“Oh, al right,” I gave in.
He got even closer. Then, I kid you not, he rubbed his nose against mine and then he looked me in the eyes and my breath caught. “It’s after that you need to worry about.” Shit.
I was in trouble.
* * * * *
We rode the light rail downtown and Hank walked me through Denver. I wore his jacket and at first, he held my hand. Then, he dropped my hand and pul ed me into his side with his arm around my shoulders. I al owed this because I decided that to get through the night, I was going to pretend to be someone else. I was going to pretend to be the Roxanne Gisel e Logan before Bil y Flynn, who hadn’t yet made a stupid decision that f**ked up her life. The Roxanne Gisel e Logan who deserved to be out on a date with a tal , handsome guy named Hank Nightingale.
I was going to give myself this one night of pretend.
“You can walk in those shoes?” Hank asked.
“I can play basketbal in these shoes,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. I’d been wearing high heels since my Mom bought me those little, pink, plastic kiddie go-aheads when I was five.
“Your feet hurt, let me know.”
Shit.
He was a good guy, through and through.
He was a good guy, through and through.
We walked down 16th Street Mal and the streets were packed with people even though it was Monday night. Bars were hopping, restaurants were jammed, lights were shining, it was gorgeous and alive. He walked me through Writer Square and down to Wazee Supper Club where he bought me a drink and we talked some more.
We were heading back up 16th Street Mal and I knew the date was about to come to a close. It was getting late and Hank had to go and do good deeds tomorrow. As for me, I had to sort out my life.
Then, I saw the horse drawn carriages.
I loved horses.
Okay, it was safe to say I loved anything with fur.
“Just a sec,” I said to Hank and pul ed away from his arm around my shoulders and walked to the driver.
“Can I pet your horse?” I asked him with a smile.
“Sure,” the driver replied.
I walked up to the horse and ran my hand down his satin nose. “Hey, big fel a,” I whispered to him. He lifted his head with a jerk then settled and nuzzled my neck. I couldn’t help but let out a low giggle, mainly because it tickled.
“Likes you,” the driver said.
“I smel like food,” I told him.
“Likes food too.”
I kept stroking and Hank al owed it for a little while and then pul ed me away. The horse turned his head to watch me go (so I gave him a little wave) and I started up the sidewalk but Hank guided me toward the carriage.
“What are you…?” I started to ask.
“Get in, we’re gonna ride,” Hank said.
I stared at him, then I stared at the driver.
“No,” I whispered.
I couldn’t take it. An evening with delicious food at a romantic restaurant, wine, good conversation, a walk through the streets of Denver wearing Hank’s jacket, now a carriage ride. It was too much. I couldn’t withstand it. I’d never been in a horse drawn carriage. I’d begun to believe I’d never have anything romantic happen to me, except in a scary Bonnie and Clyde type way where I’d end up riddled with bul ets if Bil y’s stink settled on me.