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His judgment is lower on the priority list; him discovering what’s actually happening concerns me. Casper is a good man; I believe he’d go after Steve and that would put him in danger. It’s his safety that’s my biggest concern.
“I’m not ready yet.”
He inhales slowly, it’s the sound of me testing his patience, and knowing that’s all I’m giving him tonight.
When we finish up, I wipe my palms with the thin paper napkins that fell apart mid-use. Casper pops the last fry in his mouth and then stacks my empty tray with the remains of my tattered napkin on top of his. He gets up and throws them in a nearby trash can, then dusts the salt from his fingers as he closes the distance between us.
I stand, meeting him halfway. “So, now what?” I ask, nervously—hoping he’s not going to end the night after determining my previous answer is less than satisfactory.
Casper scans the area, halting when something snags his interest.
“Do you want to experience the sensation of flight without any pesky FAA paperwork?”
I follow his line of sight and chuckle. “Are you talking about that swing set?”
“Obviously.” He takes my hand in his. “All right, let’s show these motherfuckers how well-adjusted and whimsical we are.”
Our connection breaks when he skips off like a goddamn maniac, turning back only when he sees I’m not at his side. A grin tugs at my lips while I walk toward him. Only someone as hot as Casper could get away with his level of weirdness.
He glances at an invisible watch on his wrist. “You have five seconds to get over here willingly before I escalate the situation.”
“You better not push me too hard,” I say, nearing him.
Casper smirks. “You seemed to like it yesterday.”
I give him a small shove.
“Just for that, I’m not pushing you.”
We arrive at the swings and he wraps his hands around each of the hanging chains, jostling them. “Here. Get on.”
He holds them steady as I take a seat. “Thank you.”
Once I’m settled, he claims the swing to my right. “Want to see who can go higher?”
“What?” I bark out a laugh. “You’re like two feet taller than me!”
“Yeah, but I weigh more,” he says, pushing off the ground and leaning back to pump his legs.
“Which means you have greater momentum. You’re going to get a way bigger arc than I am!” I counter, shoving off and attempting to catch up. The cold air whips around me, sweeping my hair over my shoulders as I find my rhythm.
Casper glances over at me mid-swing.
“There she is,” he says.
I purse my lips. “Don’t—”
“What? Acknowledge that you’re having fun?”
“‘Fun’ seems generous.”
“You’re smiling.”
I am. It’s a real one too, not something I’m only wearing for strange men. It feels good, because he’s right, I’m having fun.
His grin widens. “Yeah,” he says, smugly, facing forward again. “That’s what I thought.”
I roll my eyes, pumping myself higher and higher. I approach the max height, and relish that split second when I’m weightless at the top. It’s stupid and simple, but then . . . I’m laughing. I can’t help it.
