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It’s Leah at fifteen years old, when she was crowned the Junior Miss Queen at a statewide pageant. She’s wearing a gorgeous, hand-sewn white ball gown and smiling her perfect smile—the same one she taught me.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Hmmm.” He looks back and forth between her picture and me. “You look just like her, except for the hair.”
“I think my dad had jet black hair.” I tend to forget that Leah’s natural hair color was blond. She just dyed it so often that everyone assumed black was her real color. “I’m not sure if I would look good as a blonde anyway...”
“Probably not.” He smirks and takes my hand in his. “Black fits your personality better.”
I roll my eyes, silently cursing myself for saying anything about Leah to him. Even something as simple as her hair color feels too personal.
He shuts the house door as we step out, and I hit the porch light before locking the door.
As usual, he opens the car door for me and waits until I’m settled before moving to his side.
“You don’t have to open the door for me every time.” I watch him shift gears.
“I do and I will.”
“If you say so.” I shrug and sit back. I can’t remember any of Leah’s suitors ever opening the door for her when they picked her up, and none of the guys I dated in high school ever did that for me either.
Once or twice would be acceptable, but every single time? It’s strange, and I don’t understand why he would even want to do that. It’s unnecessary.
He turns the music up a little bit and reaches for my hand, clasping it as he drives.
As his thumb caresses my knuckles, I feel my heart begin to race. It’s just a simple gesture—a really sweet one, and it shouldn’t affect me like this.
I try to think of the last time a guy held my hand so I can compare it and see if it’s just a tender spot for my body, but I come up with nothing.
This is a first.
“Something wrong?” He brings my hand up to his mouth and kisses it.
“Did you just kiss my hand?”
“Did you just like it?”
“No.” I lie. I squeeze his hand a little tighter and sit back in my seat, waiting impatiently for us to get to wherever we’re going.
I don’t have to wait too long, because he literally drives us down the street and past the path that leads to my neighbors’ lake.
“Are you coming?” He holds my door open.
Utterly confused, I nod and step out, hoping this is some type of joke, but he takes a cooler and a bag out of his trunk.
“Follow me,” he says.
Leading me onto a small dock, he spreads a blanket over the wood and motions for me to sit. He pulls out a few towels from his bag, and then pops open the cooler.
“Italian sandwich okay with you?”
I nod and he hands me one.
“Is this what you originally had planned for us to do today?”
“No,” he admits. “But this is much better.”
“Why is that?”
“I can get to know you better this way.” He smiles. “Anytime we’re in public, you get distracted and fend off my questions. That’s not happening today.”
I feel myself blushing and he raises his eyebrow.
“I had no idea you were capable of blushing.” He kisses me lightly, then he pulls a beer out of the cooler and holds it out for me.
I’m tempted to grab it, but I simply stare—remembering today’s random test.
“Something wrong with the beer?” he asks. “Do you not like this brand?”
“I do,” I say flatly. “But I don’t think an alcoholic should drink any brand, especially if she’s still in rehab...”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“I’m a recovering...” I pause. “I’m an alcoholic.”
He looks at me in utter disbelief, and then, as if he can sense that I don’t want to talk about it, he returns it to the cooler. “Have you read anything good lately?”
I smile, grateful for the smooth change of subject. “I’m saving most of my money for some fines right now, so I’ve just been downloading a bunch of samples.”
“Samples?”
“Yeah. You get to sample the first ten percent of the e-book for free. I keep the ones I really like and when I have money to spare I buy them.”
He blinks. “E-books are like two and three dollars.”
“And? That shit adds up!” I laugh. “Do you have an e-reader?”
“I do. I guess I need to start using the sample thing instead of buying them first.”
“You should...” I want to ask him what he’s reading right now to try and make conversation, but I’ve never been good at that. All I’ve ever been able to do is fire back sarcasm.
