Page 140 of Hitting the Goal Line
But this is Blake.
This is the person that has been in my life for years and knows almost every detail about me. The man that has seen me at my worst, at my best and everything in-between. The man that I already live with and have in my bed every single day. Not a single nerve that is running through me is about if he will like me or not or if there will be another date after this. There are no thoughts of puking or sweaty palms.
No, the nerves this time around are different and in the best way.
Tonight, the nerves are there because I want this to be the best first date I ever have. I want to make sure that everything is special.
Funny how I want this to be special but when Blake brought it up, I was so confused by it.
My mind goes to the night he brought it up. It was the day we had gone to the lawyer’s office. We had gotten home, and I desperately needed a distraction and he knew that.
“Gone on a date with me,” he said, as he walked into the kitchen and started taking things out for dinner.
Pasta and Chicken. It was always pasta and chicken when he was in season and that was something that I was completely fine with, because he made it, and I didn’t burn down the apartment trying to cook anything. I will always happily eat anything Blake makes.
“A date?” I ask, clarifying. Why does going on a date with him sound so foreign?
Blake placed his hands against my cheeks, making me look into his icy blues. I melt every time that I see them.
“Yes, a date. One where we get to dress up and I can show the fucking world the beautiful woman I have in my arm, that I’m never going to let go of. A date where I can take youto dinner and stare into those beautiful brown eyes all damn night.”
That sounds like the best thing in the world. As I take in his words, the activities of the day start to fade from my mind and the only thing that I could think of, is the picture he had just painted. A picture that I definitely want to experience.
I smiled up at the man in front of me and wrapped my arms around his waist and brought my body closer to his.
“We’ve never been on a date. You and me,” I voiced, my smile growing even more.
“I know, this would be our first.” A smile of his own formed on his face and I loved every single bit of it. “So, what would you say? Would you go out on a date with me? I promise to make it worth your while.”
The wink that he throws at me had a chuckle slipping through my lips.
He will definitely make going on a date with him worth it. He makes everything worth it.
There was no hesitation in my response.
“Yes, I would love to go on a date with you.” Best distraction a girl could ask for.
Now, here I am getting ready so that the two of us can have the most perfect first date ever. Even if I don’t know a single thing that is planned. Blake did all the planning. He just told me to be ready by a certain time and not ask questions.
But I have questions. Like what to wear because every single article of clothing that I own is currently on my floor and nothing feels right.
“You need to tell what to get dressed for!” I yell toward my bedroom door, which is currently closed and shielding me from Blake.
Since this was our first date, I wanted to have all aspects of a date, and since he said I couldn’t kick him out of his own house, I locked myself in my room, and started getting ready.
“No!” Blake yells back, sounding a lot closer than I expected him to be, which tells me he’s right out the door.
“Jacobi! Tell me,” I say, frustratingly, pulling out the last name card.
“Just dress like you would for any other date,” he answers, his voice a lot lower this time, like he’s even closer to the door.
“I would like to remind you, that this isn’t like any other date. Thisourfirst date and it needs to be special. So, tell me what I need to wear so I can leave this room and we can go on with our night.”
A chuckle sounds out from the other side of the door. I’m having a crisis right now about what to wear and this asshole is laughing. He’s lucky my hair and make-up are done, because if if they weren’t, I would be taking my sweet ass time.
“Soph, trust me. It’s going to be special no matter what. This is me. I don’t give two shits what you wear. What to know why?” he asks, something landing softly against the door.
“Why?” I ask. No yelling. No frustration. Just emotion threatening to mess up the makeup I spent a good thirty minutes doing.
