall from the bed of my truck. Dinner's packed. There's a blanket because it gets cold. And there’s nobody for a mile in any direction. We’ll be home by eleven.”
She's quiet for a second.
“Jasmine?”
“You told me all of it,” she says. “On purpose. So there's nothing left to spring on me.”
“That, and I like watching you marvel at how fucking awesome I am.”
She looks out the window so I can't see her face. It’s fine. I know she’s grinning.
“How'd you even find a dead drive-in?” she says.
