Page 20 of The Last Special Thing

“I can let you do that.” She meant for the words to come out playful, but they were earnest. A date was exactly what she wanted.

He gave her another kiss and opened the door for her. Once she was inside, he outlined a heart on the evening frost on her window. She melted at the gesture.

CHAPTER NINE

When Art wanted something, he made it happen. Whereas Weston would take forever to plan a date, they hardly did more than sit on the couch and watch a movie, or attend the quarterly, obligatory social function, Art planned their date for the following day.

Her morning consisted of a quick coffee with her mom, who relayed that Georgina was visiting a new country (Portugal), then she busted her ass at a boot-camp fitness class. After she got home, sweaty and accomplished, she indulged in a complete girl shower with both a hair and face mask.

In the late afternoon, Amelia barged through the apartment door to find Max on the couch, eyes glazed. His t-shirt had a ketchup stain, and a new tattoo of a PB&J was on his forearm. The bar when Madisson was gone was painfully low.

He didn’t seem to notice Amelia’s critique of him as he smiled at her, his tongue sliding against his lip ring.

“Ohhhh, Art. Amelia’s here,” he teased.

Art bounded out of his bedroom and whistled before slinging an arm around her shoulder. For his part, Art was more dressed up than she had seen. However, he wore the same black Converse. Likely, it was the only pair of shoes he owned. A travesty. She made a mental note to pick him up a more versatile pair the next time she went shopping.

“Ready?” Art asked.

“Always.”

They walked out of the apartment, leaving Max to do, well, whatever Max did.

The greatest thing about Art living in a beach town was that there was no shortage of activities.

He pulled her in, his breath tickling her earlobe. “Fucking or friends?” Art started a round of a people-watching game.

His eyes shifted toward a man and a woman outside the 7/11. The woman’s arms were crossed, and the man kept fidgeting with his Padres baseball cap.

“For sure fucking. You’re not that invested in an argument if you’re not getting laid,” she reasoned.

“I like the way you think.” He kissed the top of her head.

Halfway down to the beach, they stopped at Pizzeria Luigi’s. She wasn’t surprised by the restaurant choice for their first date. After all, they had only met because he was a pizza enthusiast.

There were a few other customers at the fast-casual shop lined up in front of the display case. She scanned the options, deciding on the Leonardo with pesto sauce instead of marinara. Art chose two slices with bacon and extra ranch on the side.

While Amelia tapped her parents’ card, Art picked up two cups for the fountain soda. He pushed the Coke button into his cup.

“Diet, please!” Amelia called to him as she signed Lauren’s name on the receipt.

Approaching the table, she caught the glimmer of a flask as Art returned it to his pocket.

His eyes stayed on her with a coy smile as she unwrapped the red straw and punctured the lid.

At the first sip, her eyes widened, confirming what she suspected: he had put alcohol in their drinks.

“You should probably ask people before you do that.” Amelia took another sip.

“You don’t seem to mind.” He leaned back in his chair.

She didn’t. She had been craving a summer adventure, not realizing a person could be the adventure.

“Some people may accuse you of being an alcoholic.” Amelia sucked the makeshift cocktail through the straw, liking the way the whiskey burned. Madisson, the environmentalist, would have disapproved.

“Some may say I’m always prepared for a good time. Always down, never scared.”

She hummed. “There has to be a time when you’re scared.” She swirled her straw against the chunks of ice.