Page 41 of Play the Last Card
Mini golf, bowling. I have a feeling she could pick up anything easily. Not for the first time, I’ve questioned whether she had some sort of athletic blood running through her.
I’m itching to take her out on the field. Get to throw a ball from the fifty-yard line with her right next to me. Watch her marvel from the middle of the field. See her in my world. There is something in me that just knows that she belongs there.
It’s instinctual.
But she won’t entertain a conversation about sports longer than to ask me briefly about work and then she’ll move on. I don’t push. I know I have to tell her the truth about my job. We are way past ‘it just never came up’ territory.
The more I find out about her, the more I know, the less I want to taint it with the whole ‘by the way, I play the sport you seem to hate so much and I’m kind of a big deal playing it’ topic.
So I steer clear hoping that when the time comes, she will know enough of who I am without football to not care who I am with it.
Since taking her bowling, I’ve spent most nights on Ivy’s couch, her curled up on my chest and rewatchingFriendsor trying to stay awake for a whole movie.
Something she has so far only managed once.
The other times I’ve gently lifted her into my arms and carried her to bed.
No matter how much I want to get in beside her, I’ve made a promise to myself that before we go any further than making out like horny teenagers she needs to know who I am.
Blue balls be damned. My left hand would have to do until I work up the courage to confess.
The week after bowling, I took her back to the Taco truck.
I paid the owner a little extra to post on their socials that they would be closed so we could be alone. They played some slow, acoustic music from the truck and I’d done something I’ve never done before—I pulled her up from the table to slow dance under the stars.
Her head rested on my chest, her hand intertwined with mine. I held her tightly against me, fingers buried in the fabric of her dress.
I never, ever imagined pulling that move with anyone. I’ve seen it in movies I watched with my mom and while she’d gone all gooey at the scene I always questioned the authenticity factor. I hadn’t believed a moment like that would ever present itself in the real, living world.
Yet there I was.
A woman sitting across from me and a plate of tacos between us when the music drifted around us like a light breeze. I’d moved without thinking. We came together without saying anything. She’d let out a quiet gasp when I pulled her to her feet and into my arms but the sigh of contentment that came when she was safely fitted to my chest was all I needed to know that I made the right move.
We danced, swaying from side to side, for the better half of an hour before she leant back in my arms, tilting her head up and pushing up on her toes.
I’ve come to learn this is how she silently asks me to kiss her and I always,alwaysoblige.
Tonight, I’m taking her to the movie theater.
I called ahead, asked for their quietest session time in the evening and booked two tickets to the romantic comedy she’s been talking about wanting to see. I have the tickets on my phone and my cap is as low as it can be as we walk into the building.
I look like an asshole wearing my cap so low inside while checking for paparazzi every few minutes over my shoulder.
But her hand is tucked into mine and she walks as close as she can without tripping. I’ve learned that she likes physical affection, Ivy. Not too much PDA but she prefers to always have some sort of connection whether it be holding my hand or having my hand on her back or around her shoulders when walking. When we lay on the couch, her legs are always twisted into mine and her head sits comfortably between my shoulder and my collarbone.
Luckily, my research has paid off and the movie theater is pretty much empty.
“I’m just going to use the bathroom before we go in. I can get the popcorn when I get back, because you paid for the tickets,” she says playfully, picking up the discussion we were having on the way over about her paying for the candy.
I simply nod, knowing full well that I am going to buy it while she’s in the bathroom. I watch her walk away from me for a second before I make my way to the kid standing behind the counter.
His bored expression brightens into amazement as soon as I get close enough, “Holy … holy shit. You’re Scott Harvey.”
That is exactly what I’m afraid of.
“Sure am.” I throw a quick glance toward the bathroom before leveling the kid with a serious look. “I’m here with my girl tonight, trying to stay low key. Can you help with that?”
Thankfully, the kid is more than eager to help. He hurries to get the popcorn and M&Ms I know Ivy wants but won’t ask for and I pay. Spotting a pen on the register, I reach over to grab it and one of the napkins that is sitting on the counter. I scribble my signature, sliding it over to the kid. “Appreciate it.”