Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Quarterback-off-duty is never as sexy as teacher-off-duty,” Mitch said. “Don’t guys drool when they find out you’re a teacher?”
“Hardly,” I said. “I teach high school math, not Harvard Law.”
“You do an amazing job, though,” Mitch said. “I know your mom would be proud.”
My heart squeezed in my chest. “Thank you, M,” I said softly.
“I still think about her so much,” Mitch said.
“She was as much a mom to you as she was to me,” I said. “I think about her every day.”
“She would have made such a badass grandma for Zach,” Mitch said. “And that fucking mac and cheese, dude.”
“I know. I’ll never be able to make it like she did.” I pulled in a long breath, watching Mitch’s face in the low light, illuminated from the street lamp up ahead.
He reached out and briefly ran his palm in a small circle on my upper back. “You ready for a way better date than Frankie would have given you?” he asked.
“God, yes,” I said. “When I texted him to cancel, he said he was glad because he’d rather be at home anyway.”
“What an asshole.”
“Seriously.”
As he put the car in drive, I couldn’t help but stare at the way his forearm peeked out from his rolled-up shirtsleeve, just a hint of the muscle that he had all over his body. A small plush bear hung from his rearview mirror, and the squat dashboard was faded and weathered by the sun. There was a book in the back seat and I turned to see that it was Bartending for Dummies.
So fucking cute. Even his car was more lived-in than my house.
We started off down the county highway. The night was inky black other than the almost-full moon hanging near the horizon, and Mitch had turned on the radio to the one classic rock station we had in western Kansas. If I didn’t think too hard, it could have felt like how things were fifteen years ago, when we first got our drivers licenses and aimlessly traveled the empty small-town roads late at night, nothing but fields surrounding us and stars in the sky.
“So are you going to tell me where you’re taking me now?” I asked after we’d been driving for a few minutes.
“Hell no,” he replied.
I reached over and punched his bicep, which probably felt like being hit by a fly to Mitch.
He grinned. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
“Picnic? Bar? Or… some terrible horror movie that’s going to give you nightmares all week but you’ll be afraid to admit it?”
“Hey, a lot’s changed since we were seventeen. I can watch horror movies now,” he protested.
“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second,” I said. “After the first time you saw The Shining you couldn’t even look at a picture of Jack Nicholson without getting chills.”
“At least I don’t cry every time I watch The Little Mermaid.”
“Okay, The Little Mermaid is moving as hell, though. I’m not afraid to say it. I still cry every time.”
“I knew it,” Mitch said.
“God, I wish you’d been here a couple years ago when they did a run of Titanic in the Fourplex. I don’t care how many teenagers were making out around me, I blubbered like a damn baby.”
“The Fourplex is still around?” Mitch asked.
“Of course it is. The whole town would riot if they ever closed down. It’s the only movie theater within twenty miles.”
“I assume they haven’t changed those old, creaky seats and the purple walls?”
“Haven’t changed a damn thing,” I said.
The truth was that I didn’t really like horror movies either, but I always dragged Mitch to them because inevitably, every time we watched one, he would end up jumping at the scary moments, reaching over, and gripping my arm. Usually he had corrected himself pretty quickly, relaxing and letting go after just a few moments.
But sometimes, when the movies were creepy enough, he used to just hold my hand for a while. A long while. And I still remembered how holding his hand made me feel like my heart was slowly unlocking for him. Like with every single second that passed, I became a little more his.
We drove in silence for a moment while a Stones song played faintly in the background. Mitch was clearly lost in thought, those glacier-blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. I wondered if he was thinking about the same things I was. In reality, he was probably just thinking about whether or not the Chicago Bears would win their next game.
“You aren’t off the hook, by the way,” I finally said.
“Huh?” he said, snapping back to reality like I was waking him from a dream.
“You said you’d tell me where we’re going if I guessed wrong three times.”
“I’ll tell you one of the places we’re going, at least,” he said. “First, we’re going to the Garden City Arts and Activities Center.”