* * *
I’m sittingoutside the hospital waiting for Alana to come out. It’s a nice day. The sky is blue and packed with white fluffy clouds, and there’s just the slightest summer breeze. It’s rippling the hair spilling into my eyes. I brush it off my face. I really need a haircut. Then I see her. She’s walking in the direction of her car parked on the street. I just sit there and stare, like a stalker. I’m a little early. We were supposed to meet at five-thirty, but the clock on my dash declares it’s ten after five. She flips her lengthy blonde hair as she opens the driver’s side door. She’s dressed in shorts, maybe a skirt, I can’t tell from here, and a candy striper smock that covers most of her clothes. I know I shouldn’t be thinking it, but I am. It’s hot. Like a sexy Halloween costume I want to rip right off her. She pulls a small duffel bag out of the car then turns around. That’s when she spots me.Busted.She slams her car door closed and walks toward me. My heartbeat starts picking up speed with every step she takes. She has on those goddamn mirrored aviators again that shield her eyes and conceal her emotions.
“Hey,” she greets me when she finally reaches my car.
“Hey,” I respond.
“Are you always this punctual?”
“No.”I just couldn’t wait to see you.
“I was just going to change.” She holds up the duffel bag. “Give me a few?”
“Take your time.”But please hurry up.
Alana walks back into the hospital, and for an uninterrupted ninety seconds, I get to watch her move. I study how her hips sway, and her legs stride, and her arms swing. She’s artistry in motion and tempting as sin.
A short time later, she comes out wearing short shorts, a tight tank top, and really high heels. I don’t know what it is, but with her, the shoes always get me. Get me hot, get me bothered, and get me hard.Damn.I take a deep breath to contain myself. It’s not working. She has all the control.
I step out of the car at the very last second, and instinctually I want to kiss her, but I don’t. I’m trying to respect her casual request. From this day forward, I will forever hate the word casual.
We walk a few blocks into Red Bank. A small, trendy town right on the Navesink River that’s chockful of fashionable boutiques and eclectic eating establishments. We decide to have dinner in a cool-looking little restaurant with pub tables, exposed brick walls, and a laid-back feel. The hostess sits us right by the big, open window looking out at the street.
Alana opens her menu and starts to read it. “What are you in the mood for?” she asks.
My lips turn up. What a loaded question that is.
“Still deciding,” I flirt.
She glances up at me, her face impassive, but the gleam in her eyes. Whoa. It’s beyond intense and makes my body prickle all over.
She looks back down at her menu, and I’m left stunned. It’s amazing the power she has over me already. I clear my throat and shake off the sensation.Casual, I remind myself.Casual.
I read over the menu, not interested in eating at all. I want to concentrate on Alana. I want to hear her laugh, and gaze into the depth of her eyes, and feel her skin rub against mine.CASUAL!
She closes her menu and stares up at me, resting her arms on the table. I slide my hand across the smooth surface and tangle her fingers with mine. She looks down with a disconcerted expression.
“Why are you looking at me like I did something crazy? I thought PDA wasn’t off the table.”
“I didn’t realize I was looking at you like that. I guess I’m not used to a man being so open with his affection.”
“I’m only holding your hand.”
“It’s more than what I’m used to.”
Now I’m the one looking at her strangely. “What do you mean?”
She stares back down at our hands and gently strums her fingers against mine. “My mom was the affectionate one. She died in a car accident when I was ten. A few days before Christmas.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s just” — she shrugs — “in my house, emotion is seen as a weakness. And I guess, when you’re brought up to believe something, it carries over into your life.”
“Are you telling me you’ve never had a guy touch you affectionately before?”
“Not the way you do.” Her statement stirs something thrilling inside me.
“I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Emotion isn’t a weakness. Without it, there wouldn’t be books or music or art. Showing emotion isn’t weakness. It’s strength.”