Between bites of food, he stole lengthy kisses, displays of casual affection that made my heart skip each time.
A breeze whispered through the park, causing a shiver to chase through me. At once, Luke shifted, tugging me between his legs, settling me back against his chest. One strong arm looped around my middle, allowing his body heat to bleed into me.
“Are you ready for dessert?” I asked after a moment, reaching for the cooler bag.
“You know I can’t resist anything you bake. You’re a magician in the kitchen. Hey, that rhymes.”
He was such a loveable dork. As the lid came free from the container to reveal the dessert within, a delighted gasp escaped Luke.
“You made tiramisu!?”
“I know it’s your favorite. I wanted this to be special.”
“It was already special because it involved you,” he said, giving me an enthusiastic, slightly off-center kiss that landed between my upper lip and the corner of my mouth. “But you won’t find me saying no to your finest desserts. Best first date ever.”
Luke’s enthusiasm was why I loved doing stuff like this for him. He never met my gestures with the entitlement I had grown accustom to with Vince. Luke treated each offering as though it were a gift of staggering worth. He honored every hour of effort with a kind of wide-eyed gratitude that made me want to spend my life giving to him and filling his days with surprises.
“Wanna walk a bit more?” Luke asked, rubbing his stomach after we’d finished. “Work off the thousand calories we inhaled?”
“Sure.”
We meandered further into the park until we came upon on one of those fitness trails, with sporadic equipment built into the landscape. Pull-up bars, parallel bars, a balance beam, scaling ladder, and in the distance a climbing rope.
I tilted my head toward the pull-up bar. “How many can you do in one go?”
“Pull-ups?”
“Yeah.”
“How many do you think?”
“I don’t know, over two hundred?”
“Two hundred!? Angel, I love that your estimation of my physical prowess rivals that of a Greek demigod or superhero, but I can barely get over thirty, and that’s on good day.”
“Well then, let’s see it. The people demand a performance.”
“The people, huh?”
“Yes, all one of us.”
Approaching the bar, he shook his arms, rolled his neck, muttering to himself, “Alright, Luke. Time to impress the boyfriend. No pressure. Only your entire reputation as a physical specimen on the line.”
The boyfriend. Something in me tripped, skipped, and then stumbled into airlessness. I knew that’s what we’d agreed upon, but hearing it out loud cemented its meaning. “Don’t worry, I’m already impressed, and I’ll be right here on the sidelines cheering you on.”
“I’ll have to dig out my old letterman’s jacket to complete the fantasy. Maybe let you wear it after the big game.”
Uh... wearing something of Luke’s with his name branded on it? Yes please.
He leapt up, catching the bar. For a second, he simply hung there, his shirt stretching tight across his chest, revealing the shifting ridges of his muscles beneath. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he hoisted himself upward, biceps contracting.
“One,” he exhaled.
His muscles rippled as he lowered, slowly, because Luke was the type of showoff who controlled the descent for maximum impact. He rose again, the second pull-up smoother than the first. I stood there gaping, growing painfully aroused. Luke’s muscular form on full display was too hot not to provoke that kind of reaction.
“Five,” Luke said, still counting his reps. “You alright? You’re looking a bit flushed.”
“I think my lungs have staged a full shutdown in protest of so much sexiness made flesh.” I raised a hand to my face. “Yep. Confirmed. No air exiting this body.”
