Free Straddling the Edge by Julie Prestsater

if you’d like.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his. I look down at our laced fingers and love the way it looks. And love the way it feels.
    Warm and safe.
    I’m quiet the rest of the ride, listening to Dean sing along with classic rock tunes that I haven’t heard in ages. People would be surprised but I’m kind of an old school rap junkie, but just the female rappers. My playlist is filled with Salt-n-Pepper, TLC, and Queen Latifah. Every once in a while, I get in the mood for some Eazy E or Dr. Dre, but it doesn’t happen often. I know my classic rock though because that’s what I listened to growing up. My dad was a die-hard fan of The Who and Led Zeppelin. Who his age wasn’t, right? Dean’s voice is soothing and I find myself tapping my foot to the beat and joining him on some of the choruses.
    If I thought I was nervous when he picked me up, I have no idea how to describe how I feel right now. Dean pulls into a long driveway lined with palm trees and fancy water fountains, a stunning resort like you’d see in a movie.
    “Uh,” I begin. “I thought you didn’t want to rush things.”
    He squeezes my hand before pulling into the valet. “I don’t.” He releases my grip and pats my thigh. “Come on. I have a surprise for you.”
    In a five-star resort? What could that be? He comes around to my side of the car as I’m releasing my seatbelt.
    “Come on, slow poke.” He holds out his hand to me. “You’ll see in just a minute so stop trying to figure it out.”
    I crack up at this. We’ve officially known each other for a little less than twenty-four hours and he already knows how my mind works.
    We walk into the hotel hand in h and. Women stop to stare at him; he’s that good looking. Instead of being jealous, I feel proud. That’s a new feeling for me. He doesn’t even notice the gawking sets of eyes. He just guides me down a long hallway toward an elevator.
    “Aha,” I tell him when he hits the floor to the Spa. “We’re getting our toesies done?”
    “Not on your life,” he says. “I could never show my face at a construction site again if I got my toes painted like a girl.”
    I look down at his exposed feet. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you get them done once a week. You have nice feet.” And he does. It sure looks like his toes are perfectly manicured and his heels look soft. Thankfully.
    We reach the front desk of the Spa and he does the talking. “Dean Michaels. I have an eight o’clock appointment.”
    “Welcome, Mr. & Mrs. Michaels.”
    “Oh, we’re not married,” I blurt out, holding up my left hand.
    Dean chuckles and shakes his head letting the receptionist know I’m right. She smiles at him and then quickly types away on her keyboard. “Sorry about that. Well, Micah and Frieda will be right with you.” She turns to me. “You’re going to love this treatment. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced.” And then she adds, “He’s definitely a keeper,” along with a wink.
    “Romance, huh?” I murmur. Dean places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the big window with a stunning view overlooking the beach.
    “You have something against romance?”
    “Not at all. When do you plan on telling me what we’re doing?” I’d like to mentally prepare myself for whatever is about to happen.
    “This morning you were talking about missing going out with the girls for manicures and pedicures. It was something that you didn’t get to be part of.” I nod, remembering the conversation and surprised at how at ease I was telling him about my lack of girlfriends, until now. “Well, I thought I’d do something to make up for those lost experiences. Just not a mani-pedi thing, because I’m a dude.”
    “Guys get manicures and pedicures, you know?” I laugh at his machismo.
    “Not this one. I can cut my own nails. Anyway, how does a couple’s massage sound to you?”
    My eyes widen, and tears sting my eyes at his