Meeting Mr. Whitaker

5️⃣3️⃣

The tension in my shoulders eased at the sight of him leaning against his silver sedan, long legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded over his chest. His aviator sunglasses concealed the piercing blue eyes I knew were locked on me. My heart fluttered at the thought of what we were doing. Reality still hadn't quite sunken in yet.

"You look beautiful," Boston told me once I was within hearing range.

"Thanks," I said, glancing down at the flowy dark dress I had chosen with a floral print. It didn't outline much of my figure, but I didn't want to spend this evening worrying about how I felt. "You look handsome, too. As usual."

Though he was clad in dark wash jeans, a white short-sleeved button-up, and my favorite tan oxfords, he also looked amazing in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. It wasn't fair, but I was always too busy enjoying the view to complain. I moved right into his open arms as I reached him, and his strong arms engulfed me. His cologne was strong and masculine, making my lips curl up.

"My pretty girl," he murmured under his breath, kissing the top of my head and inciting a blush from me. "How did it go? Not too terrible, I'm assuming, or she would be out here with a baseball bat."

I chuckled into his chest before pulling back. "She said she saw it coming. We've been spending a lot of time lately anyway, so this just makes it more official."

"So she wasn't mad?"

"Nope," I said with a shake of my head. "My dad doesn't know yet, though. If my mom thinks it's fine, he probably won't care. Anyway, let's get out of here. I'm starving."

A smirk twisted his lips up. "Always so hungry."

"Yeah, I'm a growing girl," I quipped playfully.

Rubbing my back, he rolled his eyes and opened the passenger door for me. He moved around to his side once I was inside. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt, even though I knew we were about to go into public together. As a couple. Shockingly, I didn't feel afraid. Not the least bit. He made me braver and more comfortable in my own skin than I had ever felt.

Boston put the car into drive and took off down the road. We didn't talk for awhile, but I offered my open palm to him. He glanced at it before flashing me his pearly whites and taking my hand. Our fingers slid together and interlocked. The gesture always made me feel safer right away.

We reached the Mexican restaurant within minutes and rounded the parking lot until we found a spot in the back. I began to worry about seating as we made our way to the front doors, handed intertwined again.

"I knew we should've made reservations," I muttered, pursing my lips.

"It'll be fine," he promised me before holding the door open for me. "Don't do that with your mouth."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me want to kiss it."

My cheeks instantly went up in flames. We hadn't kissed since the day he saved me from Mateo a week ago. Things had gone back to normal and I felt self-conscious about having any kind of displays of affection with my former teacher. For some reason, hugging for prolonged periods of time and cuddling on the couch didn't faze me, though. It was odd. I was odd.

The hostess greeted us and reported a waiting time of fifteen minutes for a table. I shot Boston an I-told-you-so look, which he completely ignored.

"How about to-go orders?" he asked her.

"Um," she paused to consult an iPad, "possibly five minutes."

His eyes flickered down to me. "What do you think?" he asked. "Get it to-go and find somewhere else to eat?"