“That’s a good idea. We’ll come back after food.” We turn, and I throw my arm over her shoulder —I love those flat shoes— and wander back down the strip.
For the third time.
The first time, we decided it was too sunny, and it would be better to do the ride when the sun wasn’t in our eyes. The next time we came back, we decided we needed a bit of liquid courage. This time, the excuse is food.
We’re never getting on that roller coaster, and I’m not mad about it. It’s cute as fuck, the way she tries to psych herself up. If she really wanted to do it, I’d go, but I would really rather save myself the worry.
That’s new too. Worry. I’ve never felt protective like this with anyone I’m dating. Cara’s about the most capable woman I’ve dated, so logically my need to keep her safe when I didn’t have the same overpowering drive with other women, doesn’t make sense. But I can’t turn it off. I’m constantly sweeping the street in front of us, watching for danger. Is this what Colton’s always feeling? If so, then I feel bad for giving him so much crap about it.
It’s powerful shit.
Pulling her closer to me as we walk, I revel in the feeling of being Cara’s man. It feels really good having the right to hold her. To be the one to escort her. To be touched by her. In public, no less.
I have never been with anyone with her kind of appeal. Everyone looks at her. Even toned down in her short, tight pants, she’s stunning. All the men look and admire, and so do the women, though not the same way. Some of the women’s eyes are warm, others not as much. It took me a while to figure it out. The ones who’d look us up and down, looking kinda confused, were the skinny bleached ones. It’s like they can’t figure out why she’d ever date me.
I get it. I don’t know why she’d date me, either. I may have bulked up a bit, but I’m still the geek. Sure, I call myself a hacker, cause let’s be honest, I can get into any system I put my mind to, but it still isn’t that cool. I’ve never been the athletic guy or the guy that the women flocked to for his looks. It’s always been my money attracting them.
There, in the back of my mind, is a tiny worry that my money might be a part of why she’s dating me, but the more rational part is screaming at it to shut up. Cara works in a building with eight billionaires. If she wanted to date someone with money, she has a fuck of a lot of choices. But for some reason, she wants me. No fucking way do I want to waste any more of my energy questioning why. Instead, I’m going to make damn sure she doesn’t regret it.
“Should we head back to the hotel? That table’s waiting for us.”
She hums, spinning out from my arm, nearly knocking into a camera-toting, sneaker-wearing couple. “Sorry,” I mutter as I reel her back in.
“Let’s get grease.” She spins again, shading her eyes from the glare of the neon around us. “There,” she says, pointing excitedly, then takes off towards a hole-in-the-wall burger joint with a lineup fifteen people deep. She hops into the line, waving at me to hurry up. I run the last couple of feet and move in behind her.
“This place has got to be awesome. Or cheap. Either way, guaranteed it’ll be greasy. I can smell it from here.”
“Well, as long as it’s greasy.” I study the heads in front of us, noticing quite a few people in hotel uniforms. If the locals are eating here, maybe we are in for a treat.
“When I was in high school, we’d end up at this diner downtown after parties. I’d always get a cherry coke and a burger and fries. It was so good. We’d sit there for hours, just talking and flirting. It was so much fun.”
“It sounds fun.” Teenage Cara would have been a sight to see. I’m sure she would have left teenage me a hormonal mess.
“I guess you never got that, did you? High school parties and sitting at diners with your friends.”
“No, not really. I was younger than everyone else, and my home life was different. I didn’t have a mom and dad checking on me the way they did. Me and the guys spent time together instead. At the apartment, mainly. When we got busier and started making more money, we sometimes splurged and went to a diner. But it was hard to get all of us together sometimes.”
“But you all lived together?”
“Yeah, but by then, everyone was starting to scatter. A few of the guys would disappear to their girlfriend’s places. I was at school a lot of the time or hanging out at gamer bars. Micah was obsessed with his custom builds. Ransom was always out and would come home with the weirdest shit. He came home with a raccoon once. Fucker said he won it. That’s what he said every time he came back with something. ‘I won it.' I never could figure out if he was lucky or really good at cards. I mean, why would he want to win a raccoon? I never figured it out.”
Cara’s riveted by my story. “What did you do with the raccoon? Was it in a cage?”
“He brought it home in a cage. Mav thought we should set it free, so we opened the apartment door and the door of his cage. He just sat there, wandered out, looked outside, then came in and slept on one of our sleeping bags. He lived with us for almost a year.”
“You guys are fucking weird,” she mutters. She doesn’t make it sound like a bad thing.
“Yeah, you’re not the first one to say that.”
“So what happened when you got some money and could afford your own places?”
“We scattered and saw even less of each other. We’d go on vacations together, and we’d see each other at the office, of course. God, in the beginning, we were all sharing offices in this small leased warehouse on the south side.”
“So then, how did you end up at the high rise?”
“That’s all Jonas and Ransom. They got it in their heads that we should all be together. They had the plans drawn up and had the contractor picked before any of us saw it.”
“But you didn’t have to move in, right? You could have sold off those apartments for a pretty penny.”
