A little mature as the date progresses.
I take her backpack, put it in the small space behind her seat, and stand at the truck door holding it for her.
"You look beautiful."
"Thank you." She smiles and grabs her seatbelt.
I walk behind the truck, look through the rear sliding window, and see her adjusting her lipstick in the mirror of the visor; I slide in, open the blowers, and start the Cummins diesel engine.
Looking over, I offer a small hint of a smile, my faint toward masking my nervousness. It's natural to be nervous I convince myself but it's uncomfortable as hell.
The first hour is nearly silent as I rethink my plans. Spending four hours alone with her is a rare treat, the longest was the trip to Arizona, we never talked about the night that almost kind of never was and I certainly don't want to talk about it now.
"I'm nervous," my lips curl up a bit and I glance in her direction.
She smiles back, twirling her hair in her index finger, "Me, too." She looks out of the window then back at me, "It's kinda stupid, huh?"
I give her my short laugh, "I guess."
There's a few more beats of silence,
"You ever been to Cheyenne?" I ask because I can't think of anything clever or witty or charming.
"When Sean and I moved from Philadelphia we drove through but I wouldn't call it a visit really."
"Have you heard from him?" I don't know why I ask but I do.
"Just to sign some insurance papers after the divorce."
I look over, "Insurance papers?"
"Yeah, Walt, you don't want your ex-wife to be your beneficiary when you die." She says, like it should be obvious.
"Hmm." I mutter and it's filled with judgment.
"Did you change your life insurance after Martha died?" Her voice has a cord of curiosity wrapped in genuineness.
"Eventually."
She looks at me.
"Are you surprised?"
"Just …I don't know…I know it was hard for you…is hard for you." When she really means what she says she slows it down, her pitch is sweet, her face is soft, and she stretches out her words.
"It was. It is. But you know with time." I leave it there because that's where it I want it to stay for now.
We ride for just a mile or so farther.
"This is the best part." I say as I look at her over my right shoulder.
Her brown eyes flash and hold on my countenance.
"The best part?" Her head cants to the side while she patiently waits for an explanation.
"This." I wait, searching for the right way to say it, "This, being with you, just us, this is the best part."
She smiles, and her head leans forward just a bit, like a shy school girl as my hand falls off of the steering wheel landing on it's blade into the empty space between us. She takes my hand, slips her fingers between mine, and holds them there as if she wants to keep them there, forever.
The diesel laps up the miles and we hit the Cheyenne city limit sign. Vic talks to her phone and it talks back barking out directions to the restaurant.
"I know I said it earlier," I say as she gets out of the truck holding my hand as she steps down, "but you really are beautiful."
"Thank you, Walt. You don't look so bad yourself."
She reaches up, gently pressing the back of her hand against the smooth skin on my cheek. My breath catches just a bit, I'm sure she doesn't notice, as she strokes just under my eye with her thumb.
"You look so handsome clean shaven."
"You don't like the 3 day growth?"
"It's cliché"
I grimace, "I don't ever want to be that."
"No, you don't, really," she says sort of twisting her lips.
I take her words, the warmth from her hand pressing on my face as my clue, and hold her hand there keeping it firmly against me and I kiss her. It's soft, its gentle, it's perfect.
Her eyes open into mine and I move her hand to my heart, "Can you feel that?" My heart is racing out of my chest.
"Did I do that?"
I don't answer her, just smile, and she smiles back.
For once Victoria Moretti doesn't respond with an inappropriate filthy comment and I must admit to myself I'm a little disappointed.
She tangles my fingers in hers and as I lock the truck, she pauses, "I hope that's not the only thing that got going."
I turn away from her, blushing, but with a broad smile stretching across my red face not disappointed in her retort.
Although I have eaten probably a hundred meals with her over the past four and a half years, this feels very much like the first one.
"Would you like for me to order for you?"
"Are you serious?"
I just look at her because now I think I have not only shown my age but that I have insulted her.
"Get the fuck outta here."
She orders her dinner and after finishing my rusty nail I ask, "When did you know?"
I catch her mid-bite, and the way she looks at me, a dry martini later, she doesn't need an explanation.
"Which part?"
"The first part."
"You remembered my anniversary. Only friends remember those things and you didn't ask me to explain the card or the flowers."
She puts her fork down and pats her painted warm lips with the cloth napkin, takes a sip of her second martini; "I knew the other part when you walked out of your own office the night Sean was picking me up."
That stopped me cold.
"What?"
"Why would you leave your office when you didn't have anything to hide?"
"Vic, I was being respectful."
