On The Run

Chapter Forty-One - "Time & Growth"

“Okay, good. I thought it was another one of my social deficiencies.”

I was sitting up straight now, fully awake, with my knees resting on the edge of the table in between Fitch’s. He continued to stare into my eyes, with that smile on his face, the heat from his thighs was palpable, even though they weren’t touching mine.

I looked away; it was my turn to be nervous.

“So, I got you something,” he said, reeling me back into his unwavering stare. I stared back questioningly, and he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of rolled up socks, which he unfolded to reveal prints of a jumble of D.C. landmarks.

“I remembered that you said you wanted socks, and I didn’t want to go to D.C. without bringing you something. It’s cheesy. A little. Don’t laugh,” he rambled.

I bit my lip, softening my growing grin, feeling elated inside at the show of affection. It was one of the reasons why I could never doubt Fitch; he was so consistent in his endearment, that it would be silly to doubt that they might not be real. I know they were just socks, but it was just the reminder that I was on somebody’s mind, his mind, that really got me.

I sat forward on the edge of the couch; he looked embarrassed. I put out my hand and he placed them in it, not bothering to hide his wince. I pulled off my blue borrowed socks and pulled on the red ones he handed over; they went up to my knees.

He gave me a dubious look and a half-smile.

“Lose the look. I’m not humoring you,” I said quietly.

He laughed lightly and shook his head.

Nervously, I wrapped my hands around his waist, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and said, “Thank you for my socks, Fitch.” I had the urge to, so I did. There was much of that happening recently. I felt his hand go around my waist and pull my tighter to him. I could feel his heart beat against my chest, so that it was almost like I had two hearts, as they beat in unison.

I could’ve. I really could’ve.

*

He handed me another shot glass filled with a light pink liquid, and I scrunched my face up in disgust.

“Looks like cough syrup. Are you trying to get me drunk, or to fall asleep?”

He gave me a bored look, “Drink please.”

I took a sip of the curious pink drink, and swallowed it painstakingly. It was dreadful.

Fitch groaned, “Not even that? That’s like the fifth one.”

I handed the glass back to him apologetically, “Seventh, actually.”

He shook his head, “I should just quit.”

I held on to his shoulders from where I was perched on the island, and stared firmly at him. “Try again,” I replied encouragingly.

He had just been promoted to bar manager at Roody’s Bar, and his first ‘assignment’ was a revamp of their drinks and cocktails menu, and I was the guinea pig. So far, only one of them had tasted remotely like it wasn’t a mix of the most awful combination of the worst possible drinks – you name it. Or maybe I was being extreme.

“You know, maybe I’m not the best option. I have a strong aversion to alcohol anyway,” I added.

He smiled, “I know. You’re the worst option. Which means, if you like it, it’s awesome.”

“Ah. Good thinking. Okay, hit me,” I said, sitting up straighter.

He smiled and held my gaze for a moment, before he turned around and went back to mixing. Just watching his back as he worked in sweatpants and a t-shirt, my heart didn’t slow its rapid motions. I loved that only he could give me a certain longing I’d never felt before, and make my body react in ways it never really had.