“I know I’m right,” Ian agrees with a wink, prompting me to lightly dig my elbow into his side with a giggle. Tightening his arm around my shoulder, he plants a wet kiss on my cheek, making me squirm. “How about we come back to Florida, just me and you, that way you can fully enjoy a worry free weekend?”
“That sounds great,” I agree.
I’ve never had someone plan me a surprise date, but it appears that this is something Ian loves to do. He’s slowly chipping away at the wall I’ve tried to put between us to try to keep it casual. It’s easy to forget the reasons why I don’t want a relationship right now, because every day he does something to remind me that I’m worth it, that I’m special to him. This surprise date is just the cherry on top.
He won’t give me any hints as to what we’re doing today. I usually hate surprises, but somehow with Ian they get me excited like I’ve never been before, they make me feel like a kid again. Somehow, over a few short weeks, he’s gotten to know me better than I know myself. He’s gotten me to let go of the stick-in-the-mud, stiff, serious person I had become during my marriage to Lucas. He’s shown me what it's like to have fun again.
“Just wear something comfy. I’d go with running shoes, those bike shorts that make your ass look like a prized piece of art, and a comfy shirt,” he finally says, after I’ve asked him five times what I should wear, interrupting my train of thought. “Oh, and don’t forget your sunglasses, and maybe grab a hat if you want.”
So clearly we’re doing something outside. At least there’s nowhere to hike around here, thank the lord. I don’t think I could go on another hike anytime soon, not after our mishap in the Rockies a few weeks ago.
“Where are we going?” I ask once again, now that we’re sitting in the truck.
“Well, first we’re gonna stop to get you an iced latte, you’re gonna need the energy,” he says, giving me a smirk, knowing he’s giving me too broad of hints for me to figure out where he’s taking me. “If you stop asking, I might even get you a pastry,” he finishes, throwing me a wink, knowing the way to my heart is through food.
“Well don’t you know the way to a lady’s heart,” I sass back with an eye roll, making him laugh as we make our way out of the gated community.
As we make our way to the coffee shop, I take the time to take him in, driving with his right hand on my thigh and the other on the steering wheel, casually tapping his thumb to the beat of the songs that are softly filling the SUV. I don’t know what I did to capture the attention of a guy as gorgeous as him. I mean, seriously, the guy is effortlessly gorgeous, even just in a simple pair of workout shorts, a Rockies T-shirt, backwards hat, and Raybans. Let’s not even get started on his eyes, it’s not just the deep blue of them or how easily they catch mine across a room, or how a lazy wink sends goose bumps down my arms. When he looks at me, it’s like he sees into my heart and soul. He doesn’t just look at me for what I can give him or how I look next to him. He looks at me, not like a tool to help his image, but like he needs me there. I’m not simply there to enhance his image or to make him look good. I’m there because he one hundred percent wants me there beside him. He looks at me like he wants me there. Just me, nothing else. It has butterflies swarming my stomach.
“Where’s that pretty mind of yours gone?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts, giving my thigh a light squeeze as he pulls into a drive-through line.
“Nothing,” I quickly answer, earning me aI know you’re full of shitlook. “Fine,” I say, with an eye roll. “I was thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“Fishing for compliments I see,” I sass back, not really wanting to tell him what I was thinking about. He’s planned another full day for us, and I don’t want to start it by talking about how I was just a prop in my marriage.
“Never,” he answers back seriously.
“I was thinking about how you look at me,” I answer in a whisper, hoping he didn’t hear me as he orders two, large, iced dirty chai lattes, two breakfast sandwiches, and a muffin.
Moving on in the line, coming to a stop behind the car in front of us, “Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” he says, turning to get a better look at my face and settling against the driver door of the SUV. “Come on, you know you can tell me anything right?”
“I know. I just . . .” I say with a huff. “You’ve planned this entire day, entire date; I don’t want to ruin it by talking about my marriage or anything like that,” I finish, looking out the window, not meeting his eye.
“Pretty Girl, I know you were married. I know you were happy with someone else at one point in your life, but I also know that by the end of that marriage you weren’t happy. I’m okay with the fact that you had serious relationships with other people before you knew I existed. Nothing you say about those relationships is gonna make me look at you differently, or judge you. If anything, you talking about it is gonna stop you from making the same decisions that lead you to being unhappy, and is gonna make me understand you better and make me a better partner to you than your ex-husband was. So please, don’t ever hold yourself back. I want to know everything there is to know about you. Even the ugly parts. I promise you, I have ugly parts too.”
Seriously, this guy. How he knows exactly what I need, what I need to hear, before I even know what I mean is crazy. I get a break from how the morning went from happy thoughts only to this heavy topic, as the car in front of us moves forward and it’s our turn at the window.
“Still waiting on your answer,” Ian says, handing me a sandwich before getting back onto the road.
“I was just thinking about how you look at me. It’s completely different from how Lucas would look at me,” I say, taking a bite from my sandwich, hoping that answer satisfies him.
“And how do I look at you?” he prompts.
“Like I matter. You look at me as if you want me there and want to know what I’m thinking. You look at me with interest and happiness. You look at me as though I’m more than a prop in your life. You make me feel like I’m not just around to make you look good or to help you fulfill some kind of notch on your list,” I say with complete honesty. With a quick look and question, he always has me telling him the truth. And that’s another thing, he makes me feel so safe. Must be the thigh tattoo.
“Good. You are important. Honestly, you fascinate me. I don’t know how you do it. You moved halfway across the country, where you didn’t know anyone—with one bag might I add. Levi told us,” he adds, when I look at him with a raised brow. “I mean in two and a half months you’ve learned how to ride a horse, went on a hike, line danced, got a tattoo—a hot as fuck tattoo—started doing yoga, and are writing a book. Seriously, I’d be stupid not to be attracted to you. You’re a badass. A badass with an amazing ass,” he says with a goofy smile.
“Two things,” I say, blushing. “Okay three. One: You moved across the country to play hockey. Two: The only thing I’ve done on my own is start my book, which is three-quarters done, but even then, Levi and Summer bought me a new laptop. And three: You can cross life-changing sex off that list.”
“Life changing? Really?” he asks, dragging his fingers tips that were back on my knee, higher up my thigh, grabbing the meaty part of my inner thigh.
“What can I say, Mr. Morrison, you know what you’re doing. Especially with that mouth of yours.”
“Okay, enough. If you don’t stop talking I’m turning this car around, I’ll have you on all fours, and you can kiss our day at the zoo goodbye.”
“Ha! So we’re going to the zoo! I knew I’d be able to get it out of you! We should have bet on it!” I say.
