Page 67 of His Last Shot
Iglide my hand into Rachel’s under the table of our favorite restaurant, Fire & Embers. It’s a hopping Friday night. Patrons occupy every table at this retro eatery, chatting, eating, and enjoying life. Clanking forks and plates mixed in with chatter and a low hum of indie rock fills my ears. But the only presence I want and need is Rachel’s.
As her fingers intertwine into mine, a contentment spreads through me, a silent acknowledgment of a connection deeper than words. A connection that has only grown stronger in the three months that we have been together.
And they have been the most glorious three months of my whole life.
We complete each other in a way that I never thought was possible. The time we spend together is effortless, easy, and everything I never knew I needed in my life.
One of my favorite things is at Dexter’s. I love to grab her by the waist and pull her into the kitchen or back office while she’s working when the bar isn’t busy. We are all lips and limbs.
And thankfully, Dexter hasn’t been an issue. He’s cordial, but every time my hand snakes around Rachel’s waist, the muscles in his jaw tighten. And I always make sure I’m touching her when he’s around. That freak show needs to know that I’m the only man Rachel needs in her life.
Now, we are on a dinner date with Scott and Laura. Rachel and Laura have become fast friends, and as I sit here, watching the three of them talk about Mallory and Jake, visions of future family dinners are dancing in my head. Maybe even family vacations on the beach.
Rachel in a bathing suit? Tell me when and where, and I’ll show up. My life is in clear focus, and it’s as if I’m seeing my future through my reading glasses.
God, that makes me sound old.
I’ve been so lost in thought that I have totally missed whatever has the three of them cracking up.
“And then,” Scott continues through gasps of laughter, “Johnny’s eyes got as big as saucers when the cops showed up. He was so busted.”
Oh geez, they are talking about Daytona.Scottlovesto talk about that night. Leaving out the most important details, of course. “Hold on. I thought we were talking about Jake and Mallory.”
Rachel turns to me. “Quick subject change. I would have loved to have seen that, babe.”
I groan out. “Scott, please tell me you didn’t tell her the entire story.”
“Johnny, Istilldon’t know the whole story,” Laura confesses, laughing so hard she can barely get the words out.
Rachel whips to Laura in surprise. “Wait”—she waves her finger between Scott and me—“you haven’t even told Laura what happened?”
Scott shakes his head, then takes a sip of his bourbon. “Nope. Johnny and I made a pact that night to tell no one what happened in Daytona.”
“It’s that embarrassing?” Rachel asks through a disbelieving smile.
Scott chimes in. “Johnny would move heaven and earth to keep that secret buried.”
I sneer as I take a sip of my coffee, yet my insides twist, knowing that Dexter is the only other person who knows.
As if on cue and saving me from any further embarrassment, the waiter approaches to take our orders. Soon after, Scott gets a work call, and Laura excuses herself to use the restroom. Leaving me and the most beautiful woman on the planet alone at the table.
She releases my hand, squeezes my thigh, and faces me. “So what do I need to do to get that story out of you?” she purrs.
Our faces are so close she can probably smell the coffee on my breath. “Nothing we can do in public.”
“So, later than?” she inches closer, mocking me by batting her eyelashes playfully.
“Your womanly wiles won’t work on me.” She pouts her bottom lip out. “That means I would have to break a pact that I made with Scott. I love you, Rach, but the secrets of that night are pretty sacred.”
And,God,I love this woman.
The way she makes me so happy and complete is like sunshine on a winter day: warm, bright, and full of life. When we’re not together, a heavyweight settles on my chest—that’s how deeply I love her.
I promised myself that night in her living room that I would take things slow, and I meant it. It took a lot of work for me to break through her barriers.
But I did.
I lean in, cup her cheek, just like she loves, and whisper the easiest three words that I have ever had to string together. “I love you.”
