We perch in the leather seat with the heat blasting. This is one of the worst dates I’ve ever been on. And that says a lot because I’ve only been on two others. The last date I went on was four years ago when I wanted to give my love life that good old college try. The guy I went out with worked as an IT guy at an Apple Store. He was nice and all, but I didn’t like the fact that we had to take his mom with us, and I felt like I was on a date with her, not him. Thinking back, this date isn’t so bad by comparison.

First, we got stuck on the Ferris wheel. Second, I accidentally spilled my Coke on Gunner’s white shirt because I was so nervous thinking about tonight. He then bought a new shirt from a hippie smelling like weed. That’s when the rain started pouring down on us.

“The next date will be a lot better.” He removes his damp shirt, tosses it into the back seat and shifts the gear into drive, pulling onto the wet asphalt.

The wipers whimper as they slap water away from the windshield. Rain splatters against the roof, creating music to my ears.

My clothes are wet and dried-up mud coats my oxford shoes.

“You want to check into a nearby hotel?” I suggest.

“Anxious for me to dick you down?” His tone is smooth. He reaches over to squeeze my thigh, and my stomach clenches at his words.

“Maybe,” I say through a smile.

“Be patient, little Rainbow. We’ve got all night for me to fuck you until you’re numb.”

I play with the end of my soaked shorts. “It’s been nine years since I’ve had sex.”

“Why?” He entwines his thick fingers with my tiny ones and squeezes my hand gently.

“Personal reasons.”

I don’t want to go into details about the night that I left my ex, and I don’t want to put a damper on the mood.

For the two-hour drive back, we remain silent, and my stomach breaks out in a bad case of butterflies.

I’m not nervous about actually having sex because my old therapist told me that what happened to me wasn’t my fault and what my ex did to me wasn’t sex. I’m surrendering my body to Gunner because I trust him. He’s my security blanket. I’m nervous about the scars ingrained in my flesh, which haven’t been seen by another man. My insecurity weighs a ton in my stomach, like it’s trying to pull my gut to the floor.