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“Douchebag or not, he could have slapped that knife from your hand in one stroke. After we eat, we’re going to have a lengthy discussion about that fiasco,” he snapped.
The thought of upsetting Jak made me feel uneasy. I didn’t know if he was actually disappointed, but I knew one thing for certain; I didn’t want him to be, at least not with me. Even considering how he was feeling was new to me.
I never really cared what anyone thought about me or the choices I made. I had been responsible for my actions since my emancipation from my mother at the age of sixteen. Although I now realize I wasn’t always right, I took responsibility for the decisions I made, and suffered the respective consequences when I made mistakes. How an outsider perceived me was never an issue I felt I needed to consider. People who didn’t know me may have perceived me as immature, foolish or selfish, but I saw myself as strong and capable. I never felt I needed anyone’s approval or opinion to make a decision.
If someone didn’t like what I was doing, as far as I was concerned, they could simply fuck off. This attitude and strong willed personality gave me the courage to begin questioning my mother at a very early age. My challenges of her means and methods were not without merit.
As early as I could remember, all I ever wanted my mother to provide me with was an explanation of who my father was. As I got older, what would have sufficed grew smaller and smaller. When I was a young pre-teen girl, I had countless questions and expected many lengthy answers. As I approached my teenage years, a simple explanation of who he was would have satisfied me greatly. Immediately prior to my emancipation, I would have been content if she simply provided me with his name. Knowing my father was dead but not knowing who he was never settled well with me.
In the end, my mother and I separated and I changed my name. Despite the fact she lived a mere half hour drive from me, I didn’t speak to her. As far as I was concerned, she was no longer my mother.
I followed Jak quietly into the restaurant and tried to come to terms with how I felt. As the waitress seated us, I began to consider the depth of my feelings for Jak could be some form of puppy love. In the more realistic world of Karter Wilson, I wouldn’t give half a fuck what Jak thought. But for some reason, at least lately, I wasn’t living in my world.
We stepped through the front door into an almost empty restaurant. I glanced around. Eight booths on the left and ten on the right. Nine tables.Seventy-two plus thirty-six.One hundred and eight. The restaurant was spacious. Larger spaces allowed me to relax and feel comfortable where smaller more cramped spaces made me extremely uneasy. It was one reason I lived in an apartment with a large open floor plan.
“You can seat yourself. Wherever you like,” the waitress smiled.
Jak motioned to a table in the center of the floor and shrugged. I grinned and sat down. As Jak pulled his seat from the table, he surveyed the restaurant. After his quick study, he lowered himself into the seat. I considered the fact he may count things like I do.
Hell, maybe everyone counts things.
“Can I get your drinks coming? Would you like a wine list?” the waitress asked as she placed the menus on the table.
Jak raised his eyebrows and waited for me to respond.
“Unsweetened tea?” I asked.
“Same,” Jak smiled.
The waitress nodded and turned away.
“I’m going to wash my hands,” I sighed.
Jak nodded and smiled as I stood from my chair.
As I walked back from the bathroom, I noticed Jak watching me admiringly. I smiled at the thought of him being pleased with me. The last thing I wanted to do was start this relationship off on the wrong foot. It seemed all I did was piss people off and drive them out of my life. This was one person I hoped to keep happy. I felt I was willing to make adjustments to me and my attitude if need be. As I pulled my seat from the table, Jak grinned his dimple grin and stared through me.
Keep that shit up and you’re going to have to take your clothes off.
“I like it when you smile that smile,” I said softly.
“I didn’t know I had variations,” he said as he raised his hand to his face.
“Well, you have at least two - one with dimples showing and one without. I like the dimples,” I nodded.
He covered his mouth with his hand and continued to stare, “You know Karter. I have this thing I do. I study people as they walk. I don’t really know why, but I do. I’ve convinced myself I can tell a lot about a person by how they walk. So, it’s become a habit. Your walk?”
He shook his head lightly, “You walk lightly. You almost float. But you do it with authority. Your shoulders tell it all. I love watching you walk.”
Dude, just stop. You melted my panties when you picked me up the other day. There’s no need to continue.
He lowered his hand from his mouth and reached across the table. I glanced down at his hand. He curled his fingers slowly a few times as if he wanted me to touch his hand. As I reached across the table he cupped my hand in his and smiled. As he placed his other hand around the back side and formed a little hand house, my heart raced.
“When you walk into a room, you fill it. Nothing else exists. There’s no room for anything additional. The entire room becomes you, Karter. It becomes impossible to pay attention to anything else, because you’re not only all that matters, you’re all there is,” he grinned until his dimples formed.
If you ever leave me, I’m going to stab you in the back. You can’t do this to me.
I pulled my hands from his and rubbed them on the thighs of my jeans, “If you fuck me over, I’ll kill you. That’s not a stupid girl threat. It’s a promise, Jak.”
