(Second) first date

After margaritas and Midnight in Paris,
you walked me to my car,
hand resting in the small of my back.

    “I had a really great time, Ceddy.”
    “Me too, Sam.”
    “Thank you for getting the tickets.”
    “No prob — and of course I would get them!”

Before I arrived,
I was unsure of whether or not
you had asked me on a date.

    “I’m going to Athfest this weekend.”
    “Let’s plan something for next week, then.”
    “Sounds good to me!”

Hugging me close, I heard
your heart beating as quickly as mine.
Pulling back, you rested your hands on my hips.
Inwardly, I reminded myself to breathe.

    OH MY GOD — is this really happening?
    I’m on a date with my hot friend
    who I’ve known four and a half years!

You softly pressed a kiss to my lips,
reducing me to a giggling, shaking mess.
Pleased with yourself,
you opened my car door and grabbed my butt.

    “Ceddy!”
    “What?”
    “You grabbed my butt!”
    “So? You liked it.”
    “So?”

While it was the best (second) first date ever,
each thereafter has been
even better than the one before.

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