glanced at his mouth again. Maybe they should kiss now just to see if it was really worth the hassle of another date. “I was wondering,” she ventured, “if maybe we should try—”
“The cheeses?” he asked. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I skipped dinner, so I’m good to go.”
“Yes, okay,” she quickly said.
They shared a picnic on her living room coffee table while watching their favorite show Zombie Bonanza . After a while, from the wine and the warmth of his body next to hers, Amber got sleepy and curled up against his side as she often did when they watched TV together. He slipped an arm around her, holding her close. She breathed in his fresh ocean scent. She didn’t know if it was his deodorant or cologne or just all of his visits to the beach, but she loved that scent.
She was glad to have Bare back, even if she didn’t know how long he’d end up staying in her life. It all depended, she supposed, on how well their next date went. She yawned. He’d asked her to plan the date. She’d have to show him what was really fun. Maybe that was what went wrong with their first date. Maybe Bare just didn’t know what made a good, non-embarrassing date. He’d said he was rusty. She’d take him to a club. They’d have a few drinks and let loose on the dance floor. A dance club date would be so kickass.
Chapter Three
The dance club date was not kickass. Well, actually, it almost was.
It started out with great promise. The pounding bass beat felt like home to Amber as she walked into her favorite club, The Bohemian, in South Norfolk. There was a huge dance floor, a bar done up with a purple gauzy canopy over it, and, instead of chairs, there were giant beanbags to lounge in.
“Kind of a ’60s vibe going on here,” Bare commented. “I like it. Of course, if I’d known it was ’60s themed, I would’ve worn my tie-dye shirt and my dad’s old bellbottoms.”
She tried to cover her look of abject horror with a quick smile. “You look great just like you are.”
Like someone that just stepped out of work on business-casual Friday—button-down blue shirt and khakis. She had given him advance warning about the club. When she’d suggested he change, he’d said, “But this is my nicest outfit.”
She hadn’t had the heart to argue.
Now he beamed at her. “You look great too. I like the thigh-high boots and the, uh, half top.”
“Halter top. Thanks.” She figured why get a belly-button piercing if you weren’t going to show it off. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
They pushed through the throng of people and made their way to the bar.
“Screaming orgasm?” he asked when they reached the bar.
“Yes, please,” she said with a straight face. It was the drink they’d shared the first night they’d hung out together. Bare brought it up frequently in his joking way.
His lips twitched. “I’ll have the same.”
After they got their drinks, they stayed at the bar for a while sitting side by side on bar stools. Bare peppered her with questions about her latest watercolor paintings. She’d recently had a slew of sales on the eArt website and had been painting a lot more as a result. She loved that he actually cared about her art—he was her biggest cheerleader when she started selling for the first time—but it was difficult to have a conversation with the loud club music.
She finished her drink and turned to him. “Ready?”
He straightened. “We’re leaving already? Just one drink and then”—he gestured toward the exit—“out the door.”
“No, silly. I meant are you ready to dance?”
He glanced over at the dance floor, where a lot of women and a few brave guys were dancing. The women writhed; the men slid their hands all over their partners. Amber loved that. Bare’s head bobbled around, like he couldn’t decide if he was going to nod or shake his head no.
She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
“All right.”
She pulled him to the center of the crowd, where
“The cheeses?” he asked. “I had a feeling you’d say that. I skipped dinner, so I’m good to go.”
“Yes, okay,” she quickly said.
They shared a picnic on her living room coffee table while watching their favorite show Zombie Bonanza . After a while, from the wine and the warmth of his body next to hers, Amber got sleepy and curled up against his side as she often did when they watched TV together. He slipped an arm around her, holding her close. She breathed in his fresh ocean scent. She didn’t know if it was his deodorant or cologne or just all of his visits to the beach, but she loved that scent.
She was glad to have Bare back, even if she didn’t know how long he’d end up staying in her life. It all depended, she supposed, on how well their next date went. She yawned. He’d asked her to plan the date. She’d have to show him what was really fun. Maybe that was what went wrong with their first date. Maybe Bare just didn’t know what made a good, non-embarrassing date. He’d said he was rusty. She’d take him to a club. They’d have a few drinks and let loose on the dance floor. A dance club date would be so kickass.
Chapter Three
The dance club date was not kickass. Well, actually, it almost was.
It started out with great promise. The pounding bass beat felt like home to Amber as she walked into her favorite club, The Bohemian, in South Norfolk. There was a huge dance floor, a bar done up with a purple gauzy canopy over it, and, instead of chairs, there were giant beanbags to lounge in.
“Kind of a ’60s vibe going on here,” Bare commented. “I like it. Of course, if I’d known it was ’60s themed, I would’ve worn my tie-dye shirt and my dad’s old bellbottoms.”
She tried to cover her look of abject horror with a quick smile. “You look great just like you are.”
Like someone that just stepped out of work on business-casual Friday—button-down blue shirt and khakis. She had given him advance warning about the club. When she’d suggested he change, he’d said, “But this is my nicest outfit.”
She hadn’t had the heart to argue.
Now he beamed at her. “You look great too. I like the thigh-high boots and the, uh, half top.”
“Halter top. Thanks.” She figured why get a belly-button piercing if you weren’t going to show it off. “Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
They pushed through the throng of people and made their way to the bar.
“Screaming orgasm?” he asked when they reached the bar.
“Yes, please,” she said with a straight face. It was the drink they’d shared the first night they’d hung out together. Bare brought it up frequently in his joking way.
His lips twitched. “I’ll have the same.”
After they got their drinks, they stayed at the bar for a while sitting side by side on bar stools. Bare peppered her with questions about her latest watercolor paintings. She’d recently had a slew of sales on the eArt website and had been painting a lot more as a result. She loved that he actually cared about her art—he was her biggest cheerleader when she started selling for the first time—but it was difficult to have a conversation with the loud club music.
She finished her drink and turned to him. “Ready?”
He straightened. “We’re leaving already? Just one drink and then”—he gestured toward the exit—“out the door.”
“No, silly. I meant are you ready to dance?”
He glanced over at the dance floor, where a lot of women and a few brave guys were dancing. The women writhed; the men slid their hands all over their partners. Amber loved that. Bare’s head bobbled around, like he couldn’t decide if he was going to nod or shake his head no.
She grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
“All right.”
She pulled him to the center of the crowd, where
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