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Having lived in the area all my life, I can count on one hand how many times I’ve actually gone to sit and stare at the famously illuminated boathouses on the east bank of the Schuylkill River.
“We can’t stay long,” I tell him.
“Cool.”
We pull into a parking area by the river, which places us directly on the opposite side of the boathouses. We have a direct view of each colorfully lit house and the Art Museum. Shane turns off the ignition and turns down the music, and we just sit in silence for a moment, appreciating the spectacular city landscape.
“Let me know if you get cold,” he says.
Not totally sure what to wear to the party, I ended up selecting a black one-shoulder top, faux black leather leggings, and short boots–not the warmest outfit for late November in our part of the world.
“I’m fine.”
“Why don’t we finish our conversation,” he says, pivoting his massive shoulders in my direction.
“Which conversation?”
“The one where you’re finally going to admit that you want my body too, beautiful.” His voice sounds unusually gritty and makes something flutter in my chest.
“Keep your eyes on the boathouses, and stop calling me beautiful for the millionth time.”
“You’re right. It’s not special enough.”
“And it’s lazy.”
“But accurate.”
“It says a lot that you still use it when I’ve repeatedly asked you not to.”
“Damn, you can hold a grudge. I called Lisa beautiful one time. It was a slip of the tongue. Now I can never say it again?”
“This has nothing to do with the fact that you called us both ‘beautiful’ literally within seconds of each other.”
“Yeah,” Shane chuckles, staring me down with his hypnotic eyes. “You can definitely hold a grudge and it’s sexy as fuck.”
His laser-focused attention on me is making me anxious.
“Your eyes are mismatched,” I babble.
“You’re just noticing that?” he teases.
“It seems uncommon.”
“I think it is. I’m not sure. I never asked.”
He reaches in the back of the truck and pulls out a bottled water.
“Want some?” he offers.
I nervously take a sip and then hand it back to him. He takes a long sip behind me, and something about the act makes me blush.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” he asks me.
“It was good. What did you guys do?”
“We had a quiet dinner with about fifty or so of our closest relatives,” he grins.
“You have a big family?”
