He holds on to me a little longer and then releases me. I eat my burger and he eats his chicken sandwich in silence and it’s the most comfortable silence I’ve ever lived in. After we’re done, we ball up our garbage and pile it in the bag. Then he moves it aside so we can scoot closer, our shoulders touching.
“What was your life like before you met me?” I ask, relaxing back on my palms.
He tilts his head to the side, looking at me. “A lot less complicated,” he admits.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“It’s a complicated thing,” he says and then sighs heavily. “I had this system before you came along and it was working for me, but now that system is gone… With you… you make me feel like I’m falling into this out of control world full of craziness.”
I frown. “You make me sound so insane.”
“No, it’s not like that.” He rakes his hand through his hair, letting out a grunting exhale as he sits up. “God, this is coming out sounding so weird.”
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Weird is okay with me and there’s no one else around.”
I feel him smile through the dark. “See it’s things like that that make me just want to stay here with you. Because whatever I say never fazes you.”
“We could just sit here in the dark,” I say, trying not to think about the many times I sat in the dark by myself. “The dark can be comfortable.”
“Yeah, we could do that…” He trails off and I feel the air temperature rise as he leans into me. “Do you want to do that? Just sit in the dark with me.”
“Maybe…” I trail off as his lips connect with mine. He tastes different than usual, less smoky and tasting of tequila; instead he tastes salty from the French fries. I can taste the passion of the kiss and heat pools in my stomach. I clutch his shoulders as he pushes his weight into me and forces me down on my back. My head brushes the ground below and dirt gets in my hair as our legs tangle together and he barely supports his weight above me.
He kisses me slowly this time, more deliberately than he usually does. It’s like he’s calculating each movement, each taste, each breath as his hands knot through my hair. He gently tips my head back so his tongue can explore my mouth more thoroughly, gradually, slowly. Jesus, he’s driving my body mad. I can’t think straight, my nails jabbing into his shoulder blades, his lower back, his sides, anything that I can get a hold of as my body becomes more and more impatient.
Then he’s pulling away again, stroking my cheek with his finger, his other hand playing with my hair. “This is nice.”
“You’re starting to sound like a softy,” I say, breathless.
“Didn’t you accuse me of being a softy once?” He continues to play with my hair.
“I did, but I didn’t really mean it.”
“Well, maybe you were right all along.”
“Maybe I was.”
He continues to comb his fingers through my hair, his body positioned over me, and I get so comfortable I almost fall asleep in his arms, right there up on a rock. Then he lifts his weight off me and the cold seeps into my body, waking me right back up. He laces his fingers through mine as he pulls me to his feet with him.
“Where we going now?” I ask, dusting the dirt off the back of my leg.
He bends down and grabs the garbage. “How about home?”
Home. Such a strange word, since nowhere has ever really felt like home to me. “Yeah, home sounds nice.”
* * *
The rest of the drive home we talk about mundane things, like what his favorite food is: tacos, which I already kind of figured out, since it’s his hangover food and he likes to drink. I tell him what mine is: chocolate chip cookies, the kind my mom used to make. It surprises me that I talk to him about my mom, just as much as it surprises him. Our entire conversation is so boring and normal, but the thing is I actually like it and I start to wonder if I could actually live a boring, normal, non-adrenaline-junkie life.
When he parks the truck at our apartment complex, it’s still early, but Luke says we can continue our date in the house. Then he starts kissing me in the truck before we can even get out. Our mouths and hands explore each other’s body until it gets too hot and then we get out and head inside. It’s the perfect date, and I’m seriously reconsidering my whole theory on life, when I spot a guy sitting at the bottom of the steps that lead up to our apartment.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I let go of Luke’s hand as I realize who the guy is. I leave a shocked Luke behind as I storm over to the steps.
Stan Walice looks up from his notebook, looking nervous and tense. “Please just calm down. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”
“Do I need to get a restraining order?” I ask as I arrive at the foot of the stairway.
He rises to his feet and tucks his notebook and pen into his front pocket. He’s wearing wrinkled gray pants, old sneakers, and a red polo shirt, along with square-framed glasses. “Calm down. I just want to ask you some questions.” His glasses start to slip down the brim of his nose and he pushes them up with his finger.
“I’m pretty sure I made it clear I’m not going to do that,” I say as Luke steps up beside me.
“Who the f**k is this?” Luke says as his hand touches the small of my back, slightly calming me, but my insides still burn.
Stan’s eyes dart to him, I’m sure comparing his out-of-shape body to Luke’s solid, tattooed body. “I just want to ask her a few questions about her parents.”
“And I already told you to go f**k yourself,” I say, not with anger but with a silent plea in my voice. “Seriously, what is with reporters and being obsessed and determined to harass people?”
“I really need this story,” Stan says, raking his fingers through his hair. “My job’s on the line.”
“She says she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Luke steps forward, positioning himself in front of me, protecting me. “So take the hint and f**king get the hell out of here before I have to beat your ass,” Luke says and then he reaches back and grabs hold of my hand. As much as I would love to see him beat Stan’s ass, I also remember that unlike when he fought with Preston and the guys at the strip club, there will probably be consequences this time, so I squeeze his hand and hold on to him.
Stan shakes his head, panic flooding his eyes as he skitters to the side so I can see him. “Look, I know I’ve probably been going about this wrong, but I really need this story or the paper’s going to let me go. I need something really good.”