Boot(s)

36- Boot

Bobby O'Callahan

I didn't really know what to say except for god, I am so sorry. And an afterthought, how did I not know?

I was too stunned to say either. But apparently, the look on my face told him everything that was weighing on my chest. "I don't want your pity, Bobby. I just want mutual understanding."

It was a miracle he was being so well-spoken and controlled telling this story, and with this much wine in him. I nodded, reaching forward to grab his hand from across the table.

"Of course. And I'll do my best."

He gave me a smile, a small one, and his eyes were rolling a bit, like what I had said was something he had heard a million times. He didn't say it in so many words—none at all, really—but what he meant was clear. You're already doing your best.

"So, shall we?"

I had paid the bill a few minutes before and we had corked up the rest of Cabernet bottle number 2 to take home with us. I stood up quickly, making sure to grab a hold of Pete's hand as we made our way out of the restaurant. Pete even gave the red-faced hostess a very cordial goodnight salute. She responded with a bumbling, "Goodnight, Corporal. I mean sergeant! Sergeant." It had Peter laughing all the way out the door. The poor girl.

Out front on the sidewalk, I waved at Adrian, my good friend and tonight's driver, from across the street. He was parked in his black BMW in a parallel spot a hundred yards away. He spotted me within moments and brought the car to life.

I turned to look down at Pete. He had lost his grip on my hand in favor of a tighter grip on my arm, his whole body leaning into me like I was the only thing grounding him there. Even with the steadiness of his new leg, he wasn't used to going so long without crutches. I pulled him into my body, pressing his chest against my own, one hand securely supporting his back.

He glanced the four inches or so up at me. He was batting his eyelashes, and within the past two days, I had come to recognize exactly what this meant. This was his I'm waiting for you to kiss me look, and fuck, it worked every time.

I closed the distance between us and he seemed to hum in appreciation of all my hard work. I laughed into his lips, pulling away only to kiss his cheek and neck feverishly. He was hard to resist on any given moment, but here he was batting his freakishly long eyelashes at me, wearing that gorgeous blue shirt unbuttoned just enough to expose the tattoo that ran across his chest and his neck, and he was wearing cologne. And not just any cologne. He was wearing my god damned cologne because of course he didn't have any himself but of course he wanted this night to go as perfectly as I did, so here he was. In my cologne.

"Bobby," he was whining, but in a very gruff, very appetizing, very sexy way. So, I ripped my kiss away from his neck to look into his eyes. Then, his hands were on my face again, like they were when he first walked in the restaurant a few hours earlier, and he was pulling me towards his lips—he had to be on his tippy toes, now—and he was kissing me gently yet fiercely, giving my body the absolute shakes.

"Hey, Cal."

I pulled away from Peter at the sound of Adrian's voice. He was behind us, the back seat of his sedan already pulled open, gesturing us in. I lost my full-body grip on Pete, fiddled my hand through his left one then turned to face Adrian.

I tried not to sound like I was presenting my award-winning Cockapoo when I said, "Adrian, this is Peter."

But he knew me better. His eyebrows were practically hitting his dark, receding hairline. He was nodding his head, biting his lower lip, and giving me a very obvious: "Mmhmmm. I'm sure it is."