Page 102 of The Disasters of Dating
I have an overwhelming urge to reach up and kiss him. Maybe even jump up and wrap my legs around him so I can get a better angle on his lips.
But I refrain. Mostly.
I do reach up and kiss him, but only on the cheek. “I think Sprite is a great nickname, Keaton.”
As I come back down, he slides his hands around my waist and holds me close to him. He’s staring down at me, and I think I may get my wish after all. Not the wrap my legs around him but the kiss. And not just a cheek one.
I’m telepathically telling him it’s okay.
“If it’s such a great nickname, why the third degree?”
I tip my head back so I can fully see his face. “My family has called me Soda for as long as I can remember. Everyone else sticks with Pops. I wondered if you came to it the same way my family did. Or if it was because I order Sprite whenever I don’t drink water.”
He smiles and drops a kiss on my forehead. It’s more of a grandma or grandpa kind of kiss. How very disappointing. Although, can you have a very romantic kiss in the middle of a parking garage? Probably not.
He steps back and retakes my hand. “Okay, Sprite.Now we do have to hurry.”
I can’t believe we went to Flannery’s. It was delicious and so very expensive. As we walk around the planetarium, waiting for our show to begin, I’m stuffed. And grateful we have a few minutes before we have to sit down.
“Look at this,” I point to a low, round table in the middle of the third floor. It’s all black with what looks like water sitting in the bottom and a clear plastic lid on top.
“What is it?” Keaton looks down.
“Just wait,” I say as I watch the little conveyor belt on the side move forward with dozens of varying smallish-sized white pieces. They move forward, and one by one drop into the water. Smoky mists furrow around each piece as they zip around the table. “Oh, look at that one. I think it’s going to collide with that one.” I tap the tabletop. Sure enough, they collide and form a bigger piece.
“Is that dry ice?” Keaton asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I think so.”
“This is the coolest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” He stares down, watching the pieces as they get smaller and smaller, until they disappear. Soon, only the black-looking water is left.
“I wish I could get one of these as a coffee table,” I smile as another batch drops into the water and starts zipping around. “Although I don’t think I’d ever accomplish anything or actually have any conversations because I would watch this all day.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of hypnotic.”
My phone starts playing “No One Is to Blame” by Howard Jones. “It’s time to go to the show,” I say.
Keaton, still watching the dry ice, lifts a hand. “Just a second. It’s almost over.”
I go over and take his hand. “Come on.” I tug on his arm.
He doesn’t budge.
Hmm. This may take a stronger hand.
I’ll show him what happens when he ignores me. Raising up on my tiptoes, I put my hands on his cheeks and turn his head toward me. It’s harder than I would have thought, because he’s still watching the dry ice.
But as soon as my lips find his, I have his full attention. His hands slide around my waist, but I pull away and take a step back. “Now that I have your attention. It’s time for our show.” I smile sweetly at him.
He frowns and his eyes look hungry. I may have created an even greater distraction to keep us from the show on time.
He reaches for me. “Oh, you started something, Miss Ashcombe. And I think it only right you finish it.”
I grin and pull away from him. “But our show. I was just trying to get you to come.”
“It plays three times a week, every week. We can catch another one.” He takes a step toward me.
I laugh and take a step back. “What if I promise to finish what I started after the show?”
