“Jesus,”she gasped, scrambling to hold onto my neck tighter.
Ichuckled, tightening my grip around her. “I bench more than you weigh, Iguarantee that.”
Formaybe a moment longer than necessary, I paused as I held her against me. Mygaze dropped below her shielded eyes to her open lips. In that moment, Iremembered the one other instance in my life when I’d come dangerously close tokissing her. That moment I should’ve regretted but didn’t, in bed about a monthago, when I was still in a relationship. When I shouldn’t have been thinkingabout things like kissing and sex with another woman.
ButI was single now.
Iwanted to do it. Just brush my lips against hers, to surprise her and feel hergasp against my mouth. But then … No. The first time we kissed, I wanted her toknow it was coming. I wanted that moment, that anticipation, and soreluctantly, I lowered her to her feet.
“Okay,not much further,” I said, taking her hands in mine.
“Seriously,where the hellarewe going?” She was smiling now.Excited. Her hands gripping mine tightly as we walked through the backyard.
“You’llsee.”
Myparents’ place sat on two acres of land. After my grandparents were gone and myfolks had free reign, they’d put in a pool, an outdoor living area with afirepit and barbeque, and a swing set, still standing from when we were kids.But beyond that, was a solid acre of greenery. Grass,trees, and thickets of wildflowers had given us a jungle to run through when wewere younger, along with a clearing for impromptu, on-property campouts andstargazing.
Ipulled her toward it now, going to a place we hadn’t been since that summerbefore high school. When we had made that promise to always be friends—thepromise I had broken.
WouldI ever not hate myself for that?
Westood in the middle of the clearing, and I said, “Hold on a second,” beforehurrying around to make my last-minute preparations. Then, I came to stand infront of her again and pushed out a leaded exhale. “Okay. Ready?”
Shebit her lower lip before nodding. “Yes,” she replied, her voice tight withanxiety, and I reached around to untie the blindfold.
Themoments in which she swept her gaze around the clearing and what I’d done to itwere agonizing. I waited for her expression to change, for some reaction, asshe took in the picnic, battery-operated lanterns, and containers of food andbeer I’d instructed our mothers to bring out. My stomach tied in painful knotsas sheswallowedand her lips fell open. I just neededher to smile, to show me if I’d done well, and when she finally did, I breathedout a heavy gust of relief.
“Chad,”Molly whispered. Her voice was constricted, tight and cracking with emotion.She lifted her hands to clutch against her chest as she shook her head. “Ican’t believe you did this.”
“It’sreally not a big deal. I mean, your mama thought I’d be better off takin’ youto some fancy restaurant orsomethin’. I consideredit, but,” I shrugged and smiled sheepishly, “that didn’t seem like ayoukindathing.”
Shelaughed nervously. “Well, you’d be right. Mama probably just wanted to test youand see if you’d actually do it.”
“Oh,I would’ve,” I assured her, walking backward to the cooler. “If I knew itwould’ve made you happy, I would’ve spent every penny I have ongivin’ you the best thirtieth birthday imaginable. But,when I thought about it,” I bent down to open the lid and pull out a couplebottles of beer, “all I could picture was you barefoot with a bottle of beer.”Like a smooth operator, I grabbed my keys from a pocket and used the bottleopener keyring to pop the tops off the beers.
Shegrinned and took one, tipping it back to her lips and kicking her sandals off.“You plan ongettin’ me drunk? That’s how this isgonnahappen?” She eyed me over the amber glass as shedrank.
Iscoffed. “God, I hope not. You get drunkwaytoo fast—”
“Hey!”She guffawed; eyes wide. “You’ve only seen me drunkonceat my mother’swedding when I was twenty-two. I’ve learned how to hold my liquor a little moresince then.”
Ismiled, relenting. “Touché. But still, I’mcuttin’back, so …” I shrugged and took a sip from my own bottle.
Cockingher head, she asked seriously, “Because of your stomach?”
Nodding,I replied, “Yeah. I mean, a couple of beersain’tgonnakill me ornothin’, but boozedoesn’t do much good for your gut as it is. And then, withsomethin’like this, the repercussions really aren’t pretty.”
Iwas doing a fine job of painting myself as a great guy to be with, and yet,Molly simply smiled. Unwavering in the affectionate way she looked at me.
“That’sokay. I don’t like to drink much, anyway.”
Smiling,I headed to another container and lifted the lid. “You hungry?”
“Starvin’, actually. I haven’t eaten since Sebastian madequesadillas for lunch.”
Throwingmy head back, I groaned. “Oh, Lord, I’d kill for hiscookin’right now. Or just Mexican food, for that matter, but …” I waved toward thecontents of the container. “I’meatin’ bland. You,however, arehavin’ some veganchanamasala. That I cooked myself, I might add.”
Walkingtoward me without hesitation, her jaw unhinged. “Youcooked?”
