EVERETT
It’s not a date. I’ve never been on a single date in my life.
Okay, that’s a lie. There was this one time in middle school when I invited a girl to get ice cream after class. She even let me kiss her. That was…a really fucking long time ago.
It wasn’t too long after that that I discovered just how much fun girls could be, and I didn’t even need to buy them ice cream.
I shake my head as I follow Bea out of the salon with my hand pressed against the small of her back.
What I said about the online version of me is true. The issue is that I’m not sure the version of me that hides in the shadows is any better. That’s the one Bea wants to get to know. But I fear both her and our unborn child might be better off not knowing.
“Wow,” Bea muses as I direct her to my truck. “You know what they say about men who drive cars this big, right?”
“I do. Lucky for you, you’re already acutely aware that that isn’t true.”
“I was pretty drunk that night,” she mutters as I pull the door open and wait for her to get in.
“I wouldn’t have fucked you if you were wasted,” I state confidently. Many out there might think I’ll fuck anything witha pulse, but that isn’t true. I choose my companions wisely, and they’re always aware of what they’re doing.
“Do you have a step ladder for this thing or what?” she asks, looking up into the cab as if she’s got to climb a mountain.
I chuckle as I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her. Her squeal of shock rips through the air as her feet leave the floor.
“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I sweep you off your feet,” I tease.
“I think it’s safer for both of us if my feet stay firmly on the ground,” she states once she’s inside.
“Why? You’re already pregnant; what else is going to happen?”
“I’d rather not know,” she mutters a beat before I swing the door closed and walk around the front of my truck.
She watches me silently as I pull out of the space and merge into the traffic.
“What’s wrong? Do I need a facial?” I ask.
“Yeah, your pores are clogged, and your complexion is a little dull,” she deadpans.
“Wow,” I laugh.
“What? You asked.”
“I wasn’t expecting the brutal honesty, though.”
“Then don’t ask an emotional, hungry pregnant woman for her honest opinion.”
“I don’t remember asking for honest,” I point out.
“Ah, it must be a shock not to hear just how incredible you are every five seconds.”
“I mean, I’ll take a compliment if you’ve got any.”
She thinks for a moment. “I’m impressed you turned up at the salon. How’s that?”
“I’m sorry it took so long. I should have turned up sooner,” I confess.
“Better late than never, I guess.”
Silence falls between us. It’s weird. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not entirely relaxing either. There are so many things that are going unsaid between us, so many questions we both need to ask, but neither of us is brave enough to voice them.
