Airel - Aaron Patterson [59]
“Well then, mister. Are we going or not?” Michael grinned and shut the door reluctantly, and as he walked to the other side, I had about two seconds to compose myself.
He was winning my heart, and no matter how I tried I couldn’t help myself. He was so wonderful. I was afraid that something terrible was going to happen to mess it all up.
Chapter III
The Cheesecake Factory was one of my favorite places to eat. It stood connected to the side of Boise Towne Square Mall and was right next to Borders Books and Music—my fave. I found myself in Borders every chance I got.
I always had to buy a book, even if I wasn’t done with the one I was currently reading. I loved to read. I felt like the turn of each page echoed inside the world between the covers—and each book had its own rules. There, within the mystique of that connection, was something special, and it was addictive.
Michael found us a parking spot, actually four of them, about fifty miles from the doors. I will never understand how guys are about their machines. One minute they’re burning rubber and playing in the mud, and the next they’re crying because some heartless soccer mom dinged their door. And they think we have issues. So he was going to make me walk fifty miles for dinner. I really didn’t mind too much. It meant I got to hold his hand that much longer.
That’s exactly what we did—we held hands from the passenger door of his truck to the front door of the restaurant. I felt the deliciousness of his warm-almost-hot skin and fluttered inside. His fingers gently gripped my own, making me feel like glass. I liked it. I felt that there was no safer place for me to be, especially in that moment.
“How’d you know I like the Cheesecake Factory?” I wondered if Kim had ratted on me. It was no fun if he didn’t have to at least try.
“I have my ways! I figured that we could go hang out at Borders afterward if you want.” Oh yeah, Kim was the big fat rat.
Michael followed me inside. As he did, his hand brushed the small of my back, sending a shiver up my spine. Come on, get hold of yourself. He’s just a guy! The shiver ran its course, ending up somewhere in the back of my head, where that new flutter was. She loomed in the back of my mind, watching the whole thing with silent curiosity. I had a feeling that She disapproved somehow. Inside the Cheesecake Factory were enormous domed ceilings with paintings of angels on them held up by huge columns. Colored glass and plastered walls accented the interior, giving it a decently convincing European feel. It may not have been real, but I didn’t care tonight—I liked everything about the ambience.
“Table for two?” The hostess smiled at us, showing us to a booth near the back. The place was packedHow Michael got a table with all the people waiting in the lobby was beyond me. I didn’t ask, though. I felt like a princess and my prince had connections.
We sat down. I left my menu where it was. I always got the orange chicken, at least the three o so times I had been there before. I loved it, so why change now?
“You already know what you’re getting?” Michael asked as he looked at the menu.
“Yup. Orange chicken’s my favorite and I just can’t ever seem to get past it.” I smiled and avoided his eyes, knowing I might blush. “I’ve heard that everything here is good, though.”
He studied the menu, his eyebrows lowered in thought, and I took the chance to look again at his face. He had such a smooth complexion, not a single blemish in sight. My dad used to talk about "gunslinger’s eyes," the kind of eyes you’d expect to find glinting at you from underneath a black Stetson, along with a single-action .45 revolver. Dad was a bit of a gun nut and some of that rubbed off on me, but I thought about the eyes. That was the important part. As I looked at those eyes, I knew: they were gunslinger’s eyes.
“I think I’ll get the steak. It