Page 42 of Second Swing
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Lou:Now, this is interesting. Let me get my glasses.
Chuck:Forcing a meeting in the most awkward way possible.
Lou:If it’s their second “first kiss,” it may be more like two bumper cars colliding.
Chuck:Awkward, yet somehow endearing.
Dove
Do you maybe want to go out with me?
Sometime.
Clinton
Yeah, Dove. I’d love to go out with you.
Are you attempting to woo me?
Dove
LOL! Woo you...maybe.
Don’t you start!
Clinton
And where are we going?
Dove
The course is having a movie night on the green, golf cart drive-in style.
Her three dots disappear before they pop up and disappear again. The one thing I never want is my girl feeling insecure or guessing about anything we do together, even just texting.
Clinton
And you thought of me, baby?
Dove
I thought you’d be interested but if you’re not…
I hold back a chuckle at her teasing.
Clinton
When should I pick you up?
My tires crunch against the gravel of the driveway as I pull to a stop and take in the charming sage-green-painted Craftsman.The house is inviting and seems to radiate Paloma in her calmest state, warm and charming. She has large terracotta pots out front planted with vibrant flowers of all different shades of pinks, purples, and blues. I shut my car door and walk up the three steps leading to her open front porch.
The lawn and plants are all beautifully maintained, and as I reach the dark, wood-stained door, I notice there’s a crescent moon-shaped window giving guests a hint of what’s inside her house. This isn’t just a home but a reflection of the gorgeous woman I can’t get enough of. It's grounded, beautiful, and effortlessly warm. I do my best to take it all in before tapping my fist against the front door.
A few moments later I see her figure come into view within the little moon. When Paloma opens the door, I do my damndest to not let my mouth drop, but from her playful eye roll and huff of a laugh I know I’m not doing a very good job. She has on a pair of sneakers and slouchy, oversized olive green cargos sitting high on her waist. Her white top may be long sleeved but it ends just beneath her breasts, and the cut makes my mouth water.
I pause my appreciation at her full breasts and the little opening at her cleavage. The cut out runs up to her shoulder, and I run my tongue across my teeth and consider how it would feel running it over the soft space above her collarbone. I want to suck on it and leave my mark. She’s biteable. It's a thought I’m lost in until I taste a hint of blood in my own mouth. My greedy eyes finally make it up to her red-painted lips, which are smirking at me.
