“It’s not the kind of thing I joke about.” He kisses again. “Your milkshake.”
I stop drinking and hold it for him.
As he takes the straw between his fingers, he murmurs, “You’re really letting me get away with everything this afternoon.”
I can’t help it. My brain isn’t working. He wrote asongforme. Millions of people are going to listen to it. It’s probably going to top charts worldwide. I’ll be the topic of someone’s Spotify wrapped this year. And no one will know it’s me. And I’ll get to live in anonymous solidarity with thousands, withmillions.
Lukas presses my straw right back to my lips after he’s done drinking, and I watch the way his eyelids lower when I sip. When I swallow. When I move in any way.
His smile heats. “I’m getting such a high off of this. I should really knock it off.”
He’s getting a high; I’m hoping he’s not coming down with anything. Is there a reason we’re sharing germs so casually? I need to take some vitamin C pronto, because I have a feeling the banana in this milkshake isn’t even real.
Lukas rifles through our Taco Bell bag, pulling out the nachos and popping the lid. Scooping a helping of meat, cheese, and onion onto a chip, he stretches one long leg toward the front seat, popping his knee-high boot on the center console.
Taking bites of my salad, I watch him.
He smiles at me.
I open my mouth.
His smile broadens as he gifts me the loaded chip.
While crunches fill my ears, I slip into the security at play between us. There are no questions here. There’s no entitlement. No anger. No frustration. No annoyance.
I get to exist. He gets to exist.
And we enjoy existing together, offering freely, shamelessly, constantly.
I like this. I wantmoreof this.
“Should we start dating?” I ask.
Lukas stops with a chip halfway to his lips. Pulling his attention off me, he looks at the menagerie of our fast food bags, then returns his gaze to my eyes. “I have some news for you concerning what we are doing right now.”
My eyes roll, which is insane, because I can’t remember a time I have ever sassed anyone with an eye roll before. Sometimes just when Dad assumed I’d rolled my eyes, he’d turn me around and spank me before I knew what was going on. I’d only reach an understanding, because he’d be yellingdon’t you dare roll your eyes at me, young lady!and never listen as I cried and said I hadn’t.
Lukas does not turn me around and spank me. He instead smiles ever wider.
I say, “There’s a difference between going out as friends andgoing out. I’m positive there is.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But how would either of us know that difference?” he asks.
My lips purse. An excellent point. I answer, “Media.”
“I make media. Don’t trust the stuff for a second.”
Fair. I say, “I’m pretty sure I like you and that two people date when they like each other as a means to figure out if they love each other. Should we become a couple?”
“Would you like to be?”
I think so? Yes. Maybe. Uncertainty meansno, so I guess I need to gather more information before I’m sure one way or the other. I gnaw my lip while I stir the rest of my milkshake with the straw. “What would that look like? What would change?”
“I’d be more demanding.”
Oh, good. Ninety percent of the time, he fails at being demanding enough. I’d like more of the tingly moments when he’s demandingmorefrom me. Like last night. While he fell apart. And pleaded. He gave me so much power in our dynamic, and I felt it like a shock to my brain.
Last night was…amazing.
