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Chapter 17
Danny
“Feel free to disrespect me any timenow.”
“It’s weird.”
“Why is it weird?”
“Because you don’t use your fingers.”
“Not everyone needs to use their fingers.”
“I beg to differ. If you shove your fingers in there, you’ll get better results.”
“Believe me, I’ve put my fingers in there before, and it didn’t end well.”
“Did you put them in the wrong hole?”
“There are only three holes to pick from. It’s not exactly rocket science.”
“Are we still talking about bowling?”
Ryan pauses on the sidewalk at my question, dipping his head and chuckling timidly, and I feel a little bad that I’ve been egging him on like this all night—but not bad enough to stop doing it. It reallyisweird to me that he doesn’t put his fingers in the holes of a bowling ball and somehow just holds onto that thing with his big, powerful hand, before sending it sailing down the lane at an alarming rate of speed, for a damn strike every single time.
But Ryan is nothing if not a gentleman. He just pats the top of my hand I have hooked around his elbow without commenting on my question, then we continue walking through town. It’s one of the things that makes him so attractive to me, how polite and sweet he is, but right now, it’s one of the things driving me crazy. Along with all of the little touches from him all night long, starting when he pulled me against him in the kitchen before we left, getting possessive when I was talking to Dale about starting the mural on Monday, then teaching me how to bowl. Looking as hot as he does, smelling as good as he does, standing close, hands gripping my hips, dipping his head down to speak softly in my ear, watching him rub his hand over his bowling ball every time it was his turn, and having to shift in my seat because I just wanted that hand rubbingme…I’ve been turned on all night long. It really isn’t fair that Ryan doesn’t seem to be having any sort of reaction to my attempts at flirting and getting close tohim, aside from mild embarrassment when I make a joke.
“Looks like the forecast for tonight was wrong. We better take cover.”
Ryan quickly darts under the awning outside of Hang Five Arcade as it suddenly starts to rain, my hand slipping off his arm as he moves, while I stay right where I am. Maybe this rain will cool me off and make me stop acting like a sex-starved freak with one of the nicest and most polite men I’ve ever met.
After we bowled two games, where I absolutely did not kick his ass but at least got a more respectable score after Ryan gave me some pointers, we decided to take a stroll through town. We grabbed ice cream cones from Laura at the Dip and Twist and chatted at one of the picnic tables, and then after we finished our ice cream, I pulled him down the street and into the art gallery to show him the paintings I have for sale. The way he looked at them like they were the best paintings he’s ever seen, just like he did the other day when I first brought him into the garage, made me want to tackle him to the ground right in the middle of the gallery and screw his brains out. I settled for giving him a kiss on the cheek after arguing with him that he absolutely could not buy every single painting for himself, since I didn’t really feel like giving my date a heart attack before the night was even over. We were on our way to the beach for a walk along the water before we end the night, but it looks like that part of the date isn’t going to happen now.
“You’re getting wet!” Ryan shouts to me from a few feet away.
“Been that way all night,” I mutter under my breath.
All the tourists and locals, who are just as surprised by the change in weather as we are, quickly scramble under awnings of local businesses as well, while Ryan says hello to a few people he knows who huddle under Hang Five’s awning with him. The sun has set, the sky is even darker with the new rainclouds overhead, and I take a few steps back and off the sidewalk, out into the now-empty street. The glow of all the flashing lights from the businesses reflect off the puddles that are forming all around me.
I close my eyes and tip my head back, smiling to myself as the rain gently falls on me, not even caring that I’m getting all wet in more ways than one, as “Margaritaville” starts playing loudly from the tourist information booth speaker across the street. The air is warm, and so is the rain that comes down, and for the first time since I left Chicago, everything just feels right and perfect, and I know the best decision I ever made was the one to get on the ferry that brought me here. I love this island, and I love the people on it. I love that I feel so free here and that I can do anything without people judging me or rolling their eyes at me.
Opening my eyes, I throw my hands up over my head and smile at Ryan as I start moving my hips to the music.
“You’re a nut job!” he shouts to me with a laugh.
“Live a little, nerd, and come join me! It’s time for a little fisting in the rain.” I grin at him as I drop one of my arms and hold my hand out, crooking a finger at him while I continue dancing to the song.
“I thought we agreed that only happens on Saturdays?” Ryan’s cheeks are a little red when he goes along with my teasing, but he’s still laughing, so that’s a good sign.
Then he glances to the people on either side of him, shrugs, and darts out from under the awning, still laughing as he splashes through a puddle to get to me. The rain starts coming down a little more steadily, and Ryan doesn’t even hesitate. He just wipes some of the rain off his face that still has a huge smile on it, then grabs my hand and tugs me to him.
“I can barely see anything with rain all over my glasses, so if I fall, just don’t point and laugh at me.”
With one arm wrapped around my waist and the other holding my hand, Ryan takes the lead, and we start dancing in the rain, laughing and singing loudly to the song. It doesn’t take long for everyone else who took shelter under awnings along the street to say “fuck it,” and before I know it, Ryan and I are joined by a ton of other people in the middle of Summersweet Lane, dancing in the puddles and singing at the top of our lungs to Jimmy Buffett.
“This is crazy!” Ryan laughs, tipping his head back and opening his mouth to drink some of the rain that falls, looking like a little kid who was allowed to play in the rain for the first time.
“No, it’s spontaneous and fun!” I remind him, grabbing both of his hands and making him jump around to the music with me, like we did in his kitchen the night “Just a Girl” was playing, until we’re both giggling like children, splashing through puddles.
