Ali looked like a golfer, doing everything to prepare for the shot. He planted his feet so many inches apart, squatted to adjust his center of gravity and maintain balance, and closed one eye to better see the target. I half expected him to stick a wet finger into the air to measure the breeze in the room. He put on quite the show, and I fully expected him to sink the ball.
He was so disappointed with himself; I wanted to laugh so badly. His pride was injured enough. Poor baby. One day he’ll learn if he’s gonna talk trash, he needs to back it up. At least my ball hit the table, heh.
“Awww! Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?”
“Is it working?” he asked sarcastically.
“Yeah.”
What can I say? I’m softy! Especially concerning him.
He won 4-2, and we split the remaining drinks and downed them before attempting to get home. The plan was to go back to my place to hang out for a while, but I insisted he spent the night. It was dark when we got home and far too dangerous to be out. And I wanted him. Soooooo badly! He smiled bashfully at my suggestion and asked if I was sure. I appreciated him considering my feelings or whatever, but if he only he knew all the hot, dirty things I’ve had in my head since the day we met.
I turned on some jazz and lit the fireplace. Both chaperones were on duty that night, but I didn’t let them distract me this time. They’d just have to get used to that scenario because Ali was in our life now, and I intended to love him ‘til I die.
