Keep You In Mind

Drunk In Love

"I don't want to go."

"Too bad, because you're going."

"You can't make me."

"Watch me."

She opens her mouth, pauses, and sits in quiet contemplation. To say what she was thinking, to express those three con words to the days' prior, pro words would only make things worse. It was bad enough that he had yet to mention her lack of a response to his admission.

She hated that.

She hated that he was being so patient with her. She knew what he was doing, waiting for her to reciprocate her feelings in her own time, and she hated it.

She hated him.

"A**hole," she mumbles and walks over to her full body mirror. "I look like a sailor and not moon." Looking over her reflection, even though she would never admit it aloud, the ensemble suits her. Navy blue goes well with her complexion -even with the short sleeved top being striped with white - and the solid color high waisted skirt accentuates her hips. The gray shrug, white and grey sneakers, and the medium sized gray handbag complete the outfit.

"No you don't," Isaac rolls his eyes while pulling his Ralph Lauren sweater over his head. "You look fine." He moves to stand behind her, his hands trailing down her side while his lips nip at her neck. "Mighty fine."

She remains tense despite the wondrous sensations that his touch brings her.

"Don't sweet talk me, Bolton."

"Never," He chuckles, pulling back and twisting her around. "Relax. He'll love you."

"You think I care whether or not he likes me?" She quips a brow. "Especially if he's anything like your father and brother-"

"He's not," Isaac cuts her off. "I promise. I wouldn't put you through that again."

"Well good," she shrugs his hands off her shoulders and sways past him. "Because two racist family members are my limit." A beat. "This da*n skirt keep clinging to my a*s," she mutters in annoyance, pulling at the fabrice, jumping when her boyfriend's hand collides with her derriere. "You must have a death wish."

"There are worse ways to die," he shrugs, grabbing the keys to his truck off the kitchen counter.

Mumbling, she swings her handbag over her shoulder and walks toward the door, tapping her foot against the floor. "Well, come on! We don't want to keep the man waiting!"

"He'll wait for us."

"I don't want him waiting for us," she counters. "That'll give him one strike against me."

"I thought that you didn't care about whether or not he likes you?"

"I don't need to want him to like me to want to make a good first impression."

He pauses, "What?"

"Exactly," she nods her head. "Now come on."

---

She knew this was a bad idea from the very beginning; in fact, she knew as soon as Isaac informed her his uncle was in town and wanted to meet her. She should have followed her gut instinct and simply refused to meet the man, but she hadn't, and that resulted in her current situation:

Sitting across the table from a complete and total stranger.

Of course, less than ten minutes into the dinner, Isaac's coach had called in the team for an emergency meeting. She was furious when he told her that he had to leave, but she understood. But that didn't make sitting across his uncle when she knew nothing about the man any better. She just prayed that he was being honest when he told her that the meeting shouldn't last any longer than twenty minutes, but deep down, she doubted that. She doubted it with every fiber of her being.