“So she’s like Redbull? She gives you wings?” He lifted a teasing eyebrow.
I shook my head. “More like she’s the sun, and she makes every minute better than the last.”
His grin waned, an expression of skepticism and confusion on his face.
I chuckled. “Don’t worry, one of these days you’ll understand.” I reached for the box on the counter and moved to follow my woman. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I can’t forget the doughnuts.”
CHAPTER 28
“Things are sweeter when they're lost.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned
~Sienna~
Jethro took me to Daisy’s Nut House for our eighth date.
We arrived to a sign that read, Closed for a Private Party. He’d bought out the entire restaurant. It was just Jethro, Daisy, and me, and a candlelit dinner for two of hamburgers, steak fries, hot sauce, and milkshakes.
He’d suggested a booth in the back, but I requested the diner counter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to sit in a restaurant at the diner counter. It felt so brazen to be out in the open, like I was on display with no consequences. The words magnificently liberating came to mind.
Sitting beside me on a stool, Jethro watched me with a wry expression as I added a generous amount of sriracha to my Swiss and mushroom burger.
“What?” I squeezed the sriracha out in a smiley face shape on top of the burger patty.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, still grinning, still watching me in a way that had my stomach and heart doing gymnastics.
“No. Tell me. What is it?”
He hesitated for just a second before saying, “It’s just, I like that you eat hot sauce because it means you can handle surprises in your mouth.”
I squinted at him. He probably thought the statement was funny, or shocking, or cute, or all three. Admittedly, he was right. It was funny, shocking, and cute—but only coming from him. Jethro’s flirting was typically light and teasing, respectful. He was so rarely lewd. Well, apart from when we were in bed. Thus, I kinda liked his lewd flirting. It felt special, like he reserved it just for me.
Jethro and his layers, one of which was apparently thinking about giving me surprises. In my mouth.
I waited until he took a bite of his hamburger before I asked, “How do you feel about pop rocks, then?”
Jethro coughed, his eyes bulging, and he covered his mouth with his napkin. He might have been choking to death on ketchup and laughter. I took this as a sign to continue.
“Because, if you think hot sauce is a surprise, you should try pop rocks and Coke. I mean, that’s like setting off a bomb of what the fuck did I sign up for inside your mouth.”
“Stop,” he rasped, reaching for and gulping his water, still laughing and choking.
I continued to squint at him, but was now grinning widely.
Tears had formed in his eyes, and he wiped them away, still chuckling. “I promise, I will never surprise your mouth if you promise never to tell a joke when I’ve got food in mine.”
“Agreed.”
We shook on it. Instead of letting my hand go, he kept it in his on his thigh, curling his fingers around mine. I couldn’t remember ever holding someone’s hand during a date. It was such a simple, affectionate gesture, as though he couldn’t stand having me close and not touching me.
I loved him for it.
I love him.
I blinked. The unbidden thought caught me off guard and was made even scarier because it wasn’t too soon. Since Hawk’s Field and the fun that came after, we’d been considerably more open about our relationship. He stayed with me most nights. We drove to the set together then made out or just shared each other’s company in my trailer. People on the set were talking, but we couldn’t be bothered to care.
We’d done everything but cross his line, and I believed he enjoyed my tempting him just as much as I did.
I was mad for him.
Everything was grand.
We were perfect together.
If my life were a movie script, the timing would have been just right. Two months, eight dates, a few ups and downs—actually, a lot of ups and very few downs—and no insurmountable issues.
I loved him. I trusted him. I wanted to be with him all the time. He treated me like I was precious to him, like I was the most important thing in his life, like I took priority. And I hoped he knew I felt the same way for him. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
“You know, I still don’t know much about what you actually do.”
“What I do?” I squeaked, jumping, trying to keep up with the conversation even as I was endeavoring to not freak out about the fact I loved him.
I’d never been in love.