“Let me take you out. Like I used to. Remember?”
My eyes fly open, and an eyebrow lifts. “Oh, I remember. Do you?”
He seems to doubt himself for a second, glancing away, and I know then that he doesn’t.
“Last time you took me out was two years ago, Bobby. To Hooters, where you got so wasted, I had to have the guys at the next table help me carry you out to my truck.”
This time he’s the one to shut his eyes, squeezing them hard like it might wash the memory away. He shakes his head. “I’ve changed, Lou. I have. Somethin’ happened the day you left.” He lets his fingers slide down, skimming past my shoulder.
I don’t know why, but I find myself thinking of someone else when he does this. Another, warmer, touch that stroked my skin. Rough fingers slowly trailing down the nape of my neck, the curve of my shoulders. What it felt like to have the heat of his firm body pressed against me. A low breath escapes through my lips.
Something flickers in Bobby’s eyes as he watches my reaction, and it seems to make him bolder. He moves closer, leaning down so our faces are only inches apart. “When I saw you drive away from me, all your shit packed up and that For Sale sign in your yard, that was it. I swear to you, Lou, I haven’t had a drink since.”
It’s not the first time he’s told me he’s sober. That he’s changed for me. But it is the first time in a long while that I’ve smelled this fresh clean scent coming from him. Not even a hint of alcohol or cigarettes hits my nose.
“One more chance,” he pleads, folding his hand over mine. “That’s all I’m askin’ for. I drove straight through the night to get this moment right here.”
I chew on my lip, begging my brain to step up for once and pop out a logical answer for me.
“You don’t want this.” It comes out in a mumble because I’m still halfway biting down on my bottom lip, as though that’ll get me to shut up. “If I agree, if I say yes, it won’t be for the right reasons, Bobby.” And it’s the truth. What I don’t elaborate on, though, is what those reasons would be: because it’s Sunday, because I’m lonely, because I’m hurting more than I’ll ever admit. And maybe, because I’m scared.
His fingers squeeze around my own. “I don’t care. I’ll take whatever I can get, Lou. Anything at all.”
Voices trail down the stairwell as other guests make their way into the lobby, and I move back a step, pulling my hand from his grasp. “Okay.” The word is hollow. “You can take me out.”
Bobby looks almost as stunned as I feel. “Yeah? Today?” He pulls his hand through his hair and lets out a loud exhale he must’ve been holding in. “You won’t regret it, bab—Lou. I promise, you won’t.”
“I better not,” I warn, and his grin widens.
I can’t remember the last time he’s talked to me like this. Like I’m all he wants. Not for me to grab him another beer, to rub his back, to change the channel. Just . . . me. The corner of my lips lift a little.
I turn toward the stairwell and hear him call after me, “Wait, where you runnin’ off to? I thought I was takin’ you out.”
“You are,” I call back, glancing over my shoulder, “but I have things to do.”Lie, lie, lie.“You can pick me up for dinner.” He’s got some groveling left to do, so I figure it’s a win-win.
His cocky grin tells me he’s up for the challenge. “All right. Pick you up at six then.”
Chapter 11
It takes onlya few hours of being alone in my room for the boredom to reach suffocation status. Maybe it’s the anticipation for tonight, but nothing seems to be entertaining me. I spend some time organizing the items I purchased yesterday, then I flick through TV channels until my eyeballs hurt. I must be further gone than I realize, because a treadmill infomercial showcasing a Wonder Woman look-alike somehow convinces me to go for a run. I make it to the end of the block before remembering how much physical endurance sucks everything holy and turning around.
Now stiff and achy, I slide my clothes off and slip into a hot bath.I can do this. Take a nice, long bath, maybe even pamper myself a little before my . . . date? Is that what this is with Bobby? No, it can’t be a date. The one thing drunk Bobby and sober Bobby have in common is they both have a way with words, with getting what they want when they set their mind to it.Charm, Grams called it. So tonight, I decide, is going to be about seeing if Bobby can walk the walk.
If there’s anything I have to be thankful for, it’s that his unexpected arrival has sufficiently distracted me from this particular day of the week.
I’ve just wrapped a white towel around my body when a knock sounds at the door.
“Coming,” I call out.
Please don’t be Bobby, please don’t be Bobby.
The second theclicksounds from unlocking the bolt, the door’s flying open, and Claire’s blonde hair comes bouncing into my room. “Wow,” she sighs, helping herself to the rocking chair and leaning back with a wistful look in her eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hiding such a cute boyfriend? And his accent? Totally adorable.”
I close the door and turn back to her with a smile. “Hello to you too.”
She grins. “Oh, hi. But seriously . . .”
“Bobby’s not my boyfriend.”
