Living Backwards (40 page)

“What you’re cooking smells delicious,” I teased.

“Have a seat, smart ass,” he replied, motioning to one of the high stools at the counter. I hopped onto a stool, looking out the window as I settled in. I could see across the Sound toward Bainbridge from his living room window. He really had an amazing view…and not just the naked kind. I envied that he woke up to that every morning.

“My specialty,” he said, coming up behind me and placing a bowl of Cheerios on the counter. He took the seat across from me, smiling as he sat down.

“I
really
like you in my shirts.”

“Me too,” I replied. “That’s why I’m keeping it.”

He dipped his spoon into the bowl, shaking his head and laughing. Maybe Happy Luke was my new favorite. Maybe I didn’t need to pick a favorite.

While I wasn’t a big cereal eater, I took a few bites, trying not to slurp like an animal. Luke seemed focused on his breakfast, not looking up much, and saying very little. For the first time since Danielle’s dinner party on Tuesday, the conversation stalled. For the first time since Tuesday, I started to worry that we had run out of things to talk about. As he quietly poked around at his bowl, I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused him to withdraw so suddenly. I had to know what he was thinking.

“Well, clearly, you never ate cereal at home because if you had, Grace would have told you not to play with your food,” I said, attempting to draw him back.

“What?” he asked.

“You okay over there? You looked really distracted.”

“Oh…yeah…um…I was wondering…are you free tonight?”

That was a surprise.

“Tonight? Yeah. Why?”

“I want to take you out. On a date,” he replied, looking serious and determined—like this would involve some major negotiation. Did he really think I was going to say no?

“
That’s
why you got so quiet?” I didn’t want to laugh at him, but it seemed so silly.

“Well, I
have
monopolized a lot of your time. If you’d rather wait until the weekend…”

“No, I don’t want to wait.” We’d wasted too much time already.

“Good. I don’t either,” he said, and I melted because he looked so goddamn cute when he glanced down at his bowl and stirred the milk around before looking up at me again. The silly, shy smile never left his face. We were grinning at each other like a couple of fools, and anyone who walked into the kitchen at that moment would have thought there was something wrong with us. Maybe there was. Maybe time travel had done something to my brain because all I wanted to do was smile and stare at him.

“This is exciting,” I added. “If this is a date, I was promised some smooth moves.”

“I think you’ve seen
all
my moves,” he replied, never missing a beat. I was probably blushing, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“Well, I may have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

“That sounds promising. But wait, I thought you needed to be at the bar tonight.” He may not have been monopolizing my time, but I was definitely monopolizing his.

“I need to check-in since I haven’t been in since Monday, but I don’t need to stick around. Peter’s good. He has the place covered, and Carl’s working with him tonight. I could pick you up at seven?”

“Seven sounds good. I have an article to write about a new restaurateur that I have to work on today.”

“Yeah? Sounds really dull.”

“No, it’s a pretty interesting story. The owner rode a bike and wore a badass leather jacket in high school, even had a super hot tattoo, but he gave it all up to become the Donald Trump of Greater Seattle.”

“Gave it up?” he asked, raising one brow and looking deliciously cocky. “Did I say I gave my bike up?”

“Wait. You still have it?”

“Play your cards right, and I may give you a ride.”

My heart started racing and my stomach suddenly felt jumpy. I couldn’t even explain why something so little would have such an effect. Just the idea of riding on his bike again gave me chills.

“Tonight?”

He nodded slowly, clearly aware of how affected I was. And I was really affected.

“So,” he said, grabbing my bowl along with his and carrying them to the sink. “I should probably get you home so you can work on that article. Sounds like you have a really good handle on this guy.”

Luke clearly enjoyed the upper hand a little too much. I followed him across the kitchen. When he turned around, I backed him up against the counter, trapping a hand on either side. It was obvious that he found this funny because he could barely contain his laughter. I’d show him funny.

“Not as good as the
handle
I had on him last night,” I said, brushing my lips against his ear. And he liked that, or maybe he remembered exactly how much of a handle I had because when he kissed me, it wasn’t soft or gentle. It was the kind of kiss you threw everything into. It was the kind of kiss you see in movies and think “that doesn’t happen in real life”. It was the kind of kiss I wanted from him every day.

When he drove me home, I wore the t-shirt from his bar and the oversized pair of sweats. He walked me up the stairs and I leaned against the door as he kissed me. He made it nearly impossible to behave rationally.

“See you at seven?” he asked against my lips, but I didn’t respond. I could only nod so that my lips grazed his on each pass. He pulled back, laughing, and kissed my forehead before jogging down the stairs.

I needed to work on being more coherent.

When I opened the door to the apartment, I was surprised to see Megan sitting inside on the couch. She had her feet up on the coffee table and her cellphone against her ear.

“I’m seeing the florist in a half-hour,” she said to the person on the other end. The sound of the door closing caused her to turn around. She narrowed her eyes at me, eying the t-shirt and sweats.

