Page 131 of Callan

He puts his glass down.

His fingers are still wrapped around it when he speaks again.

“You wanna leave?” he asks, his eyes diving into mine.

He wants a specific answer––the one I’ve been pussyfooting around the entire evening.

I’ve been consumed with it for sure, and he seems to have thought about it too.

“Yes. We can go.”

His eyes stay on me a little longer, sparking fervor across my skin, making my nerve endings fire up messages to my brain.

I’m way too relaxed and positively horny, which is normal considering how much I had to drink.

“Do you want anything else?” he asks, reaching inside his pocket.

“No. I’m good.”

He leaves some cash on the counter and signals for our coats. Dutifully, the hostess brings them to us.

Moments later, the cold air brushes my cheeks, whisking away some of the languor I grappled with inside.

His hand holds mine firmly as our feet meet the new layer of snow coating the sidewalk.

My eyes go to the lights strewn across the trees.

“It really is beautiful,” I murmur to myself.

“What?” he tosses at me, a bit distracted.

“This evening. I never thought it would be so amazing.”

“You really like it?” he asks incredulously.

I laugh, the alcohol in my blood still suppressing my inhibitions.

“What’s not to like? Look at the beautiful streets. The snow makes everything perfect. And then going out with you?”

I chuckle again, and he flashes a smile.

“Isn’t it nice?” I go on.

“Yes, it is,” he admits as we near the park.

“The only thing to make this perfect would be a kiss at the ice rink in the park.”

What has gotten into me?

Why would I say that?

The ice rink is a classic.

But asking for a kiss?

Now?

Something’s wrong with me.

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