Jake (California Dreamy) - By Rian Kelley Page 0,25
been calling all the shots. That isn’t good for a relationship. In fact, that isn’t a relationship, that’s a dictatorship.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I want you to have input.”
“How long does the average date last—door to door?”
He looked puzzled. “We’re talking hours?”
“Exactly. Just give me your best guess and we can negotiate a compromise if needed.”
“Five hours?”
She pursed her lips, considering. “No. Three. You pick your date up, you drive to the restaurant, order, eat, have some conversation over the food. Coffee afterwards and maybe you share a piece of cake.”
“So you’re saying there’s a certain order to how this meal should go down?”
“No. That’s not my point at all. I’m generalizing for the sake of arriving at an agreeable time.”
“You’re willing to spend only so much time with me?”
“No, we’re defining a typical date, Jake. And I think three hours tops. Per date.”
“We’re not typical,” he pointed out.
“But you want us to be,” she returned.
“Okay.”
She glanced at her watch. “You picked me up at the hospital at ten after seven,” she pointed out. “It is now three minutes after nine. We’ll round that to two hours,” she informed him. “And add that to the time we spent together on Sunday, which was another three hours. So, halfway through dinner tonight, we’ll be into our third date. Do you remember what you said about third dates, Jake?”
She could tell by the way his eyes flared that he was now following her thinking just fine.
“It means that whatever activity we choose for our next date, it will have to be short. We’ll be an hour into it when it’ll be time to head for the sheets.”
She watched him swallow. His features tense.
“Now is probably not the time to bring this up,” he started, “but I report for duty tomorrow.”
“What does that mean?”
“Normally, it would mean seven-to-four. But we’re preparing for maneuvers. We have a training exercise coming up that will take us over land and sea and we need to be ready for that.”
“And so you’re working longer hours?”
“Overnight through Friday.”
“So we’ll see each other Saturday?”
“I thought we could take one of those trolley tours of the city,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Too long. And I work until midnight the night before,” she
explained. “I’d like to sleep in.”
“Ok. How about a dinner cruise?”
“Does the boat come with overnight accommodations?”
“No, but a prime rib dinner and dancing.”
“Sounds lovely,” Ivy agreed. “We’ll definitely have to try that, but not on date three. You can pick me up at my apartment at four o’clock. They have a rock climbing gym around the corner form my place. In fact, we can walk there, climb a wall, and run home when the clock chimes five.”
He was frowning and Ivy didn’t understand it. He wanted three dates—she was giving it to him. He wanted them to get to know each other more, to have a stronger foundation before they got down and dirty—he was getting that, too.
“What are you afraid of, Jake?”
“Losing you before we even have a chance,” he stated bluntly.
“You can’t think the sex is going to do that,” she returned. “Remember? I believe you promised an explosive experience.”
“It will be that.”
“I have no doubt about it, either,” she assured him.
“Your treating us like a fling might do us in.”
“We’re beyond that,” she admitted. “A fling transpires between two people who
acknowledge the brevity and superficial manner of the arrangement.”
“You get that from Webster’s?”
“No, from Genny. The night nurse. According to her, you’re playing for keeps, and definitely worth keeping.”
“Genny is a smart woman.”
“So, the rock wall on Saturday,” Ivy recapped and then released her seat belt. “And no touching until then,” she said, sliding out of the truck and standing in the open door. “Those are the rules of engagement.”
“Define ‘no touching.’”
“None. Nada. No holding hands. No standing close enough we might brush against each other. I’ll open my own doors, pull out my own seat—just in case.” She leaned into the cab. “It hurts too much, Jake, having you touch me and knowing it’ll go nowhere.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
They took a table on the patio. The heat lamps were on, holding back the mist that came off the rolling surf. By the time they were seated, the sky was a deep indigo. A few stars, a sliver of moon and nighttime running lights on boats heading to dock did little to illuminate the vast darkness of the ocean. Across the table, he caught a glimpse of Ivy’s face as she turned a page in