“That reminds me, Nate,” she said, speaking in a much louder voice. “Jillian didn’t even come home last night. I’ve barely seen the girl since she left Danielle’s house. God knows what they’ve been up to. You know what they say—it’s always the quiet ones.”

I grabbed a magazine from the table by the door and launched it at her head. She ducked, narrowly missing a face full of
Entertainment Weekly
.

“Oh, what a coincidence! She just walked in…no, I’m not going to ask her that…I’m sure he did. Listen, I’ll call you after the florist….love you more.”

“Nice, Megan,” I sneered, walking past her into my room.

“Not so fast, hot stuff. I need some information,” she said, following behind me.

“I’m not giving you a play-by-play, Meg, so forget it.”

“And I’m not asking. I’ll wait until you have a few cocktails in you, and I’m sure you’ll give it up willingly,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “I just want to know if you’re happy.”

And as much as I wished that the magazine had actually made contact with her face, this was why Megan meant so much to me. I’m sure she had a hundred questions, but the one she chose to ask reminded me of why I loved her so much.

“Yeah, I’m happy. I didn’t think you could get this happy. I think I’ve been cheated. You and Danielle have been experiencing a whole level of happy I didn’t even know existed.”

“Wow,” she replied, staring at me with wide eyes. “Look at you.”

“What?” I asked, looking in the mirror. She was staring at something, and I wondered if there was a gross hickey on my neck or something.

“You guys didn’t even leave the house yesterday, did you?”

“Megan!” I exclaimed, growing impatient. “For your information, we drove to Reynolds as planned and had…well,
a lot
of food at his aunt and uncle’s house.”

“And you spent the night on his couch, I’m sure,” she added, smirking.

“I thought you weren’t asking for a play-by-play?”

“I’m not. This has been a decidedly G-rated conversation. I’m just trying to figure out
when
the rolling around on the floor took place.”

“I’m hopping in the shower. Are we done here?”

“Shower. Good idea. Definitely needed after hot monkey sex.”

When I grabbed the pillow off my bed, Megan lunged for the doorway. This time, when I launched it at her, I didn’t miss.

I managed to spend some time fleshing out the article throughout the day, but I was obviously distracted. It was amazing how so many words led me to think about Luke—mouth-watering, succulent, meat—not to mention skewered. I never realized food could be so dirty. Every time I used one of those words, I’d think about Luke…and his bike…and Luke
on
his bike…and me on Luke on his bike. It was a vicious cycle that led to a very unproductive day.

By six-thirty, I was practically climbing the walls and full of nervous energy. While the prospect of riding on Luke’s bike had filled my mind with lurid fantasies all day, it also made the process of choosing an outfit that much more complicated. I spent an hour obsessing over what to wear and whether to pull back my hair. Dressing for a first date with the love of your life was not easy.

When I heard the knock on my front door, I drew a deep breath before swinging it open. I almost had to clutch the edge of the door jamb to steady myself.

“Hey,” he said, smiling brightly.

If he had come directly from the bar, you couldn’t tell. Everything was just so very right—dark jeans, gray shirt and a vintage leather jacket. My plan to be more coherent was already in jeopardy.

“You look…”

“…beautiful,” he interrupted. “That color…” As he stared at my red sweater, he licked his lips and laughed. “You know, you had this…I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You had this red shirt in high school.”

He ducked his head down, still smiling and laughing to himself. “I liked it a lot.”

I could feel my face flame. While I remembered everything as though it had happened yesterday, more than ten years had passed for Luke. It didn’t occur to me that he might remember details as clearly as I did.

“I think I know the shirt you’re talking about. I wore it the day we went to...”

“…Tacoma,” he added. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Earlier in the day, I had mocked Megan for suggesting that we hadn’t left Luke’s bed in two days. It suddenly seemed like a great idea for a first date. I wondered if he’d agree.

“So, are you ready?” he asked. “We can go over our options.”

“We have options?”

“This is me being smooth.”

“Oh, I see. Don’t let me interrupt, then. It’s totally working.”

“Wow, and I’m not even trying yet,” he replied. “Come on. We’ll walk and talk,” he said, extending his hand. I threaded my fingers through his, and he squeezed my hand and drew me closer.

“So, we have reservations at a French restaurant in Belltown. I don’t know how you feel about French food, but it’s quiet there. We’ll be able to talk…or not,” he explained, rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand. “We also have reservations at an amazing seafood place by the Market, if you’d like that instead.”

“Wait. You made reservations at two restaurants?” Most guys couldn’t remember to make reservations at all.

“I’m covering all my bases. You’re very opinionated.”

“And you’re adorable,” I said, stopping short in the middle of the lobby and pulling him by the hand toward me. I raised my arms up and twisted my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. He took the hint and leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. I couldn’t believe he had done something so thoughtful and sweet, but then again, Luke had always been thoughtful and sweet. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

When he pulled back, he held our embrace and we stood wrapped up in each other.

“If you’re this impressed by the reservations, I’m dying to see your reaction once I actually feed you,” he laughed. “But before you make your decision, there’s a third option.”

“There’s more?”

“If you’re not hungry, we don’t need to go to the restaurant right away—”