Free Waiting For Ethan by Diane Barnes Page B

since my ill-advised hug. “Sorry. I’m just nervous. Really nervous. I almost cancelled. I haven’t been on a date with anyone but Leah since eighth grade.”
    I picture Ethan as a little boy riding his bike next to a freckled-face girl with pigtails. She’s sort of fat. They pedal up to Friendly’s, where they split the Reese’s Pieces sundae. I think back to my first date just before the start of eighth grade, a few weeks after Ajee made her predictions. Joey Messina and I doubled with Josh Levine and Neesha to the movies. Joey’s brother was the usher, and he let us sit in the balcony even though it was closed. Josh and Neesha sat in the last row, Joey and I in the first. I kept turning around to look at Neesha. The first few times, Josh had his arm around her; later they were kissing. I elbowed Joey. “Neesha’s grandmother predicted Josh would kiss Neesha and look.” He turned to face them and then looked back at me. “Do you want to make out, too?” He leaned toward me. I jolted backward in my seat. A guy should never ask a woman if she wants a kiss. He should just do it.
    The truth was, though, I didn’t want Joey kissing me. I wanted to meet and kiss Ethan. Josh Levine was kissing Neesha and that was a sure sign Ethan was on his way. And now, all these years later, here we are finally on our first date.
    â€œI’m really nervous, too, if that makes you feel any better.”
    He smiles. “You’re lying. Why would you be nervous? You’ve probably been on dates with tons of guys.”
    But this is my first date with my future husband, Ethan. I wonder if he would be more or less nervous if I actually said it out loud.
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    A smattering of cars are spread throughout the parking lot, and Ethan pulls into a space by the front door. He hops out of the driver’s seat and races around the vehicle to the passenger side so he can open my door. He extends his hand for me to grab on to while I climb down. Although I’m perfectly capable of getting out of the car without his help, I find his gesture sweet. I like it even more that he continues to hold my hand as we walk into the bowling alley.
    Inside, colored lights blink and eighties music blares from the speakers. The guy at the front desk has long, greasy dark hair tied back in a ponytail. His eyes linger on my chest, and I pull my sweater up higher. He leans toward me to hand me the shoes. All I can smell is smoke. “Lane seven,” he says in a voice ravaged by cigarettes.
    Fifteen to twenty teenagers are using lanes eight through twelve, and a gray-haired man and woman are bowling in the first aisle against the far left wall. Ethan and I sit on the bench next to each other to change our shoes. When he removes his left work boot, I notice his sock has a hole by the big toe, and that little imperfection makes me want to hug him. “So, should we wager?” Ethan asks as he laces up his bowling shoes.
    â€œLoser buys dinner,” I say.
    â€œNah, has to be more interesting than that.”
    I’m still bent over my shoes. I straighten up to look at him. His sweater is the same exact shade of blue as his eyes. It makes them sparkle. “What did you have in mind?”
    He gives me that same confident grin from the diner. “A massage.” The way he says the word leaves no doubt he expects a happy ending, and I feel myself blushing.
    â€œYou’re on,” I say.
    He taps my knee before standing. As he walks to get a ball, I notice his jeans fit in a way that’s going to make it really fun to watch him from behind all night. He picks up and puts down several balls before settling on one he likes. Then he steps into the lane, extends his hand with the ball in front of him, takes three quick steps forward, bends, and hurls it down the aisle. A crashing sound echoes through the room as the ball strikes the pins. All but one fall. He waits for that ball to come back