Don't Kiss the Bride

Suddenly, this is all bothering me.

A lot.

She took a hammer to the head trying to save my stuff. I’ve fucked her rough and raw; slow and sweet. I’ve laid awake at night thinking about her, worrying about her, wanting her, and missing her.

I’ve slowly fallen for her smile. My favorite curve.

Somehow, she’s squirmed her way under my skin, and surprisingly enough, I don’t want to dig her out.

I’m feeling like we should do something date-ish. Something to show her I’m not with her just to sit on the couch, watch movies, and have sex when one of us is fucked up.

I want—no, I need—to make her happy and show her that she’s special to me and I want to be more than friends. She deserves that.

Dinner would be too much pressure for her, and a movie feels a little too cliché for us. I pet the cat, spinning date ideas in my head that I think she’ll like and that I can pull off quickly.

When she’s off the phone, I go to the living room, carrying Gus with me. She’s lying on the couch, holding her phone above her face as she scrolls the screen.

“What are you doing tonight?” I ask her.

Her brows knit together as she stares at me, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the slash on her forehead. My stomach twists into an instant knot of anger and guilt.

“Why are you holding the cat?”

I pull my gaze away from the zig-zagged cut and look down at the cat, which I’m holding like a baby. “She was sitting on me and I wanted to get up.” I shrug. “So, I just brought her with me.”

She smiles. “Okayyyy…”

“Do you have plans?” I repeat.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s Friday night and my best friend is attached at the lip to her boyfriend, so… the answer is no.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“I want to take you out.”

She sits up and pulls the throw blanket over her shoulders. “Out?” She eyes me suspiciously.

“Yeah, like a sort of date thing,” I say awkwardly.

“Date thing?” she repeats. “I can’t do—”

“It’s not dinner,” I interrupt, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

“Oh.” She smiles crookedly. “Okay then.”

“Someday, we will go out dinner, though. Just not tonight.”

She moves her wavy hair out of her face and looks at me with a puzzled expression.

“Did something happen?” she asks. “You’re acting weird. Why are you still holding the cat?”

I put the cat on the couch next to her. “Everything’s great. I just thought it’d be nice to go out of the house together.”

Her smile grows. “What should I wear?”

“Something warm and comfortable,” I say.

“And funky?”

I grin at her. “Of course.”

“What time is this out-of-the house date thing happening?”

I didn’t know having a date would come with so many questions. I feel like I need a nap.

“How’s eight o’clock?”

“That works.” She looks around the room. “Should we just meet out in the foyer, then? Or are you going to go outside and then knock on the door?”

“Cute,” I say, walking away. “See ya at eight.”

“Where are we going?” she asks when I come down the stairs. She’s waiting in the foyer with her eyes all bright and animated.

Somehow, she managed to pick the perfect outfit. Dark, skinny jeans, boots with faux-fur cuffs, a gray puffy coat with matching faux-fur hood, and a tight black sweater that hugs all her curves. She doesn’t wear makeup often, but tonight her eyes are dusted with silver, glittery shadow and lined with black liner that make her eyes look crazy sexy.

“You look great.” I lean down and kiss her, lingering on her lips, tempted to carry her upstairs. I fight it and stick to my date plan. “You ready to go?”

“You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”

“You’ll find out when we get in the truck.”

I hold her hand as we leave the house and, continuing my date-ish theme, I open the passenger side door for her. When I get behind the wheel, I hand her a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asks. “Instructions?”

I laugh. “Addresses of all the local houses that have cool holiday light displays.”

Her mouth gapes open as she unfolds the paper. “Oh my God, is that what we’re doing? Going to look at Christmas lights?”

“Yeah… unless you’re not into it. If you’re not, we can do something else. We could go to a movie.”

“Are you kidding? I’m totally in to it.”

Finally, I’m doing something right.

I tune the radio to a classic holiday music station and head toward the first house on the route of ten homes I mapped out from a list I found online.

With each house display we visit, Skylar gets more and more excited, claiming each one as better than the last. I’m too busy looking at her smile to even notice the lights. I haven’t seen her this happy since before the attack.