His arm slid around my shoulders and drew me to him. It was odd, sitting there under the veil of darkness, watching the neighborhood settle down. Lamps burned in windows. TVs flickered. A few houses down, the rhythmic thud of a basketball on concrete and muffled laughter alerted us to the only other people outside on this glorious fall night.“This is a perfect date,” I said.He tensed. “You’d call it a date?”“Sure. You wouldn’t?”He looked down at me, his eyes glittering in the faint light. “I thought American girls liked more formality in a date.”“More money is what you mean.” I smiled. “It’s a date. Don’t argue with me.”“I never do.
Elizabeth Langston
attraction, date, dating