Page 65 of Compassion
He offers me a warm grin at the same time he untangles his frame from mine leaving me feeling emptier than expected. “I hope you’re prepared to lose, sweetheart. I used to be a bowlingking.All balls bowed down to me.”
“I don’t think that sounds nearly as intimidating as you think it does.”
Archer immediately frowns and leans his frame against the edge of the island.
“Go finish getting dressed,Lord of the Balls.” It’s impossible not to snicker. “It’ll only take me a couple to finish up here.”
“Lord of the Fliesis actually one of my favorite classics.”
“That shit was so dark.”
“Yet such a fucking amazing allegory. One that’s sadly always been relative to my life.”
The pain in the statement hits like a ton of bricks to my stomach.
Do you have any idea how heartbreaking that is?
“I like that it’s okay to tell you that.” Archer offers me a half-hearted smile. “I also like that you’ve read it, so I don’t have to spend forty-five minutes explaining it to you like other people I’ve met.”
Grinning is naturally done. “Typically it’smewho is explaining toyoubooks for forty-five minutes.”
His hand waivers from side to side. “We’re getting to a point where we spend more timediscussingrather than explaining.”
I mindlessly coo, “God, I love that.”
“I love that, too.” He tosses me a wink and slowly backs out of the room, not breaking eye contact until he absolutely must.
I also love him, but I am not dumb enough to admit that out loud. At least not yet. Probably not until after we’ve had sex, right? No. Wait. I don’t wanna be one of those women that says I love you after sex like she equates love to sex. Ugh. Why is being in a relationship so complex?! And why didn’t I face any of this shit with someone I wasengagedto?!
After boxing up the white chocolate, cranberry cookies, dropping off a batch around the corner to Mrs. Tippet – who asked for some at the last HOA meetingandhired Archer to help in disassembling as well as assembling a new bookshelf she had delivered for her husband for an anniversary gift – and delivering the remaining amount to the precinct to assist in distracting Dad from prying further into my love life, the two of us finally begin our Saturday date night out.
We’re open to going out any day of the week – perk of being the only one who has to go in to work each morning – however, unless it’s dinner or the bookstore, we typically save “big outings” for Saturdays since Sundays typically consist of running errands – gym, grocery store, hardware store – or making appointments – like the physical exam we fought about him having and my routine eye appointment that becameourroutine eye appointment. What?! He needs his checkups. Yes, I’m aware he’s not a cocker spaniel. And I’m not dealing with him like a fucking pet. I’m treating him like a man I give a shit about and just need to know he’s okay. Inside and out.
Archer treats us to grilled sandwiches from Mo’s Mo’s – using the cash he earned from Mrs. Tippet – before we head on over to Pick a Lane, the new car themed, eighteen and up only, bowling alley.
Due to it being Saturday night, there’s a small wait, which prompts the two of us to hang out in the bar area while we wait.
We try to keep the mood light but my habit of wondering out loud if they’re hiring sparks the unpleasant argument that we don’t have to get him an application from every place we visit.
Apparently, that’s patronizing rather than helpful?
To my surprise, a very unexpected face drops by our table, beam just as bright as ever, when it interrupts the bickering. “Lovely library lady.”
Archer’s arm protectively flexes around my shoulder at the same time I greet him, “McCoy.”
“You know they don’t have books here, right?” He good-naturedly jabs.
“Give me ten minutes, and I bet I could prove you wrong.”
Laughter escapes us both while my boyfriend shifts around uncomfortable in the booth seat beside me.
Ohmygod, is he…jealous? Is that what a jealous boyfriend does? I mean I’ve read that this is what he does, but I didn’t think it happened in real life!
As if he’s noticed, my co-worker extends an open palm toward the man beside me. “McCoy.”
Archer immediately grips the hand tight. Shakes. “Cox.”
Okay, so do men just not use their first names with each other?
