He grins, his cheeks dimpling. “I’m not gonna lie, I think I could have done better.”
“Well, you’ll have to take me somewhere sickeningly sweet for our next date.”
He lifts a brow at me. “Are you asking me out again?”
I blush. “Yes.”
“Well, okay. But don’t take me anywhere weird.”
I giggle. His eyes drop to my lips, and I close my mouth over my tongue because I always poke it out when I laugh and it’s not very classy.
He frowns. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Hide your tongue.”
I poke my tongue out at him.
He sighs. “Perfect.”
We walk into a different part of the exhibition, no longer paying much attention to the scenes around us. It’s so quiet in here that our footsteps are audible. Not just ours, but everyone’s. Soft, like shuffling—it’s eerie. There are corridors, intentional and sharp, made from curtains and moveable boards. I can’t see other people, can only hear them. And I swear the speakers are breathing. “This entire place is an experience. Is it always like this?”
“It’s notorious, but I swear the last time I came it was bright and lively. There was a mini golf course, and I was going to do that thing where you show the girl how to swing the club.”
I loop my arm through his as we walk, his hands still in his pockets, our footsteps in sync, our eyes on each other rather than the displays. “I’m really good at mini golf—you may have been embarrassed,” I tease. A lie. I’m not good at sports at all. Is mini golf even a sport?
“Good thing we came today then.”
I nod, my cheeks aching from smiling at him. “Good thing.” I can see he hasn’t been drinking. His eyes are brighter, but also somehow warier. Less volatile, more vulnerable. I barely know him, but I’m crushing hard, and I’m proud of him for not drinking before our date.
We weave around a narrow corner and enter a room filled with art. I read the sign: Prison Art Program. My eyes follow the paintings on the walls, trying to understand the man or womanwho painted them. Not all crimes are violent. Some are a means to an end. Some are desperate. Some are hopeless. Some final.
Warmth caresses my cheek, and when I glance to the side, I find Konnor staring at me, reverence in his gaze. I blush. He grins.
“Sorry,” he says, perhaps for staring, but he doesn’t look away, holding me with his gaze in a way that isn’t calm but isn’t aggressive either.
“There is artwork on the walls, Mr Slater.”
“Looking at my favourite piece right now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Corny,” I mutter, eyes still on the displays.
“You love it.”
I do. I revel in this gorgeous man’s ability to speak his mind, however corny or cliché.
“Can we skip to the end of the date?”
I blink at the art, then turn to look at him. “What happens at the end of the date?”
His eyes drop to my lips, and a flutter moves through my abdomen. I didn’t think about kissing him… Well, I did, but I clearly didn’t give it enough attention and planning, because my heart is racing. He steps towards me, eyes caught on my lips, and my smile flattens.
“Here?” is all I can manage.
He takes another step, his potent energy moving into me. “We are alone. Surrounded by weird art painted by criminals. What’s more romantic than that?”
I giggle, and he sighs as if that sound physically relieves something inside him. “Your giggle… it fucks me up.”
