If it lasted much longer, I knew I’d lose myself, I even knew I wanted to.
In the end, it wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was nice. I could almost pretend I was on an actual date, a great date, instead of on the run from a criminal boyfriend who was way too possessive and not afraid of wielding a sledgehammer.
Hank led me out the door and I began to relax thinking he’d take me home, likely kiss me (which would be a lovely addition to a lovely memory) and then we’d be done. It would suck, I’d hate it and I’d regret our timing for the rest of my life, but I was trying not to think about that.
Instead of going to the parking lot, he guided me to the light rail platform.
I stared at him as he bought tickets from a machine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Takin’ you downtown.”
I blinked.
“I thought the date was over.”
He grabbed my hand and moved me toward the tracks.
“The date is definitely not over.”
Shit.
I pul ed my hand out of his.
“I’m tired. I’m ful and I’m tired. It was a delicious meal and thank you but al that wine and food, I need to go to sleep.”
What I needed to do was get out of my jeans and get away from Hank, not in that order.
He was staring down the tracks, partial y ignoring me.
“You’l wake up,” he said.
“I’m cold. I didn’t bring a coat,” I tried.
He took off his coat and settled it on my shoulders. He did the closing the edges with his hands thing again and bent his head to look down at me, standing smack in my space.
“Better?” he asked.
“Better” was not the word for it. “The f**king best” were the words for it.
Cripes, there was no shaking this guy.
“You’re in my space,” I said.
He got closer. “Yeah.”
“Whisky, back off,” I warned.
He grinned.
“Roxie, relax. We’re goin’ downtown and walkin’ off the food stupor. That’s it.”
I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.
I sighed, or more like, harrumphed.
I supposed I could go downtown, see a bit of Denver, walk off the food stupor.