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She knows exactly what he told me. How when she was seventeen she managed to get her finger stuck in the goal and the workers had to pry the machine open for her to get it out. Apparently, she swore to never play it again.
Tonight is about knowing her boundaries. Nothing would kill me more than pushing Libby too far and potentially hurting her. I now know she is willing to see what certain unknowns hold, but I wonder if she’s willing to give things another chance. Air hockey is a far cry from more important things, but it’s a start.
Once we are inside, her demeanor completely changes. She’s been more laid back tonight than I was expecting, but she’s now vibrating with excitement. “Food first, or games?” I ask.
Looking up at me with doe eyes, she nearly pleads, “Can we do both at the same time?”
“We can do whatever you want, Libs.” I’ll never be able to tell her no. She jumps with excitement and my heart grows two sizes. She deserves to be cherished and spoiled. Which is exactly what I plan to do.
After Libby beats me at air hockey for the third time, I wave my white flag.
“Okay. I give up. You’re officially the queen of air hockey. I bow down to you,” I say, bending at the waist and stretching my arms out.
“Stop.” She drags the word out between laughs and slaps my arm, setting it aflame. I’ve held off all evening on keeping my touches PG. But this is the second time she’s put her hands on me and I can’t fight it any longer. I grab her hand and bring her in to my chest, placing a kiss on her neck. The sensation almost does me in. Silky skin on my lips, the smell of honey filling my senses. Getting this small taste of Libby is a wonderful kind of torture.
Getting greedy, I slide my hands down to her ample ass and squeeze as I nip on the sensitive skin behind her ear. A delicate moan flows from Libby's lips and goes straight to my cock. I pull back, needing to not slam her against the wall in the middle of a busy part of town, and I’m graced with ocean blues where the ice used to be. She feels this too. That alone makes me want to say to hell with my own rules, but Libby is worth more than getting my fix. She deserves time, attention, and being made a priority. And that's exactly what tonight is about.
“Come,” I say, pulling her toward the exit. The dual meaning hangs heavy between us. Tonight has turned out perfect. Hearing Libby laugh is one of my favorite sounds. We’ve eaten crappy arcade food and got the chance to just have fun. Now I get to walk down the street with the prettiest girl on my arm.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, bumping into her slightly.
Her eyes briefly meet mine before staring straight again. “I don’t want to tell you.”
We’ve played this game before. “Oh?”
She giggles, and it may be in this moment that I fall in love with Libby Clark. This moment. This lazy stroll after a fun date, getting to have my hands on her, but more importantly, getting all of her quirks. She is my girl. My wife. My Libby. And I fucking love her.
“I don’t know that it’s acceptable to talk about on a date,” she says, bringing me back to our conversation. Little does she know this date will forever be engrained in my memory. Well, all of them will be. But this one will hold a special place.
“Try me.”
The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “Fine. But if it’s weird, then just say so and we can move on.”
“Deal.” Those words will never leave my mouth, but that’s for another conversation. We turn the corner and she tucks in closer to me. I fucking love this. Nothing can ruin this moment.
“I was thinking about the last date I went on before you.” Okay, maybe I was wrong.
“Go on,” is all I am able to get out while keeping my emotions in check. Her thoughts are her own, and I’m a lucky enough bastard that she’s sharing them with me. Anything that gets under my skin is my burden to carry, not hers.
“That’s it, really,” she says, popping a shoulder. “I’m trying to remember the last date I went on, but nothing comes up. Surely I had to at some point. That’s what people do when they’re dating. But I can’t remember a single one after my senior prom.”
I don't know whether to be sad, irritated, or relieved. Thank everything that is holy that she wasn’t just thinking of Jett while holding onto my arm. Not that I would hold it against her, but I’m glad her mind isn’t on him. Maybe I’m doing something right. Although it’s irritating that the prick clearly never treated her well, if she can’t recall a time in over five years that she was on a date. But mostly I’m heartbroken for her. Not that she needs my sympathy. But she deserves to be taken out, to be shown off. Not to be shoved in a box and taken out when it’s convenient.
“Tell me about your prom.” I know enough about Jett to never talk about the worthless fuck again. But I want to know the rest of Libby. All the moments I haven’t been around for.
She lets out a snort. “It was so awful. The kid’s name was Glenn. He was cute but nerdy. Zero game. He didn’t know where to put his hands so they ended up on my shoulders.” A single tear rolls down her cheek from laughter. “It's probably the worst prom in history. Something out of a book. You can’t make this stuff up.” I join in on the laughter, unable to hold back any longer, and it feels good.
All of a sudden Libby comes to a halt, her eyes wide, body stiff as a board. I instinctually wrap my arm around her and tuck her into me. Looking all around, I finally see what caught her attention and everything registers at once.
Fuck.
35
The blood drains from my face, down my body, and pools at my feet, turning them to stone.
“Libby, stay here,” Colt instructs. What he doesn’t know is that I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. He leaves me standing in the middle of the sidewalk and goes towards the salon. The windows are busted. Glass is scattered all around. I watch as Colt walks over it in his boots, phone to his ear.
I don’t understand who would do this. It’s a small salon and there’s only four of us who work here, including Sarah, the owner. We never have trouble with anyone. There hasn't even been a bad online review in the six years I’ve been here.
