Page 99 of The Stud

Loud, juvenile laughter leaves her alongside a feigned, “Oops.”

“You lose your stick privileges,” I good naturedly grumble while grabbing a napkin from the holder on the counter to remove the burning concoction. “Hand it over.”

She triumphantly giggles and gingerly surrenders it.

This time, she curiously watches me indulge in the treat, hope that I love it as much as she does so palpable I’m prepared to lie even if I don’t.

An odd combination of flavors suits up and skates across my tongue straight for the empty net, fully aware of my open mindedness when it comes to food.

Creativity is always major league.

Flavor is typically minor that gets called up on the occasion.

“This is strange.” Slow chewing continues during my external debate. “Faintest bit of sweet and tang, yet all the spice to make shitting super uncomfortable for at least a sesh.”

More cackles come from her in tandem with additional scrap licking from Bear.

“So odd…” I indulge in another sampling, “so fascinating…” my eyes latch onto hers, “such a bloody beauty,” offering her a turn to taste is attached to me whispering, “like you.”

Redness rips through her complexion, but she doesn’t verbally brush off the compliment.

Which means she’s doing her best to accept it.

Accept that I believe it.

That I only say shit like that when I mean it.

Finishing up botheloteswith Bear’s minor help is succeeded by deep diving into the Mexi-Texi chili-lime wings at a nearby small metal table.

Ál happily joins us, explains how he fell into food rather than coffee, and even shares a couple of the wedding cookies he snuck out of his wife’s supervision earlier in the day. Learning more about Arden’s family – outside her twin – feels like it’smygift from her. Opening up – even now that we’re on the same page about dating – still requires some practice and coaching and trust exercises.

Like I said earlier.

She’s worth all the work I put in.

Every. Time.

Despite only having a couple hours to hang out in the small town before our long drive back to the airport – I’m leaving my car at her place while I’m visiting my parents – we undeniably make the most of it.

Sounds of Flogging Molly flow from the speakers at first; however, when she curls in closer to me, resting her head on Bear who has his head resting against my side, I switch to something more mellow.

Easier to sleep through.

Arden plants one palm lovingly on my thigh and lets her eyes drift shut as the sun begins to set.

And in the uncomfortable pretzel position is exactly where she stays for most of the stretch home.

I occasionally steal glances at the sweet sight of her legs tucked into the seat.

Random messy strands sticking to her cheek.

Forehead.

Without warning or real reason, I randomly push them away behind her ear.

Let my touch linger on the ear that houses an aid.

An aid I’ve learned she’s still super self-conscious about.

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