The ‘bucket list’ I snatched from Lola’s planner leaves a lot to be desired. So many of the things on here are such simple, everyday things that I almost feel bad that she hasn't experienced them. Until I sit back and think about the fact that I haven't really, either.

Some of them I did experience after doing my time, mostly when I was too drunk to remember. But Lola should experience these things. She should cross every single one of them off and then add some more.

I tap my finger down the list, mentally checking off the ones I can accomplish with little to no effort. Those are for another day. It's time to pull out the big guns. If I’m going to follow through with my plans and make every other guy that’s out there look like a shmuck, then I need to step up my game.

Fucking Lola is fun, but fucking her for always is what dreams are made of.

I pause on item number twenty-six on the list. It's going to take a few phone calls. But I think I can make it happen. Between that and item number thirty-nine, I think I'll have a home run.

Now all that's left to do is make it happen.

Item number twenty-six turned out to be more of a challenge than expected. But after a copious amount of phone calls and some networking, I found a way.

I've never worked this hard to please anyone else before. In the end, I wonder if it will matter. Lola thinks she’s in charge. She would like to believe that she’s calling the shots. There are only a couple weeks left of this arrangement, according to her. I need to make them count. I need to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. So I find my balls and text her.

It's already been two days since I've seen her. Ideally, I'd be with her every day. But I can't control my urges when she's around, and I'm having trouble convincing her otherwise. Despite what Lola might think, she is more than just a receptacle for my dick.

My text is simple. A day and time. She returns my message with a smiley face. Yeah, that's right. Fuck you, Damon. I can get smiley faces too.

I text her back.

Don't wear any panties.

Well, at least I tried the whole gentleman thing.

She sends me another emoji this time. One with a gaping mouth. But that isn't a no. And suddenly, I can't fucking wait for Saturday.

When the day arrives, there's nothing that can rain on my parade. I get my hair cut. I shave. I even throw on a tee shirt and jeans since Lola thinks I don't own anything other than a suit. When I pick her up, it's her that has the gaping mouth.

"Wow," she marvels. "You look so different like this."

"I look the same as I always have," I tell her. "You knew me long before my suit days."

"Yes, but I haven't seen you without in so long. Years. I thought all your other clothes were extinct."

I let my eyes roam over her. "You look like a wet dream." And she does. She's wearing another fitted dress. Fuchsia with a black cardigan and matching heels. She surprisingly matches. And I like her like this, but I also miss my little fashion nightmare.

"So where are we going?"

She's nervous again, and I want to capitalize on it because I am still a man. The whole romance thing is nice, but I need to know if Lola is my dirty girl. I reach down and brush my fingers against her thigh. She stops breathing as they climb up her leg, shoving the material aside.

Her eyes are darting around the hallway, seeking out intruders. I'm almost to heaven when she tries to protest and a door slams down the hall. I don't care. I cup her pussy, and she's bare.

Fuck. Yes.

I kiss her. She falls into me, and her body goes slack. My hand is still between her thighs when footsteps echo down the hall, and it's too late to pull away without being obvious. So I pull her closer, hiding the evidence as the voyeur closes in on us.

"Oh hi, Mrs. Needleman," Lola squeaks.

"Hi Lola," the older woman replies. "Nice to see you're uh... dating."

Lola has a head spasm when she attempts to nod, and they carry on a few more pleasantries, but I'm too busy enjoying my fingers in her pussy to hear them. If she were wearing panties, they’d be soaked through now.

What a pleasantly surprising deviant she is after all.

Mrs. So and so disappears down the hall, and Lola makes a dramatic claim of indignation. "Seriously, Daire?”

"Don't act like you didn't like it." I extricate my fingers to suck them clean. "The evidence is smeared all over your thighs."

She flushes and keeps her lips zipped. I escort her to the car without further protest and secure her like she really is a treasured pet. She's subdued during the ride, and it appears her mind is still a littered mess of pointless questions.

The buck stops at Millennium Park. It's the weekend, so it's crowded. We stroll aimlessly until my leg hurts too much to carry on and I find a bench to loaf on. I query whether she’s in the mood for a hot dog or ice cream or both. She looks at me like I've lost my mind.

"What are we doing here?"

I stretch out the cramping muscles in my leg and hope that Lola doesn’t notice. “Just enjoying a slice of sunshine.”

She quirks an eyebrow and looks around as though she's missed something. "Okay."

The clock strikes three and I have a front row seat while the magic unfolds. Music blasts from a speaker and Lola turns to investigate the pandemonium. Her confusion is a spectacle in and of itself. The choreographed chaos begins with a slow burn, and it’s the only kind of theater I would admit that I enjoy.

A woman in a polka dot dress drops her purse. She bends to retrieve it, but before she can, a hoodlum in ratty street clothes swoops in to steal it. Lola screeches. A chase ensues. The polka dot princess takes after the hoodlum, and before we know it, the whole park is captivated. The chase ends almost as soon as it begins when the hoodlum trips and polka dots digs a heel into his back. She throws her hands up and yells out to the crowd. “What would you do?”

The song changes in harmony with her words and What Would You Do by City High comes on. There are gasps of surprise and laughter when she twirls away, and the hoodlum begins to dance in time with the music, singing along to the lyrics.

Soon enough, a woman from the crowd joins in, taking on the same choreographed moves with ease. And then another, and another. The mob multiplies and Lola claps like a seal when she finally understands what’s happening.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! What do we do?"

I give her a lazy smile. "What do you want to do, LB?"

The song changes again, and so does the dance style. Michael Bublé comes on, and people are dancing in pairs now. Lola’s on the fence, but her decision is made for her when one of the dancers extends his hand in offering.

Even though I conspired to make this very thing happen, I want to tell him to fuck off. But this isn't about me. My leg doesn’t allow for such antics anyway, no matter how brave I might pretend to be. So when Lola looks to me for permission, I nod at her to go ahead. Being a wallflower isn’t so bad when I get to witness the ridiculously childlike smile on her face.

She switches partners three more times, and I've never seen her laugh so much. She's alive as she's ever been in this moment. The headache it took to make this happen was worth it, and I would do it again a million times over just to see her like this. I discreetly snap a few photos of her on my phone so that when this inevitably blows up in my face, I’ll have something to remember her by. When the charade is over, she races back to me and practically leaps into my arms. I've never felt like a hero, but I feel like one right now.

"That was amazing," she cheers. "Oh my god, Daire. I can't even believe that just happened to me. I’ve wanted to see a flash mob for so long."

Even though there is the potential for significant brownie points here, I’m not the type of douchebag to take credit for her happiness. Some things are just better left unsaid.

She wrinkles her brows. “It’s weird we just happened to be here.”

I feign indifference. “That is weird.”

“It’s also strange that you knew about the drive-in. It’s almost like you—” Her face pales. “Did you read my bucket list?”

I don’t respond to stupid questions, and I don’t like her tone.

“I should have known,” she mutters. "I suppose you'd like me to show you my gratitude now, right?"

My smile is forced, but Lola wouldn’t know the difference. She is hardwired to expect one behavior from me. "Later," I respond flatly. "We have somewhere else we have to be."

"Where?" she asks.

"Another item on your list."

"Such as?"

"Such as... karaoke."