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This.
Is.
Fun.
There! I said it! Not aloud, of course. I’m surprised I’m here. There was something about the way Marc was giving me an out the other night that led me to getting a wild hair and giving him my phone number. He’s unfortunately right. There is chemistry between us, even if I don’t want there to be. It’s also hard to believe that he meant what he said when he claimed he wanted a date with me more than his next breath.
Come on!
That can’t be true.
Marc must have a way with words. After all, it’s because of those words that I’m on a date. The first date I’ve sort of wanted to be on in nearly six years. It was an almost disastrous one too. An ugly panic attack reared its head when he pulled into the ice rink. No way could I even get out of the truck. Marc didn’t ask any questions. He simply left and brought us here. Where we’ve been jumping on the various trampolines like we’re kids.
Marc reaches for my hands, making me move closer to him as we jump. He starts making silly, funny faces while we’re in the air before making his expression completely bleak as we fall back down.
I can’t help it.
I laugh.
I giggle.
It’s a bit disturbing. I try my hardest to stop, but it’s almost impossible. Marc releases my hands, takes a few jumps back since we’re on a rectangular one and have the space. He does a back flip followed by a front flip.
What a damn show-off. I roll my eyes to show I’m not impressed, but I kind of am. I can’t do it. Or, I won’t attempt it. It’s taken me fifteen minutes to even be comfortable jumping. My breasts aren’t small, but they aren’t huge either. Yet it still feels like they’re going to slap me in the face with all the bouncing around going on. It’s taking all my willpower not to cross my arms or hold them in place.
I can’t believe I’m here. That I’m allowing Marc to take me out. This will probably go nowhere. How can I date when I don’t know if I’m capable, much less whether I want to? My mind, heart, and soul have been in a precariously fragile state for a long time. I’m to believe it can be healed?
Impossible.
I’ve seen too much, done too much, and lost too much.
“You look like you’re thinking too much, Elizabeth.”
“Are you ever going to call me Lizzy?” I ask, unable to grumble because he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music.
Marc grins. “No.”
“Why not?” I’m genuinely curious.
“Because it fits you. Elizabeth sounds like the name for a complicated, uptight, piece of work woman who would give a guy a hard time.”
I lied.
Marc doesn’t have a way with words.
He’s a jackass.
I stop jumping and hop onto the walkway. He has no idea that his words hurt, even if they are true. Thankfully, he’s reminded me I’m this way for a reason. I seem to have trouble remembering why I don’t want to be here when he’s around and close and smiling. If only he’d leave me alone instead of following me, grabbing my elbow once a
gain, and twirling me to face him.
“That was a compliment,” he says.
I scoff. Yeah, right. Tell me I’m ugly while you’re at it, Marc.
“Want to know why?” His hand moves to my lower back. It’s a struggle to stare in return because no way am I asking why. Marc leans forward, stealing my breath at the thought that he’s going to kiss me, and his breath hits my ear instead. “Because I know and like Elizabeth. I don’t know Lizzy.”
He’s out of his ever-loving mind. Everyone around me has lost their mind! He “likes” me? What’s to like about me? He doesn’t even know me!
