Never Got Over You -Whitney G. Page 0,29
anything,” He looked amused. “Put that up.”
I obliged and he purchased two funnel cakes that were coated with extra powdered sugar.
I fell in love with it the moment it hit my lips, and devoured it in chunks as we walked around the fairgrounds. He stopped at a few ball game stands—winning me a stuffed violin (“close enough to a cello”) and a bouquet of candy lollipops in the process.
As the evening neared midnight, I asked him to get me one more funnel cake and one last ride on the Ferris Wheel.
When we made it to his truck, he opened the passenger door and motioned for me to get in.
“Wait,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I need to say something before you take me home. Like, we need to make sure we’re on the same page.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“Since my last break up, I promised myself that I would make sure I got exactly what I wanted whenever I started dating someone new.”
“We’re dating now?” He smirked. “I could’ve sworn I just met you a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh.” I blushed. “Well, right. Sorry for assuming. I just thought—”
His laughter made me stop mid-sentence. “I’m listening...Tell me what you want.”
“I honestly prefer talking on the phone over nonstop texting,” I admitted, realizing that I’d never been this upfront with any of the guys I’d previously dated. “I won’t call you that much, since apparently that comes off as ‘needy’ these days, but that’s what I like.”
“You can call me whenever you want.” He stepped a bit closer. “I’ll answer.”
“I want you to come to at least one of my local recitals a month, if you can.” I expected him to balk immediately, but he smiled. “I have one every week, so I don’t think one every few weeks is a big deal.”
“Anything else?”
“No.” I shook my head. “What about you? Any lessons learned from previous relationships?”
“No, just a few numbers. Two, six, and zero.”
Before I could ask him what he was talking about, he pressed his lips against mine—silencing me in a way that only his kisses could. He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, kissing me deeper.
As I moaned against his mouth—begging him to take this further, he whispered against my lips. “Two is the number of hours we have left together tonight before I have to take you home, the number of hours I’d rather spend doing this, and not talking but that’s up to you.” He pulled me to him again, kissing me so deeply, that I lost my breath.
“Six is the number of weeks there are left in the year, so I’ll come to all six of your performances.”
“And zero?” I managed, still breathless.
“That’s the exact number of other guys you’ll ever think about after I get done with you.” He caught me off guard with another long kiss, and before I knew it, we were stumbling into the flat bed of his truck.
Our mouths connected, our bodies entwined, we kissed like it was the end of the world. Like we didn’t give a damn who was watching us roll back and forth against the grooved metal.
When he finally let me catch some air, I straddled him and pulled the hem of my shirt up, but he pulled it back down. Confused, I reached for his belt buckle, but he gently moved my hand away and pulled me back on top of him.
“I’m not going to fuck you in an open parking lot, Kate,” he whispered, smiling. “I’m not going to fuck you at all tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because, for one, and contrary to what you may think, I like to get to know someone a little better before sleeping together...Especially, if I think she’s the type I’ll end up falling for.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “And for two, I need a few more weeks to make sure you’ll have the stamina to keep up with me.” He covered my mouth again before I could tell him that I did—I definitely did—and he tortured me with his panty-melting kisses for the rest of the night.
Two weeks later...
MY LEFT WRIST WAS SECONDS away from detaching itself from my body and running away. Every nerve in my elbow burned, and I couldn’t bear to play another note.
I’d performed all of my best pieces to perfection, over and over. I’d even earned a roaring round of applause from the groundskeepers right outside my window. Yet, even after twelve straight hours of rehearsal,