"Yes, but you also had something to hide. You had to hide your feelings about me. She looks at me confirming the for the first time that no matter how hard I try she sees through the mask.
"You didn't think you could hide it in front of him. That's when I knew without any doubt."
She holds the glass just shy of her lips, looks over the rim, and adds, "Walt, I'm a pretty good detective and motive is how we solve cases you know. It was transparent but it was subtle."
"Glad I wasn't too obvious." My eyebrows arch and we both laugh, "But that's me. I asked when did you know?"
"Ah, why did I think I could get away without answering?" She's being coy and she's being smart. I expect nothing less.
My eyebrows just lift and my head nods an acknowledgment.
She takes another sip, "Walt." Her head drops down and along with it her hand.
I wait.
"I suppose, I'm a bit embarrassed by the truth."
I look down at my near empty plate and wait for her confession.
"It wasn't all at once. It, you know, sort of snuck up on me and suddenly I was acutely aware. It was too late to do anything about it. I was married and didn't have a right to feel the way I did." She looks at me without pausing and says, "That part embarrasses me, not that I had the feelings but that I didn't have a right to them."
"I know." We both look down at our hands holding our respective glasses.
She breaks the silence first, "When did you know?" she asks a little flirty but serious.
"I knew when you gave me Lizzie's gift."
"Oh that." She makes a face. "Yeah, I'm still sorry about that."
"That's when I knew both parts, though."
"Busted."
"Yeah, you were and are."
"What did she give you anyway? You never told me."
"I have no idea."
She looks at me, "Come on, Walt you can tell me. I promise I won't get jealous."
"I never opened it." I take a sip of my drink and hold the glass to my lips just a beat longer, my eyes hold steady on her reaction as she processes it puts it in all the right places, labeling it, filing it and understanding that's how I knew.
"I see." She says as she polishes the second martini.
My head is swimming and I know its partly infused by the Scotch but it's being alone with Vic away from our daily normalcy that is having an unexpected effect on my thinking, meaning I'm having trouble thinking, and that is rare enough to make note of its occurrence.
Outside the stadium, I reach down and take her hand; she folds her palm into mine. Her hand seems so small in mine but it's not really, I think my hands are just big. Funny how you never think of your own size until you compare yourself to someone else.
I fit in with all the other cowboys with their long legs and hats. At some point during the concert Vic takes her place standing in front of me and presses against me swaying to the King crooning a love song. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I put them on her shoulders and that feels awkward. She reaches up and pulls my hand down to her waist and the other hand follows. Standing here, wrapping my arms around her brings back memories of Durant Memorial, my shirt half open, her crying into my shoulder.
I don't want any more sad memories with her but that memory confirmed to me that I was in love, really in love with her, and that I could no longer deny it to myself. My job now is to control it.
This time, I don't have to worry about my moral code, her being married or that we are a hospital with emotions running high. This time, I am free to do as I feel, so I lean down, her soft hair fills my face as take in the scent that is all Vic.
She smells so new and so alive. I kiss her neck just under her ear, through her hair, and lean up just a bit.
"I've dreamed of holding you like this."
I don't think she hears me over the music and I don't want to yell it in her ear so I let the moment pass but keep holding on tight and praying like hell she can't feel the erection growing in my 501's.
My lips get lost on her neck, as she pulls her hair to the side, express permission to continue the tongue dance I'm having on the back of her neck. Our bodies find the natural rhythm with the music, she presses against me a little more, and I'm lost in a dreamland; foggy and dense as the tightness grows in my button-ups.
I am conscious of the exact moment when my eyes cloud over, my eyelids droop, and she turns around meeting her lips with mine. Her fingers sink into the hollow of my back as she pulls me forward and I hold the back of her head gently but not wanting her to escape my hold. There are fifty thousand people with us but we are all alone.
Vic's hand is tentative at first over the front of the bulge in my pants and my tongue sinks deeper instinctively as I press myself into her hand and she stops kissing me. Her eyes are bright, "Fuck, Walt."
"Is that bad?" I look at her with the confidence of a man that has seen the look of surprise before.
I place my hand over hers, giving her the confidence to continue, "It's ok." I say.
I watch as her smile grows feeling the length and girth of me.
The music stops just as we kiss again. At the King's urging, we all sit down for the next ballad. My O'Farrell serves double duty to cover the distinctive erection I'm sitting with and as a barrier to keep Vic's hand from further exploration.
She leans in and says, "You're full of surprises."
"Among other things."
She flashes those canines and with it, any residual uncertainty disappears.
The next update will be a while. Thanks again for your patience and for your reviews.