Page 26 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
He comes around to my side of the car and leads me to the bottom of a wide slide, where he sits and tugs me down next to him. He hands me my drink and opens the box. “Ladies first.”
“Sorry I wrecked our first date,” I say, hanging my head. My anxiety’s not this bad when I go out for doctor appointments, but this feels different, and I realize it’s because I didn’t want Rick to be embarrassed to be seen with me—I didn’t want to hear it in his voice.
So I embarrassed myself even more by making a scene.
“Hey,” he says, pressing his shoulder into mine. “I really just wanted to get you alone, so this is way better.” His voice is soft and low, and when I look at him, he’s very close.
I turn away and reach for a wedge of pizza, but they stick together.
He pulls a slice out for me. “Open wide.”
I scowl at him. “If you make buzzy airplane sounds, I swear I’m going to puke on you.”
He laughs and hands it to me.
We eat, and I let the warmth from his shoulder pressing against mine bleed into me and melt away some of my tension.
“C’mon,” he says when we’re done. He tosses the pizza box in the trash and guides me over to the swings, holding the chains of a swing seat open for me. “Hop up.”
I slide onto the swing and catch myself giggling as he pushes me so high I swear he’s going to wrap me right over the top. It’s exhilarating. Between Rick and the rush of flying through the air, for the first time since I almost died, I feel totally alive.
Four
IT’S TAKEN ME two days to get up the nerve to leave the house again. I even let Rick coax me into the Cold Stone because he said there was no one else inside. But I send him up to order my ice cream, and I choose the seat in the corner facing the wall. He pulls the chair across from me to my side of the table and sits, sliding my bowl in front of me. I smell watermelon. And warm bedsheets. God, he smells good.
“So . . . tell me if this is too much too soon . . .” His hand moves toward my bowl and
he comes away with a pink glob of my watermelon sorbet on the end of his spoon. I watch it disappear into his mouth. “But I got tickets for the symphony for Thursday.”
My spoon stalls halfway to my mouth.
“We don’t have to go, but . . .”
“But . . . ?”
“But I really want to do this with you.”
“The symphony,” I say, acid churning in my stomach.
“The other night . . . when you were on the swings, it’s like your whole face changed. I want to see you start living again, V.”
I dig my spoon back into my ice cream and shove it away. “So I’m a charity case. You think you’re going to save me? Is that it?”
“Hell, no. I don’t do charity.” He waves his spoon at me. “This is all selfish. I like you. I like hanging out with you. I just don’t want to do it with your mother hovering over us every second. And I figure, if you’re happy, I’m more likely to get some.”
Some of my fight runs out at his words and I feel my cheeks burn. “You think you’re going to get some? Sexual favors for ice cream?” I say, tugging my bowl toward me.
He shrugs. “I figured it might take more than ice cream. Hence, the symphony.”
I take a bite as I sort through everything. “Did you have to pay for the tickets?”
He shakes his head. “My aunt got them comped.”
“So if I back out at the last minute, you’re not going to be pissed?”
“I’ll still have a hot girl in my car for the two-hour round trip, so it’s pretty much a win either way. Okay?”
My insides flutter. “Okay.”
