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“Alright, Miss Church,” he says, smiling. “Let’s roll, literally.”
The rink is only semi-crowded, populated by some small children speeding around, and some adult couples skating hand-in-hand. If it were any more crowded, I probably would have us colliding into people, the walls, and any other obstacles in my way. But thankfully, Brandon is calm and steady on his skates as I wobble around like a newborn deer.
“How are you so good at this?” I ask breathlessly, after nearly falling for what must be the eighth time.
“I played roller hockey when I was a kid, and ice hockey in high school and college,” he says with a grin. “I’ve always been pretty comfortable in a pair of skates.”
“Lucky you,” I mumble, and he laughs.
“You don’t play any sports?” Brandon asks.
I shake my head the tiniest bit as to not lose my balance.
“Definitely not. No athletics for me,” I say. “I like to read and watch movies and spend time with my friends, mostly. And studying takes up most of my after-school time.” I realize how dorky I sound, and another blush is beginning to build when Brandon squeezes my hand.
“I like that about you, sweetheart,” he says simply, making my heart jump. “You’re responsible and confident too. I know Jasper is good at tennis but he mostly just plays for the popularity aspect. He had some weird idea that it’s going to help him get crowned Prom King, and it probably will, to be honest. But you don’t need that.”
I smile. “No, because I’ve never really cared about being popular. I’d rather actually enjoy the things I do, and not just do them for the Instagram likes.”
Brandon throws his head back with laughter, his strong profile masculine and handsome.
“Instagram likes?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
I nod, smiling ruefully.
“Yeah, I think my generation is so into social media that they seek validation from on-line sources. So Instagram likes it is.”
We both laugh then, and as we continue skating, I realize with relief that I can focus on our conversation and not just on trying to stay upright. Topics to talk about come easily, like they did in the car, and we even begin to tease each other a bit. Every time Brandon laughs, or flashes me a brilliant grin, my heart melts a little more. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d have such a good time with my ex’s dad.
Before I know it, an hour has gone by, and my stomach is demanding nourishment. Luckily, before I have to say anything, Brandon asks, “You hungry?”
I nod gratefully, and we skate to a section of tables. I wobble my way onto a seat and Brandon goes to order food. When he returns, it’s with a tray piled gloriously full of fries and with a blue raspberry Icee for each of us. I beam at him.
“How did you know the blue kind was my favorite?” I say.
“Because it’s obviously the best flavor,” he smirks. I couldn’t agree more.
I dig into the fries, dipping them into a generous portion of ketchup. Then, I hesitate. Brandon has an incredible figure, and I’m, well, a little on the bigger side. Maybe he doesn’t like girls who eat as much as I do. As a result, I grow self-conscious and make myself nibble on the fries, instead of swallowing them in bunches.
“Are you not hungry?” Brandon says, a frown creasing his brow.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, not sure what to say. “No, I just try to eat healthy,” I lie glibly, trying not to blush. “I mean, I love fries, like, a lot, but I don’t know. I try to eat right and exercise, even though I’m a little bigger than your average girl.”
The handsome man looks thoughtful.
“I try to eat right and exercise, too,” Brandon says, “but there’s always room in my diet for fries and Icees. C’mon, baby. Don’t be afraid to eat up. Besides,” he continues as his eyes flicker up and down my body. “Your curves are sensational. You’re just the right size to me.”
I feel my blush deepen and try to conceal it behind my straw as I slurp my drink. Encouraged by his words, I eat some fries with renewed vigor.
I remember, suddenly, that the woman I saw Brandon making love to was curvy like me, and that makes me feel better. I chew thoughtfully on my straw for a moment, transported back to that moment: me peering through the crack in the door, Brandon sliding in and out of the woman as she moaned with pleasure…
“Brandon,” I begin before I register what I’m saying, “why do you hire escorts?”
As soon as the words are out, I regret them, but they hang in the air anyway. I frantically wish that I could snatch them back. “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “You don’t have to answer.” What are you thinking, Lucy? I berate to myself as my face grows hot. Great first date question for sure.
