The night he put the spider in my hair was the summer heading into ninth grade, and I physically tried to kill him. His dad had to hold me back. It's been our measuring point since then. I haven't been that mad since, but this is a very close second.
The ride reminds me of old times, and the longer we ride, the more we loosen up, and he starts smiling and joking. He tells me the story of Firecracker's birth, and then other stuff from around the ranch. After a picnic at the creek, we have fun brushing the horses down.
Once we walk inside the house, things get tense again.
"Any idea what you want for dinner?" He asks, going into the kitchen.
I shake my head. "Nah, I’ll make dinner, as it's the least I can do," I say.
I hate to admit that I like how unsettled it makes him.
"I'll go get cleaned up," he says, hightailing it out of the room.
I get everything to make his mom's chicken casserole. Since I know it's one of his favorites, I’m hoping that maybe, I can butter him up to get the answers I need.
As I'm pouring us both a glass of whiskey, he steps into the kitchen again. Looking at him, he takes my breath away with how handsome he looks cleaned up.
He may be at home, relaxing in worn jeans and a t-shirt, but this isn't a side many people get to see. When he goes out in public, he dresses up to put his best foot forward, just like his mom and dad taught him.
I set the bottle of whiskey on the table with us, and we sit down to drink. While he doesn’t say anything, he watches me warily.
Then, he takes that first bite of food, and his eyes close.
"It's perfect. I haven't had this, since they retired and move down to Florida," he says.
"I'm surprised they have stayed there this long."
"You and me both." He gives me a half smile.
As we finish our dinner and whiskey, I straighten my spine and take a deep breath.
"Why are you always sabotaging my dates and relationships?" I ask.
He stares at his plate and pushes the last bit of food around he was just raving about, but he doesn't answer me.
"I have a theory," I say.
"Yeah?" He asks slightly interested.
"Yep. I was up all night thinking about this. You want to make sure I marry you, like the pact we made. You use the playboy thing to push everyone away."
I study him, as I speak, and he starts shifting in his seat and acting really weird. Normally, I can tell how he's feeling, and what he's thinking just based on how he acts, but I can't read him, not this time.
"You've never lied to me before, so don't start now," I say with a pointed stare.
"Then don't make me answer that question." He says, almost begging me, as he stands up from the table.
Rising too, we both stand there and stare at each other. I may not have known how to read him earlier, but now, he's begging to stop this conversation. It’s as if he can't admit his vulnerability, something I haven't seen in him for a long time.
I don't think I just act.
I lean over and kiss him.
Hesitating for only a moment, before he's kissing me back with urgency. His hands wrap in my hair, pulling me closer, and his body presses against mine, backing me up to the wall.
While I may have initiated the kiss, he takes control, cupping my head and tilting it exactly where he wants to deepen the kiss.
Just like all those years ago, this kiss stops time, and nothing else exists besides his mouth on me, his tongue tangling with mine, and the sparks he creates, shooting throughout my body.