Page 58 of Cherry Picking
“I love you, Riley.”
He doesn’t say it back, but I don’t mind. As I close my eyes and listen to the rumble of his voice while we talk about everything and nothing, I know that this right here is what I want for us.
Being each other’s rock.
Our safety net.
As long as we’ve got each other, the rest can be figured out.
“You played a whole period of a game. I’d call that a win.”
Riley bites into a corn dog from one of the vendors littered around the park that we grabbed grub at, looking ridiculously hot in his white tank and red flannel.
“I knew the likelihood of them needing me would be slim, but when you have a slapshot from a very skilled winger going ninety miles an hour aimed at your chest, I’d say a single quarter is good enough for me.”
Riley slings an arm around my shoulder and chuckles into my hair.
“What do you want to bet it was some rookie younger than you?”
I shove him off and shoot him a glare, but he grins back and goes back to his food.
“You’re an ass. Wanna talk old? You’re in prime retirement age, buddy.”
Riley’s steps falter, but then he shakes his head and drags me back to his side, this time with his arm hanging loosely around my waist.
“You alright?”
“Yup. Lost my footing. Happens sometimes.”
I follow his lead and wrap my arm around him, slipping my hand into his back pocket and watching for the usual hesitation or refusal.
Neither is there.
“So is this like a festival or something?” he asks, looking around at all of the booths and tents.
“Or something. The team says it’s a regular occurrence for local businesses. Usually a couple a week, and they alternate. Did you know some of the guys on the Rippers set up a face paint station on weekends when they don’t have games?”
I may have gotten talking to some of the lower line players and found out all kinds of interesting traditions their team has. It’s given me way too many ideas to implement when I get home.
“I’m glad this was a good experience for you.”
“Better now that you’re here. This is alright, isn’t it? You aren’t uncomfortable or anything?”
I figured out and about like this with some casual affection would be lower pressure than going to a restaurant or something, but like everything in life, I barreled forward with my plans without running them by Riley first.
I literally hopped in the car, had the hottest make-out session of my life, and directed him here for our date.
“This is nice,” he says, tossing his corn dog stick in a trashcan we pass. “Though I am concerned about what you plan to rope me into now that we’re here.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. Scouts honor.”
I hold up my fingers as an amused smile pulls at Riley’s lips, and he stops us with a hand on the side of my neck, tipping my head back so he can press his mouth to mine.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he mutters and nips at my bottom lip.
Probably because the moment we separate and I spot a very interesting banner on top of a tent, I’m grabbing his hand and dragging him in that direction.
The banner is an array of colors with splattered paint and messy brush strokes, the words ‘Bad Habits’ written in bold font with a curvy ‘Queer Strip Club’ just below it.
