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A calculated risk. Ultimately, that’s what life comes down to.
Extracting my hand from beneath his, I say, “Fine, but don’t think this is me agreeing to anything more.”
He wears a victorious smile as he lifts his arm and flags down the waiter to ask for the check. “I’m glad you agreed,” Kyle states as we leave the restaurant, his hand pressing warmly against my lower back. “I didn’t want to have to hold your wallet hostage again.”
My jaw drops open as he hands it back to me. I take it, thinking I should tell him to fuck off and catch a cab back to the office, but one step turns into two and then three and more, and before I know it, I’m in the passenger seat of his beamer and we’re flying down the highway while Kyle belts out the lyrics to “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
As for me? I’m thinking of the last time this happened, only it was in Kyle’s beat-up Firebird with the balding tires kicking up dust from the old country backroads, and his hand was on my knee.
And just like old times, I feel his hand there, cupping my knee. Surprised, I look at it then over at him. His head turns, and he meets my eyes, then smiles, still singing away...and it’s almost as if we haven’t missed a beat.
I don’t fight it, even though I probably should. Instead, I turn my head and watch the scenery speed by.
I can’t seem to stop smiling.
