Page 62 of Off Court Fix

Crosby clearly has no idea that the movies sound special to me. And delicious. “I want popcorn and Snow Caps and... Sour Patch Kids.”

“Do they have Sour Patch Kids at the movies?”

“You’d know better than me, but I hope so.”

I left him at the club so he could get things settled for his assistant to handle that day, and after a quick shower, I find a text waiting for me.

Got us tickets for the matinee in town.

Great. The early-bird special, your usual.

What time are you picking me up?

I’ll meet you in the theater. Have an errand to run first. Park by the train. We’ll leave your car there.

I tilt my head, looking at the first message about tickets he purchased.

Will the ticket be at the window?

Another message comes through—a photo—and I open it, finding a screenshot.

When was the last time you used a paper ticket for anything? Oh, and wear your swimsuit.

Why?

Because if I only get you for one day, let’s make it a two-for-one special. I’ll take you on your date, and then I’m taking you on mine.

An hour later, I’m walking from the train station parking lot to Southampton’s charming Main Street, flanked with boutiques and bakeries and an old ice cream and candy shop. I cross the street quickly to the theater, pulling my phone from my pocket and tugging my baseball hat down. I realize the attendant, who looks young and painfully hungover, doesn’t care about me, poor disguise or not.

I’m tempted to stop at the counter and load up on popcorn and candy, in case Crosby didn’t, but I’m more tempted to justbewith him, so I hurry to theater three, where an old couple sits in the second row. A sharppsstcatches my attention, and I find Crosby sitting toward the back.

“Can we even see from here?” I ask, but when the images on the large screen light up Crosby’s grin, I no longer care about the movie. I’d watch it from the floor if it gives me—givesus—this moment... an opportunity to hide in plain sight.

Crosby takes his glasses off, cleaning them on the end of his shirt before putting them back on. “Speak for yourself.”

Sliding into the seat beside him, I cross my bare legs in his direction. He’s deliciously fresh from a shower, but the truth is, he doesn’t need the added bonus. Even though I don’t mind the extras, like his confidence or how his scratchy cheek feels against all different parts of my body, I’m finding in small moments Crosby is the bonus all on his own.

I find it funny that Crosby gives me first date butterflies well after he’s given me many orgasms. But who cares if we’re moving backwards, if we went for a decadent dessert in bed before considering a savory entrée? This is a situation in which I’ll take two steps forward even if we take a giant leap back, right to what should be the start, but in this theater, it’s kind of our middle.

And it happens to be a first for me.

“What?” Crosby asks, finding me staring.

“I have a confession to make.”

Crosby leans closer. “Should we run over to St. Luke’s and see if a priest is there to hear it before the show starts?”

Pressing my lips together, I fight to keep the giggle from escaping. “I’d rather tell it to a nonjudgmental stranger.”

“In that case, please proceed.”

I take a deep breath. “This is my first date.”

“What do you mean?” Crosby leans forward as if he didn’t hear me correctly.

“No one has ever taken me to the movies. Or dinner.”

I’m relieved I don’t find any kind of sympathetic look on his face.

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