He laughs. “If you say so.”
“Trust me.” I’m serious.
He looks away momentarily. “I do… trust you.”
Wow, I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. “I had a really nice time tonight,” I continue.
Romeo’s eyes snap back to mine. “You did?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because…” I watch his reasons dance across his features before he finally says, “Tonight isn’t over yet.”
“It isn’t over till the fat lady sings.” It’s one of my grandpa’s favorite expressions.
Romeo’s smile is filled with confusion. But he squeezes my hand and says, “Come on.”
I don’t ask where we’re going. I let him guide me through town like we belong together, like we always had someplace to be. People stare at us. Normally, I’d put my earbuds in and my head down, and pretend that I’m invisible, but tonight, I revel in the attention. I wonder what people think when they look at us. Do they think we’re a cute couple, or are they wondering how he hasn’t broken me in half yet?
I don’t care either way.
I want to be seen holding hands with him. I want people to know that I like him as much as he likes me. It’s a bizarre feeling, one I don’t think I’ve experienced in a long while, or like ever, so I soak it up, commit tonight to memory, just in case a second date doesn’t happen.
We walk along the Roosevelt Boardwalk. I’ve never paid much attention to the views of the Verrazano Bridge from here before. I live here. Bridges and ferries and skyscrapers become invisible after a while. So, it’s like seeing things for the first time, or through a tourist’s eyes.
On the beach, Romeo finds some flat stones and teaches me to skim them across the water’s surface. He stands behind me and dips his head, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck. His arms wrap around me. His hands cover mine, firm but gentle, as he shows me how to grip the stone if I don’t want it to sink where it lands.
“Flick your wrist like this.”
His voice sounds even huskier than normal as he moves my wrist back and forth. I can smell coconut and something citrussy, lime perhaps from the shower gel he uses. The heat of his hand on mine is setting my insides ablaze, and I have to tear my eyes away from his lips to concentrate on the stone in my hand.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I don’t want the moment to end, so I keep him talking.
“When I was a kid.” His lips graze my earlobe, and a shiver travels down my spine.
If he doesn’t feel my heart trying to escape from my chest, he must be a robot. Or numb. Or maybe I’m not the first woman he has ever taught to skim stones on a first date. I squash that thought before it sucks me down a gigantic wormhole of low self-esteem and niggling self-doubt. Maybe this is his successful route to getting in a woman’s panties on the first date.
“All kids can skim stones.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “No one ever showed you?”
“No.” I don’t tell him that much of my childhood was spent watching quiz games on TV while my mom slept on the couch after a heavy night before the morning after. “I didn’t come down to the beach much.”
“We’ll have to rectify that.”
I lick my lips. “I don’t swim either.”
He releases a long sigh against my neck, and I feel my nipples harden. “Are you asking me to teach you, Sara?”
The butterflies are positivelysinging now. “If you’re offering.”
“I am.” He pauses, and I relax against him. “Okay, no more distractions. Curl your wrist towards your body and then release…”
The stone hops across the water’s surface twice and then sinks with a gentle plop.
“Not bad. Let’s try again.”
I discover how tenacious Romeo can be when we skim stones until my arm aches.
Okay, so maybe I deliberately sink those babies to keep his body pressed up against mine, but if he’s onto me, he keeps it to himself. By the time I get five skips, his breath has left a warm damp patch on my neck, and I’m shivering whenever he releases me.
