Page 33 of Enemies to Lobsters
“Oh, so we’re in elementary school now,” I tease, comfortable now that I know she's safe and wasn’t running away from me today.
She glares at me, and I finally see the insecurity in her eyes. Or is that jealousy? “We’re married, Ike.”
“Believe me, I am well aware.” I smirk at her. She looks so good in a T-shirt and jeans with her hair in that messy ponytail. A lock of dark hair has escaped and is running over her cheek. I want to brush it behind her ear. It’s hard to look away from her.
“Where were you last night?” She’s going to have permanent lines between her eyebrows from all of this scowling. “And last Saturday, and the Saturday before,” she adds under her breath.
I don’t like seeing her insecure or hurt, but I have to admit her jealousy is the tiniest bit flattering. I have to clear this up, though. Now that I’m thinking about it, I should’ve let her know what I was up to. I didn’t think her mind would go there. Of course I would never see anyone while I’m married—no one but her, anyway.
The thought of dating Diana pumps a shot of adrenaline through me. My heart is thumping. I feel like I could lift a truck over my head or sprint a marathon. It’s possible this is fight-or-flight. It’s also possible that Diana’s crystal blue eyes are blinking up at me, and I want to know what her hair feels like.
Should I take Diana out? My parents have a standing weekly date night that they observe religiously. They treat each other with respect and love. They tell each other where they’re going and what they’re doing. They’re woven into each other’s lives. It seems like it should be part of the deal with Diana.
The version of marriage I’ve offered Diana thus far is shameful. Marriage is marriage, right? I can’t picture her being willing to spend more than the required amount of time with me, though. But maybe. How else will I find out what it feels like to touch her hair?
How do I ask my wife out? And why am I nervous that she’ll shoot me down?
“Well?” Diana’s sharp tone brings me back to reality. There’s no way she’d agree to a date. She’s tapping her toe while she waits for an answer.
I peer into her blue eyes, and they dart away. She won’t look at me. This is going to be an uphill battle. “I wasn’t on a date.”
“Sure.” She snorts, turning away. “At least do me the dignity of not parading your dates around town, okay?” Her tone is flippant. She puts on a good act, but she’s stinging.
I step closer to her. I can’t believe she would think that about me. Well, I can, but it’s time for that to change. Diana is about to find out what it means to be married to Ike Wentworth. Here goes nothing.
“Diana, every Saturday night I take my neighbor out for a sandwich.”
She spins toward me, arching that one dark eyebrow.
I’m fighting a smile. “His name is Boone. He’s ten, and he collects Pokémon cards. I haven’t talked to another woman besides Stevie since we got married.” I lower my voice, moving closer. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Her eyes widen at my serious tone. Good. She needs to believe me. She doesn’t respond right away, though. Her eyes are all over me, and she’s breathing fast like she’s preparing to bolt. But now that she’s home I don’t want her anywhere but here. I’m standing way too close to her now. I reach for that strand of hair that’s been taunting me.
“W-what are you doing?” she asks between breaths, barely audible. Her gaze darts to my mouth and back, but she’s not backing away.
I smooth the strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She shudders when my fingers brush the velvety shell of her ear, and a hundred impossible ideas enter my mind. I bat them away, focusing on step one. “Can I take you on a date?”
This time she draws back. “That isn’t part of the…You don’t have to.” She shakes her head over and over. “You don’t have to do that.” She shakes her head one final time. Her cheeks are flushed now, and she’s avoiding my eyes.
“Diana.”
Her gaze locks onto mine when I say her name. She looks stunned and frozen. “Yeah?”
“I want to take you on a date.”
“You hate me, Ike.” Her lower lip wobbles at the accusation.
Something inside of me melts at the sight of her usually smart mouth trembling. “I don’t hate you, Diana.” I’m certainly not feeling that. I wish we were on hugging terms. She looks like she needs one. “You’re my wife. We’re married. This should be part of it.” This is not at all why I’m asking her out, but hopefully it’s how I’ll sell her on the idea. “How’s Friday night?” That gives me five days to plan something worthy of this monumental occasion. Ike Wentworth is going on a date with Diana York. I think. Unless she’s about to shoot me down.
“That’s a week away.” She doesn’t sound opposed to the idea. She sounds like she’s fitting a date into her mental calendar.
“I know.”
She looks like she’s weighing a list of pros and cons, then she announces, “I’m allergic to pineapple.”
I clench my jaw to hold back the surprised laugh that’s trying to escape. She’s serious about this, but what is she getting at? “I’ve never heard of anyone being allergic to pineapple.”
“Well, it’s more like an intolerance.” Her gaze moves to her tennis shoes. That strand of hair falls out from behind her ear. “So, no pineapple, and this date is just a technicality because it’s what married people do—”
