Page 109 of This I Promise You
“Ha. At least I have my bandana. Cowboys wear bandanas around their necks, right?”
He smiles into his cider. “Something like that. Sure.”
“Even if I found a single fuck I wouldn’t give it. The only thing I like about this place is you.” I smile and lean over to kiss him. It’s quick, but he still blushes and looks around like we’re going to get hate-crimed. “It’s okay, Belle. I gotchu.”
He just nods and I take his hand under the table. “When’s this thing gonna start?”
He checks his phone. “’Bout ten minutes. Do you hate it that much?”
My shoulders droop. I know he really wants to be here and I don’t want to disappoint him. I need to suck it up and do this for him.
“I… No. Just not my favorite.” I smile. “But you wanted to come. I can deal. Might lose a few brain cells while I’m here, but I’ll make it. You can make it up to me later.” And I wink.
“Rude!” He grins at me as he takes a generous gulp from his glass bottle. “You just don’t appreciate good music.”
“Good music? Ha!Good music? Oh, don’t get me started on that, because that shit is not happening here.” I steal another kiss, then whisper in his ear, “Not a fucking chance.”
He flips me off and we both laugh.
“Thanks for coming,” he whispers back.
It’s a simple thing, but I can see how much this means to him.
“Of course, babe.”
“And you’re right.”
“I know,” I preen. “Wait, about what?”
“I will make it up to you later.” Then he attempts to wink, but both of his eyes close at the same time. He thinks he’s doing it correctly, but he never does. I don’t have the heart to tell him because it’s just too damn adorable. I don’t ever want him to change.
But before I can say anything, the music stops and someone comes on stage with a guitar in hand. This is going to be a long night.
Easton
I Know I Can Believe Him
“You, sir, are supposed to be letting me win.”
Paul apparently didn’t get the memo. Let the bottom win.
“Uh, you’ve met me, right?” He’s walking back to our seats from the shiny bowling lane, neon lights flashing and glaring across his flowery oversized white button-up and ripped jeans.
“Yeah, so?” I ask, acting as if it doesn’t matter.
“You have toearnyour win. Like, if Huxley didn’t force us to be on the same team when we played pool all those weeks ago, you clearly would not have won,” he comes back, smiling mischievously. “And don’t lie, you like looking at my ass while I kick yours.”
“First off, yousuckedat pool! If it weren’t for me we definitely wouldn’t have won.”
There’s a big forty-eight on the far right of the screen by my name. We’re starting the eighth frame right now, so I’m not doing too good. Paul’s about as good at bowling as he is pool, but his seventy-seven looks a lot better up there.
“Maybe you’ll do better the next round then.” Paul smirks as I get up.
I find my ball, the lightest one I could find. The way I see it, it’s lighter so I can throw it harder. Although if my high school physics class taught me anything, I think my reasoning might be a bit off, but oh well.
I approach the lane and someone, being Paul, whistles. “Nice butt!” I turn and roll my eyes at him, and go back to taking my stance. The music is blaring. It’s one of Dua Lipa’s hits, “Levitating”. Lights flash and crash about the room like a rave. I focus on the lane—maybe I can at least get six. I pull my hand back and then sling it forward, sending the ball careening down the lane, but it’s immediately obvious it’s not going to knock anything over as it goes flying toward the gutter. Dammit.
I do the walk of shame back. I swear it’s always awkward, and it’s not just because I’m losing spectacularly. No. It’s always weird. I don’t know why, but it’s like I don’t know what to do with myself, and I feel like everyone is watching me. And of course,heis, but I like that he is.
