What does one wear on a second date? A second date that is technically part of the first date and in her own apartment. I kick off my shoes toward the closet and quickly strip away my jeans. Standing in front of my closet, I contemplate a pair of leggings. No, if there’s a chance Lucas will run his hands on my legs, I want to feel it. Shorts it is. Pulling on a pair of draw string shorts, I remove my shirt and add a little deodorant and a spritz of body spray before removing my bra. The tank I have on is enough to keep the girls in place and my oversized sweatshirt will keep my nipples from playing peek-a-boo.
Quickly, I rush into the bathroom and brush my teeth before running a brush through my hair. A little wilder than I’d like, I pull my hair to the side for a braid before taking a deep breath and looking at my reflection. There’s a lightness to my eyes, a happy spark I haven’t seen in a long time. I hadn’t realized how much of my spark dimmed the last few years. Here, with Lucas, it’s back. I’m not sure what is next but the way I feel gives me hope.
I hear a knock at the door and assume the pizza is being delivered so I flip the switch to the light and return to the kitchen where Lucas is setting the food on the table. Without a word, I grab plates and cutlery from the drawer as Lucas opens the containers.
“Thanks for ordering salad. I’m starving and could probably eat this entire pizza but really shouldn’t.”
Like a hose to a fire, the spark I felt a few minutes ago flickers. Of course, he has to watch what he eats. He has to dance. For women. Naked. Well, half naked.
Clearing my throat because I don’t trust myself to speak, I simply smile and fill my plate with salad and a slice of pizza. Pouring myself a glass of wine, I walk into the living room to settle in. Waiting for Lucas, I search through the available movies until he takes the spot next to me.
The usual comfortable silence we have between us is missing. It’s off, and I feel guilty over it.
“Any special requests?” I ask, motioning toward the television with the remote in my hand.
“I’m good with whatever. Damn,” he says with a mouthful, “this pizza is amazing.”
“It’s my favorite. Okay, how about this? It’s a classic.”
With his face scrunched, he looks at me confused. “You want to watch Finding Nemo?”
“Yep. Classic,” I reply while hitting play and stabbing at my salad.
The next twenty minutes are quiet except for the sounds of us eating. Lucas offers to get me a second piece of pizza, but I wave him off because if I have another slice, I’ll be too full for the cheesecake. Taking my plate and glass, Lucas retreats the kitchen. During his absence, I settle into the couch and tug the blanket from the back of the couch over myself. I’m not cold but snuggling under a blanket when I watch a movie is kind of my thing.
When he returns with a fresh beer and full glass of wine, Lucas takes his place and hands me the wine. Lifting the glass to my mouth, I enjoy the crispness of the cold wine and startle a bit when my legs are tugged up and placed on his legs. Without a word, he rests one hand on my leg while the other holds his beer. He’s trying to play it calm and casual, his attention on the cartoon, but I can see the way his jaw flexes. He’s thinking, and part of me knows it’s the awkwardness hanging over us.
“Do you work tonight?” I ask. Stupid girl. You don’t want to know. Plus, it’s not your business.
“No.” His tone is clipped and my stomach drops in worry.
“Okay,” I whisper, turning my attention to the movie. A feeling of sadness and regret washes over me. No, it’s not sadness. It’s something else entirely. Something I haven’t experienced, well ever. Jealousy. I’m a mess. I’ve been telling myself and anyone else who will listen I’m not ready to date. It’s too soon after ending my engagement to Trenton. Being single is what I need right now. I’m focused on my career and learning everything I can.
Spending this day with Lucas, remembering how it feels when he kisses me, makes me second guess that position. Maybe it was premature of me to make a declaration of single girldom. Taking another sip of my wine, I consider the ramifications of telling Lucas how I feel. Would he reciprocate the feelings I’m developing? Feelings that scare me and excite me at once.
Then there’s the matter of his job. I know in my gut I can’t handle it. There’s no way I can kiss my boyfriend goodbye, knowing he was heading to a bar to take his clothes off for money. Me, the girl who doesn’t judge a woman—or a man for that matter—who chooses dancing as a profession. To each his or her own. But that was before I considered the life of a significant other. The level of trust you must have in your partner is high, and after Trenton, I’m not sure I’m capable of that.
How do you trust a man you are getting to know when the man you thought you’d be with forever broke that same trust?
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Startled, I jerk my body and gasp. Or Lucas gasps. Shit.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you.” In the nuts. Dammit to hell. Jumping up, I set my glass on the table and turn to Lucas. His head is thrown back on the couch, hands cupping his crotch, exhaling slowly.
“What can I do, Luke? Ice? Do you need an ice pack?” I ask as I jump over his feet and start toward the kitchen. We don’t have an ice pack. Defeated, I walk back to the living room where he’s still in the same position on the couch, but the look on his face is less agony and more discomfort now.
“I don’t have an ice pack.”
Laughing, Lucas rolls his head to the side, giving me a small smile and a flutter skirts through my chest. Eyes wide, I watch as Lucas looks me over from head to toe and then back up. He slows his perusal along my legs and again when he reaches my exposed shoulder, the sweatshirt having fallen slightly.
Like the slowest and sweetest burn, my skin heats under his gaze.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
I shift my feet from side to side nervously. Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I take a step forward. With a second step, I’m standing just to the side of Lucas, his arm resting on the sofa. His hand lifts slowly and rests on my hip. I suck in a breath, nerves prick at me. Lucas tugs me to him and I fall onto his lap. Not wanting to cause him any more pain, I catch myself a bit and move so I’m straddling his lap.
His hand glides around my hip to my lower back, fingertips slide under my sweatshirt and tug my tank top up. When his hand touches my bare skin, goosebumps sprinkle my skin.
“Whit,” he whispers. His hand increases in pressure, a silent indicator for me to shift closer. I place my forearms on his shoulders, my hands going to his neck, fingers running through his hair. The small groan that escapes him sends a shiver up my spine. Glancing at his lips, I long for them on mine. I want him to kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before.
“Lu—” Before I finish his name, my wish is granted. His lips capture mine, and I melt into him. My chest collapses to meet his as his hand widens on my back. His free hand comes to rest on the curve of my ass. When he tugs me to him, his growing erection between my legs, I sigh into the kiss and lose myself.
I lose myself in the memories of the boy I crushed on and every teenage fantasy I had about a moment like this. I lose myself in the new memories we’ve created, the laughs we’ve shared. With my eyes closed and my hands buried in his hair, I shift closer, so close. My body is flush with his and the emotions I feel pour from me.
My heart is beating so fast, it feels like I’m deep into a marathon. Lucas deepens the kiss, and his hips rise. The feeling of him touching me sets my soul on fire. A moan fills the air, I’m not sure if it’s Lucas or me. Perhaps it’s both of us. The heat and passion between us is palpable.
Then he pulls away. Dazed with swollen lips and disheveled hair, he takes a deep breath, eyes closed, and says, “We can’t do this.”
Say what?
I don’t respond immediately. Instead, I lean back, causing him to groan again. Looking at him, I search his eyes for answers to why we can’t do this. Why we can’t do more. I don’t see answers, I see fire. Passion. Desire.
Zing.
Zang.
Electricity.
It.
Then he moves his legs, which causes me to move and stand from his lap. Sitting up, he rests his elbows on his knees and rakes his hands through his hair. The conflict is obvious, and I have two choices. I can give in to the rejection looming deep in my heart or I can confront him. Whitney from a few months ago would wallow in the rejection. Now? Now I want answers.