“Sam’s going to be just fine,” I say when I catch him checking his phone again.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No. I’m lying. If you weren’t here to tether me to this porch swing, I’d probably already be in my truck, halfway to Jenna’s house to get her back.”
I reach across him and lace my fingers in his. His hands are calloused and warm. “Just say the word and I’ll handcuff you to this swing.”
He looks down at me with a big fat smirk. “Oh really? So now I know you're a butt girl AND a little kinky.”
I poke him hard in the side, and he laughs. “Not like that, you weirdo.”
How is it so easy with him? It’s not supposed to feel like this. We’re supposed to feel awkward and uncomfortable, and by now on a date, I’m usually texting Jo an “SOS” so she’ll call and say my house is on fire and I need to come put it out.
Instead, I’m rubbing my thumb across the back of Jake’s knuckles and wondering if he’d be scared if I asked to go ahead and move in? Truth is, I’m falling head over heels for this man, and it’s scaring me to death. He wants to go slow. And I want to punch the gas. I feel safe with Jake, and the sensation is entirely new for me.
But I’ve watched enough movies and dated enough jerks to know that something is probably waiting around the corner to jump out and bite me. Maybe I don’t have to take a turn at all, though. No corners. No dark hallways. And I definitely don’t have to walk through any creepy doors that would have the audience yelling, “Don’t go in there, you idiot!!”
I think Jake and I have this dating thing figured out. We’re being adults, communicating through our issues, and honestly, I’m really proud of us.
I sit up a little and pull my knees up on the swing to be more eye level with Jake. He holds me tight, though, saying with his body, “Uh-uh-uh. You’re not going anywhere, you sexy lady.” I added the “sexy lady” bit to boost my own confidence. Don’t judge.
“Let’s play a game to distract you from worrying about Sam,” I say, turning my torso to face him.
He smiles and picks up my legs and drapes them over his lap. So, WHOA. I guess he’s feeling comfortable on this first date, too. I can hear my grandmama trying to remind me of the Holy Spirit, but I remind her—as every dutiful Southern child would—that the good Lord lives in my heart.
“What sort of game?” His blue eyes are sparking, and my whole body flushes. I can see his mind working, and honestly, it’s not fair. These mixed signals are torture. We’re playing tug of war between fast and slow, but I can’t keep up with who’s tugging for which end. What happens if we both give up?
Chills race across my arms, and I dust them off with my hands.
“It’s called the honesty game.”
“So, truth or dare?” Would he quit talking like that? In that deep, sexy, husky tone that’s dripping with innuendos?
“Noooo,” I say, tugging on the slow side of the rope. “Just the truth game. It goes like this: one of us asks a question, and the other answers truthfully.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. So just basically talking, then? I don’t think you can call it a game if one of us isn’t daring the other to take off their clothes and jump in the pool if we don’t want to answer the question.”
I gasp and give him a big poke in the side again (because let’s face it, I like feeling his obliques). “You wouldn’t! I thought you were a gentleman.”
He chuckles and grips my legs as he squirms away from my tickling pokes. “I would soooo dare you to skinny dip.”
“I thought you were wanting to take this whole thing slow.”
“Want? No. Will? Yes.” Why am I let down by that? I want to smack myself with a ruler. Behave, Evie.
I’m supposed to be grateful for the good guys who want to respect me. I’m supposed to respect myself enough to make sure men do, too. Girl power. Feminism. And something else about milk and cows that I can’t remember anymore because Jake is now massaging my feet. Like WHAT? What man does this on a first date? How is he so good at knowing what a woman really wants? I think I’m half in love with him already.
“Are you feeling okay? Need a heating pad or anything?”
Never mind. It’s full-on love.
“I’m okay, thanks.” What I really want is to get inside Jake’s head and learn everything I can about him. I think the idea of the truth game freaked him out a little, and that’s why he was sidestepping it with a joke. But guess what? I like to wave at the relationship no-no stop signs as I’m speeding by them. “Okay, first question: why did you get divorced?”
Jake’s eyebrows raise, and he swivels his face to give me a disbelieving stare. “Wow. You didn’t waste any time with that one.”
“I like to live on the dangerous side.”
Jake takes in a full breath and lets it out. “Can I just take off my clothes and jump in the pool instead?”
Not picturing that. Not picturing that. Not picturing that. Shoot. I pictured it. And YEP. I’m debating letting him do it now. “No. You’ve gotta answer.”
He winces and then settles back against the swing, busying himself while he talks by rubbing his hand up and down my leg. Not distracting at all. “All right, here it is. I didn’t really date in high school. I was more focused on my grades and sports than girls. My mom likes to say it was because I was a really great kid—but actually, it was because we didn’t have any hot girls in my grade.”
I laugh and give him ten points for honesty.
“When I graduated and started college, I met this really forward girl. She was”—Jake takes on a distant look that kinda makes me feel jealous, but I decide to chill—“physically attractive and had a sort of larger-than-life attitude. She drew me in with her beauty and charm, and I fell for her fast and hard. I proposed after only a month of dating, and she said yes. We set the wedding date for six months after I proposed, and she was already two months pregnant with Sam on our wedding day.”
“Whoa,” I say with an awkward smile. I think I was secretly hoping for one of those divorce stories where he realized instantly that she wasn’t the right woman for him, and he’s been miserable for the last nine years. Yeah, I know, that was kind of gross of me to think. But I never claimed to be a saint.
“Yeah. It was intense. And honestly, those first few years were great. We were so wrapped up in each other and our newlywed bliss that it felt like nothing could stop us. I graduated from college, and Natalie, Sam, and I moved to Texas so I could work at a big-box architecture firm. Natalie decided to drop out of school right after she had Sam, so she never finished her teaching degree. After about five years of marriage, things started to get really rocky. I decided that I wanted to branch out and open my own firm—and also that I missed my family and wanted to be closer to them.
“We moved here to Charleston, and money was really tight for the first two years of getting my firm off the ground. Natalie grew restless, so she started spending more and more time at the gym. She became a Pilates instructor, and then it was like, before I knew it, we were never seeing each other anymore. Natalie would still spend time with Sam, but not much. I felt guilty, thinking that maybe Natalie was so restless because she gave up her dreams to stay home with Sam while I went after mine, so I started taking over the brunt of the parenting responsibilities.