Page 76 of Damaged

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sophia

When dinner is finished, we don’t race back to bed, although I wouldn’t have minded if we did. Instead, James and I walk towards Central Park.

When the wind blows strong, I can feel the icy chill on my upper legs and between my thighs. It’s not uncomfortable. In fact, it drives me wild.

The cold is like an ice cube on my clit. The rest of me is warm while I walk leaning into James.

He’s put on a thick wool hat that I think looks a little silly. A little incongruent with the rest of his outfit. But it is ten degrees out.

Our fingers end up entwined, and I’m not sure if there’s anything intimate about the gesture or if we both just have cold hands.

He’s the one who breaks our hand holding anyway. He stops at the railing that overlooks Wollman’s Rink. There are a few dozen ice skaters on the ice. Kids and couples. Families old and young. It’s a sweet sight.

“You can ice skate, right?”

“Of course.”

“That’s too bad. It would’ve been fun to teach you.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. You have tickets to skate at Wollman’s?”

“Always. Perks of being filthy rich.”

My mouth hangs open. I’m squinting because this is not the kind of thing you do with a girl before throwing her to the curb after casual sex. Unless James doesn’t know any better. But he’s not that kind of guy. He knows the romance of this.

The romance…

“You want to ice skate with me?”

“I’m sure I could find another taker if you’re not interested.”

I playfully slap his chest with the back of my hand. “Oh. I’m interested. Just no lifting me over your head. I’m not trying to get charged with indecent exposure.”

“Hmm. Fine. Let’s go.”

He takes my hand. The world blurs even more strangely than it did during the times we’ve been intimate. I can see James Callaway wanting to have sex with me. I’m attractive enough. I’m close enough to garner his interest. To be forbidden fruit.

But this? A private dinner followed by ice skating at Wollman’s Rink? The dinner alone could be marked off as celebratory, but not anymore.

This is a date.

A date with James Callaway. We walk to the entrance, and James shows his phone tickets to an employee. We’re put into the shorter of two lines.

“This is a date,” I repeat aloud.

“Does it really need a label?”

“I’m just saying. And it’s a cute date.”

“I save my best ideas for nearly kidnapped employees.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

We get our skates and go to our little lockers to lace up. It’s been a while for me, and I have to duck walk to the ice. James has a much more graceful way of moving himself towards the rink.

“How do you know how to ice skate?” I ask. I can’t exactly picture him figure skating.

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