“I wasn’t worried about that. I’m more concerned about him being bored withme.”
“Impossible.” Max scoffs. “If you run out of things to talk about, just bring up horses, or…llamas or something.”
I laugh. “Good call, Max. When in doubt, talk about llamas.”
“Shut up, he’s a rancher. It makes sense! Stop laughing.” He huffs, grinning and shoving me as he walks past and out the door. Bending over to tug on his shoes, he glances up at me. “Do you want to come to the diner with me? Luke’s working.”
“No, I’m all right. You’re driving, though, right?” I clarify. “Not walking?”
“Driving,” he confirms. “But I’ll still share my location with you.”
I nod, grateful that I didn’t have to ask. “All right. Thanks. Have fun at the diner.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe some planks or sit-ups on my bedroom floor, because apparently I’m going to be wearing boardshorts on Saturday.”
Max tips his head back and laughs. When he walks out the door, he flicks the back of his hand against my stomach.
“I don’t know, Marcos. Washboard abs before Saturday seems like a tall order to me.”
Despite my best efforts,I do not manage a six-pack nor even a two-pack. Tugging a shirt down over my dismally ab-less stomach, I step back enough that I can see most of my body in the bathroom mirror. Black swim trunks and a white T-shirt. Nothing special, but hopefully Nate won’t expect more of me. Frowning, I card my fingers through my hair a couple times, trying to manage the cool messy look that Luke favors. After a few seconds of trying, I give up with an annoyed huff at myself. We’re going to be outside, the wind will fuck my hair up anyway.
Leaving my bedroom, I’m glad that Max and Luke aren’t here to give me a hard time when Nate picks me up. I feel so out of sorts, it’s got me on edge. The practice of dating has been off my radar for a long time—a mixture of trepidation and excitement sits in my stomach, the cocktail making me feel slightly nauseas. A knock at the door has me wiping my clammy palms on my boardshorts, and squaring my shoulders as I go to answer it. If I thought seeing Nate would somehow make me less nervous, I’m quickly disappointed.
He looks devastating, standing there wearing a dark green shirt that makes his eyes glow like emeralds. He seems taller than I remember—limbs long, body lean and strong. It’s like theDavidstepped off his plinth in Florence and decided to stroll around South Carolina.
“Finally,” he says on an exhale, smiling at me. I’m so distracted by the sight of him, the word doesn’t register right away.
“What?”
“Finally,” he repeats. “You’re a hard man to nail down. I started to think I might have imagined you.”
Stepping out and pulling the door closed behind me, I wonder what the hell I’m supposed to do. Hug him? Kiss him? Drop to my knees and bury my face in his crotch? Thisis why dating is overrated. Who the hell needs this kind of stress?
“Well, your imagination could use some work, if that’s the case,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he reaches a hand out and touches my hair, right above my ear.
It doesn’t even qualify as touching. He’s carefullynottouching me, in fact—his fingertips brushing lightly through my hair without even reaching my scalp. Reaching up, I wrap my own fingers around his wrist and meet his gaze. His eyes light up at the contact, so I tug him forward and tip my chin up. I’m done overthinking this. I want to kiss him.
Nate leans down and presses his smiling mouth to mine, gentle and barely there. A proper first-date hello kiss, and not the kiss I really wanted. When I scowl, he laughs and comes back for another, lingering this time around. God, had I really forgotten the way he tastes?
Gently extracting his arm from my grip, he slides his palm against mine and squeezes my hand. I answer the question in his eyes before he can voice it.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
He positively beams, tugging on my hand to pull me into motion. He walks sideways down the stairs, glancing down at his feet before looking back up as though he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me.
“How was your morning?” he asks, drawing my attention away from where my hand is still held firmly in his. Nate’s almost holding on to me too tightly, as if he’s worried I won’t be there if he lets go.
His hand is warm from the heat of the day and our shared body heat. I can feel the scratch of his calluses catching on my skin. Three months ago this would have bothered me. I would have been unable to think beyond the possibility of hispalm becoming sweaty. I wouldn’t have let him hold my hand in the first place, worried about the risk of it making me feel like shit.
“My morning was good,” I answer him belatedly. “How was yours?”
“Awesome. I’ve been up since four a.m. Way too excited about today to sleep.”
When we reach his truck, he uses our hands to pull me behind him so he can open my door for me. I roll my eyes, pretending not to find this as charming as I do. He closes the door as well, waiting until I’m seated before shutting it and jogging around the front of the vehicle. He looks so excited, face bright and cheeks already flushed with joy. Before I can start drooling, I look away and busy myself with clicking my seat belt into place.
“All right,” he mumbles, situating himself in the driver’s seat. “You ready?”
