He threw a pillow at me. “Brat. And I thought we were here to discuss you, not me.”
Damn.My smile faded, and I shifted in my seat. “What do you want to know?”
“Why you’re so anxiousnotto talk.”
I’d hoped we’d have more time together to get to this point. Mind racing, I thought of Frisco and how he’d rip me a new one if I fucked this up. But I didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t like me. I was truly trapped like a rat in a corner.
“I’m ready to talk. Ask away, although I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep from boredom.”
A single arched brow from Nate was indication enough he didn’t buy my story. “You’ve said you’re not experienced, but you sure as hell don’t kiss like a man who hasn’t had lovers. So who’s the real Presley?”
“Me. I’m who you see. I never said I hadn’t kissed guys or had sex. But lovers? Boyfriends?” My mind raced. Here’s where I had to choose my words carefully. “I’ve never been in a relationship where I felt safe. I’ve never had someone tell me they love me. So if I don’t like to talk about my past, it’s really because there isn’t much of one.”
“Then you’ve been with the wrong guys.”
He didn’t know the half of it. I gave him a tentative smile and scrolled through my phone to check the movie listings.
“We can get an early dinner and catch a seven thirty movie.”
“And after?”
“Let’s wait and see.” Nervous as if it were a first date, I hopped to my feet. “Want to go?”
“Sure, where?” He followed me out of the apartment. “Pizza? Really?”
“You’ll like it. Trust me.”
We ended up in Arturo’s, a century-old, coal-fired place on West Houston that I’d frequented in high school. After finishing half the pie and sharing a bottle of Prosecco, Nate lazed back in his chair.
“Damn, that was good.”
“Told you.” I wiped my mouth. “Sometimes less is more.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re pretty much the most.” He leaned across the table and swiped his thumb over my bottom lip. “Missed a spot.”
“Th-thanks,” I replied shakily, then cleared my throat. “Ready to go?”
“I’m ready.”
We bought our tickets, and to my surprise, Nate insisted on a big tub of popcorn because, “If I’m going to do this, I’m doing it right.” I’d picked some newly released action-thriller, and the theater was three-quarters empty.
“Let’s sit there.” He pointed to the aisle seat and the one next to it on the left-hand side in the second to last row.
“Okay.” We settled in, and the lights dimmed for the trailers. Our hands reached for the popcorn simultaneously, and we’d share smiles. With Jared we hadn’t had traditional dates. He would come to my apartment, and we’d have hot, frantic sex. The moment he walked inside, he’d be at my clothes, and only afterward, when we lay in bed together, would we talk. I’d never brought any other guy to my home. Or my life.
This was nice. Normal. I guessed this was what real dating was like.
The theater went dark, and Nate put his arm around my shoulder. Butterfly wings fluttered in my stomach, and I could swear I was sixteen all over again with my first crush. I fumbled in the popcorn tub, and Nate laid his fingers over mine.
“Let me.”
“What?”
“Let me feed you.”
The movie played on, but my concentration stayed on Nate placing the popcorn in my mouth. It was more sensual than actual sex and teasingly sweet. Utterly romantic.
“You realize I have no idea what’s going on up there?” His breath whispered past my ear. “Why are they blowing up that building?”
