Part 15 (1/2)
He pushed the drink toward her on its coaster.
”Ooh, with a sword and a cherry and everything. This is the cla.s.siest drink ever.”
”It's called a Jack Rogers.”
She took a sip. ”This has alcohol in it?”
”Whiskey, c.o.ke, and grenadine.”
”It's delicious. How many of these would I have to drink to get tipsy?”
He c.o.c.ked his head. ”Two, maybe? You're a little thing, and you've got no tolerance. Three would get you plastered, I bet.”
”I want to try that sometime. Getting plastered. I could drink three of these, and then you could take me home and we could play pirate.”
”Pirate?”
”It's the tiny swords. They make me think of swashbuckling.”
Another grin, this one a little dirtier. ”I have a sword,” he said. ”But it's not tiny.”
”I remember.”
”If you want to swashbuckle again, I'm game.”
”Was that some kind of romantic declaration, disguised as a filthy pirate s.e.x offer?”
Their eyes met. His smirk faded, and his hand covered hers on the table. His palm felt clammy, the way it had in the bas.e.m.e.nt.
”Yes,” he said.
”Maybe you should go ahead and declare it. So I don't get my hopes up and start thinking this is a date, if you meant it as an entree to my ... you know. Booty.”
”I want your booty, Amber.”
She laughed nervously. ”I know you want my booty, you pervert. I'm asking if you want anything else.”
”I do. I want to see where this goes between us.”
She nibbled a cherry off her tiny sword.
It wasn't I love you and I want you to bear my children.
It wasn't even I'm feeling reckless and full of despair because I'm head over heels for you.
It was pretty tepid, as declarations went.
Not good enough.
”You're going to have to do better than that,” she said. ”I cried for more than an hour on Sat.u.r.day morning, and I ate a lot of ice cream with my mom. She doesn't like you very much, by the way. She says you need to grovel.”
And Amber was being flirtatious and silly, because she was afraid of what he would say if they had a real conversation. She was afraid of what she would feel if he took her hope away.
He seemed to know it. He lifted her hand off the table and clasped it between his. ”Amber? Look at me.”
His brows were drawn together, which probably would have scared some people off, but his eyes were Tony's eyes, and his hands were Tony's hands. All of him so dear and familiar to her, even though she hadn't known him for very long.
”I'm sorry,” he said. ”You know I tried to warn you off, in the bas.e.m.e.nt, because I'm not ... I haven't been the best bet.”
”I think you're a good bet.”
”I know you think so, honey.” He sighed. ”I want to be able to promise you that everything's going to work out perfect. I want to say I can give you forever, and a little house with a fence and babies and all that stuff you deserve, if you even decide you want it from me somewhere down the line. But I can't promise, Amber. I can't know.”
”n.o.body can.”
”I know. That's what I'm saying. And for as long as I can remember, that was enough to make me say, f.u.c.k it, it's not worth it.' I don't do risks. I don't take risks anymore, not ever, but I took one with you, and it scared the s.h.i.+t out of me, because it made me want to take a hundred more. Big risks.”
The hope bubble got bigger, expanding until it filled her chest and made her eyes tear up. ”What kind of big risks?”
”Like the kind where you move in with me, or I move in with you, and you mix all our videos together so we can't tell whose are whose.”
”Mine will be the chick flicks.”
She needed to stop being frivolous, but she was so happy and so scared, she couldn't figure out how. He meant it. He was going to try. For her.
”Like the kind of risk where you sleep with me every night, and I get used to holding you close and leaving the light off, and I tell you all kinds of stuff I never told anybody else.”
”You already told me about the spiders.”
A hint of a smile, and then his brows drew together again. ”Like the kind of risk where I might fall in love with you.”
She made a noise. Kind of a gasping, inelegant noise, and Tony grimaced.
”It's okay,” she said. ”You haven't shocked me. Or, okay, maybe you did a little bit, but it's only because you're doing such an excellent job with the groveling.”
”I want you, Amber. Bad. Not just your booty. I want to have breakfast with you in the morning. I have this fantasy of you cooking me eggs and bacon in that pink robe.”
”That's a very male fantasy. Do you also get a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b?”
”Not in that one. We just talk and eat breakfast.”
”I like that. Can I tell you one of mine?”