Page 33 of Tank

I take her hand and lead her to the first part of our date. She tugs me to a stop. “Tyson, why are we going to the bookstore?”

“Because this is our first stop. You choose three books, I choose three books and we swap and read each other’s choices.”

Her eyes light up and she jiggles, clapping her hands. “And then we tell the other one all about it? Like a two person book club! Eeeeeee!” She screeches, stomping her yellow heels and taking off into the store. Two seconds later she comes screeching back, “This is the best date EVER!” She grabs my hand and drags me in her wake. “Come on! We have books to buy!”

After an hour and a half we finally have our purchases. Surprisingly, Mira didn’t choose all romance. She chose a thriller, a poetry book and a small town romance, but unlike her writing, this one doesn’t have a murder to solve. I tried to get a selection of genres too. I figured that Mira probably doesn’t want to read a book on motorcycles, so I choose a murder mystery written by one of my favorite authors, a chick lit that seems quite popular and like Mira, a poetry book.

“Up on the counter, Doll. I got this.”

“No way! I’m an empowered, independent woman, I can buy my own books.” She tries to elbow me out of the way. Even though she’s tall and curvy, she’s shit outta luck trying to move my bulk.

Turning, I look at her square on, resting my hands on hers holding her books. “Doll. Mira. I asked you on this date, so this is my treat. Let me do this for you, yeah?”

Her cute yellow shoe taps out a beat on the wooden floor then she rolls her eyes at me. “Fine, caveman. But I get the next bunch!” she crows, relinquishing her book pile.

She hums a happy tune while I deal with the teenager behind the counter, and I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She’s strong willed, but also doesn’t hold a grudge. I feel like that will come in handy in the future.

“OK, so now we go home and read?” She looks up at me hopefully.

“Not quite, Doll, Come with me.”

The bookstore looks out onto the town square, right where Tav is setting up a cozy little picnic for me and my date.

As soon as Mira sees it she beams up at me, “A picnic!” She grabs my face in her soft palms, squeezing tight, pressing her lush soft lips to my fishy lips. She gives me one last squeeze and then trots as fast as her heels can take her over the grass to where Tav has finished laying out the food.

“There’s tiny quiches, Tyson! Tiny quiches!” She throws her head back and laughs and I watch the pure joy emanating from her. I don’t deserve a creature quite this glorious but fuck if I’m not gonna try to keep her.

Mira

OK, so I’m not going to lie, I haven’t been on many dates. Ever. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m big and loud and that scares men sometimes, but the few dates I have been on have all been terrible. Usually they’re shorter than me and have that little man syndrome thing going on. Which is fine, I don’t mind a short king, but usually those short kings want to talk about themselves and order me the salad. Tank, Tyson, he took me to buy books and arranged a picnic. This is wet dream stuff right here.

I sit myself down and scooch a little to the left, trying to get comfortable. I’m not sure what’s happening in my jeans, but they’re feeling a little odd this evening. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been on the bike earlier or what, so I wriggle a little more to get comfortable and try to ignore it.

“Holy shit, Prospect did good,” Tyson mumbles under his breath, looking at all the miniature goodies spread out in front of us. He picks up a tiny quiche in his giant paw and nibbles on it delicately, sending me into a fit of giggles.

He frowns good naturedly at me and then continues nibbling his way through his treat.

“This is so much fun. Thank you, Tyson. This has been the best date ever!” I tell him enthusiastically as I decide to dive into the sweet stuff, taking a bite from a fruit kolache.

He smiles gently at me, and if the light wasn’t so dim, or the streetlights were brighter, I’m sure I’d be able to better see the color on his high cheekbones.

“Are you blushing?” I tease him. I try to wriggle a little in my seat, my leg is feeling a bit pins and needle-y. I give it a little shake to get blood flowing through it.

“Maybe a little,” He mutters. “I’ve never been on an actual date. Or organized one. But I did get some advice from my brothers with Ol Ladies.” The corner of his mouth tips up slightly.

I think through his words and my tummy starts flapping wildly like there’s a chicken doing the bird dance in there. This big, gruff, quiet man, my polar opposite, went so far as to ask his brothers for help organizing this date. I lean over to press a kiss to his cheek and, thanks to my leg that has now gone dead, I tip wildly sideways. With a gasp I inhale some pastry from my kolache which sends me into a wild coughing fit. Still listing sideways I throw my hand out to catch myself, unfortunately getting a whole handful of cream pie which slips sideways, sending me crashing flat onto the picnic rug.

There is silence, not even the crickets want to wade into this one, and then there’s a guffaw. Then a choking noise, and wheezing. Gentle hands scoop me up and place me upright, but there are no comforting words as Tyson tries to hold in his laughter. His body is vibrating and his cheeks are puffed out. He looks awful and it shocks a bark of laughter out of me, the kolache pastry I was choking on shooting out of my mouth in his direction. I stare at him in horror and the floodgates burst, Tank leaning forward, gripping his stomach, losing it. I join him in hysterical laughter, the two of us, heads tipped back laughing like mad people in the middle of the town square.

Mrs. Crankshaw, who is one of the grumpier members of the Rose Grove community, stops on the sidewalk and narrows her eyes at us, shaking her head slowly from side to side. I try to contain my laughter, but that all goes to heck in a handbasket when Tyson flips the bird at her back as she shuffles away.

“Tyson!” I screech-laugh, holding my stomach, cream all over my hand and now my cape.

“What? She’s a judgey old cow. She once told Jovie off for laughing too loudly at the Rose Grove Christmas parade.”

“Oh, in that case,” I answer, flipping her off behind her back as well.

Our giggles settle and Tyson looks at me, his eyes still wet from laughter. “Are you alright, Doll?”

---