Page 51 of Feels Like Falling
We eat in silence, only commenting on the band or topics less likely to stir up any kind of trouble because I’ve already done enough of that for one night.
“I’m still gonna take you out on a real date,” Montana says with a final wipe of his hands before discarding his napkin in the now empty container.
“What are you talking about? This is a real date.” I look around like his logic will suddenly make sense.
“No, a real date where we eat inside with cloth napkins and I get to pull your chair out and you get to order a bottle of wine because I don’t know the difference.”
“This is a real date,” I repeat because I’m still trying to process what he said while keeping my blood pressure in check. “I don’t need cloth napkins and bottles of overpriced wine. I just need you and the way you look at me like I hung the moon and you couldn’t fathom bein’ anywhere else than here with me.”
“Fine, but I still want to take you to a nice dinner.”
“And that’s great,”—I wave a hand toward the stage— “but this is great too.”
We stare at each other, the band hitting the opening chords of “Sideways” by Dierks Bentley and it’s exactly what we need. Ditching our trash, I can barely contain myself as I grab Montana’s hand and find an open spot in the crowd. He chuckles but guides me with ease, moving us around flattened grass like we do this all the time.
Because we used to.
And now he’s better.
Better than I remember.
Better than he was with me.
I push the thought away because it doesn’t matter. I could spend the rest of my life comparing and wishing instead of living andenjoyingthe moment.
Montana’s body is hard and unyielding as he spins me into him before pushing me out and spinning me until I might be sick. I laugh and he smiles as the song transitions into something slower and he brings me in close.
“You still got it, Eddie,” he murmurs as the band croons the words to “Play it Again” by Luke Bryan.
“I hate that you’re better,” I say without thinking.
“Why?” he asks as his palm presses against my lower back, eliminating any and all distance between us. His length is hard against my belly, and when he knows I can feel him, he asks again.
“Because I don’t like thinking about you spinning some other girl around or what happens after.”
“And what do you think happensafter?” His emphasis on the last word sends a shiver racing down my spine. I want this man beyond reason, and even though I was the one asking for space, it’s the last thing I want or need right now. At my silence, he continues,“There have been girls, Eddie. But this,”—he rocks his hips into me— “only you do this to me. Did I show them a good time? Yeah—I did because I’m a god damn gentleman, Eddie, but I get you out here for one fucking song and I want to strip you outta your clothes and bury myself inside you.”
“Then why are we still here?”
“Because I wanted tonight to be perfect—show you what it can be like withus. Together.”
“I already know we’re perfect together, Max. That’s never been a question.” His heart hammers against my chest as he presses us tighter together.
“But we never got to do this—to be out here and let everyone know you're mine.”
The song changes and so does the beat as the band jumps into a lively version of Russell Dickerson’s hit, “MGNO.”
Montana spins me out, his body controlling mine until I’m panting and turned on and pulled tight against his again. I can feel people watching us, but I can’t make myself care when his eyes are absolutely blazing and his jaw is set like he’s tryin’ not to lose control.
There’s no question who he belongs to—whoIbelong to.
But it’s not enough. I want to see him snap, and I want him unhinged like he was before we’d gotten the call about Grandad. He’d been wild and I want that side of him back—to see what we could really be like if he’d just let go.
“Montana.”
“We shouldn’t do this tonight.”
“Why not?”
