82. Bailey
eighty-two
Bailey
Holy fucking shit he’s here. He’s on the couch in my living room and I am going to start sweating if I can’t calm down. Jesus Christ.
I brush my teeth one last time and then double-up the deodorant while checking to make sure my fly is zipped and my hair is decent.
“Shit,” I huff under my breath. I am fucking nervous.
Get your ass out of the bathroom, I think before taking in a few deep breaths—and opening the door.
I feel the warmth return to my cheeks before I’ve even rounded the corner into the living area.
Lolly is relaxing on the new couch, arms crossed and looking entirely too fucking good for my brain to make sense of any damn thing. How does he manage to make purple nail polish look so good? If I wasn’t focusing on not drooling, I might actually be jealous.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I try to figure out what to look at.
The floor. We are going to look at the floor.
“For what?” He says as he gets to his feet and takes a few steps in my direction.
“Um,” I hesitate, “for making you wait,” I say, finally meeting his gaze.
“I would wait longer if you needed me too,” he says, standing only a foot away from me now.
My stomach flips and my heart skips in my chest. “Thanks.”
“Love the aquarium,” he gestures toward the set-up with a smile. “Beto looks happy and healthy,” he adds.
“Y-yeah,” I stammer.
He must sense my unease because he quickly offers me his hand as he turns toward the door.
“You ready?” he asks. The question feels monumental.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. Yes I fucking am.
He lets go of my hand to let me lock up, but then takes it again before walking me to the passenger side, and opening the door.
“Thanks,” I sputter.
“You hungry?” He asks as he gets settled in.
“Always,” I admit.
“You still like sushi?” He says with a grin.
“Of course, but I still won’t eat the healthy rolls,” I say, unable to stop the smile that pulls at my lips.
I rest my arm on the console next to his, that same warmth flooding my system at the touch. But this time is different.
This time, without hesitation, he takes my hand in his, entwining our fingers together as if there was never a time in which we didn’t ride just like this.
I’m fidgety again by the time he returns with the food, my fingers twisting in my shirt while my leg bounces.
He glances at my fists and laughs, “You nervous, green eyes?”
My cheeks heat immediately.
I sigh, “Yeah, I actually am.” My shoulders relax a little. It feels so fucking good just telling him the truth.
“Me too,” he says softly. “But I don’t hate it,” he adds with a wink.
I roll my eyes and laugh, grateful I’m not alone.
“Where are we going to eat the ten pounds of sushi you just bought?” I ask. There’s no way in hell he was planning on us eating in his car.
“Patience, Grasshopper,” he says as he puts the car in drive and takes my hand in his. “Not far from here, actually. We’ll be there before you know it,” he says.
I relax into the seat, into his touch, and decide not to worry about where we’re headed. Because right now, it’s just the two of us, his hand in mine, and I can’t imagine a better place to be.