Natasha exhales a huge whoosh of air.
“So… no sex?” she asks, and there’s an ocean
of disappointment beneath her voice.
“Not until I got home,” I murmur, just quiet
enough for her to hear, and she blasts out one giant laugh that has
everyone in the place stopping for a second to stare. She claps a
hand over her mouth but her shoulders keep shaking.
“OK, OK,” I say, and now I can feel the
blush creeping through my cheeks. “Settle down there, Tina Fey.” I
bury my face in the menu, sure that everyone in the restaurant is
staring at me.
But that doesn’t make things better, because
these prices are going to bankrupt the tiny little bit of going-out
money I have left to spend. After gulping at the look of some of
the lunch specials, I decide to order the fruit toast and a small
coffee.
Nat pulls at a lock of her hair
thoughtfully.
“So did you get his number, or anything?”
she asks. “Or did he get yours?”
“Nope,” I say, and look around for a waiter.
My stomach is grumbling at me about the smells coming from the
kitchen. “All I know is where he’s staying.”
Nat shakes her head. “No good,” she says
matter-of-factly. “If you go back there you’ll look like a crazy
stalker or something.”
My jaw drops open. “I wasn’t suggesting…
look, maybe we should just order.”
Nat shrugs. “I was just
wondering
, I
mean, it’s been so long since you hooked up with a guy, and he
is
super-hot, after all.”
Her face breaks into a grin. “You know what
you need?”
“Lunch?” I offer hopefully, but I know she’s
going to suggest something else.
“You need to jump right back on the horse!”
she says triumphantly, and sticks her hand up. In a second, a
waiter’s right there by her shoulder. He’s a cute guy, but young,
and he hangs on her every word.
“Yes ma’am?” he says, trying to sound
suave.
“I’ll have the eggs Benedict with a side of
bacon,” Nat says, “and my friend will have…?”
“Just the fruit toast,” I say, determined to
stick to a budget for once when I’m out with Nat, “and a
small-”
“Oh, babe,” she interrupts, “you’ve
got
to try the eggs here.
So
good.”
When I shrug in surrender, Nat turns the
full force of her beam on the waiter, whose knees practically
buckle.
“Two eggs benedict,” she says, “with extra
bacon.”
Her eyes sparkle (I don’t know how she makes
them do that) and when the eggs arrive with a side order of
garlic-soaked cooked mushrooms and steaming fresh corn bread that
don’t appear on the bill, I’m not surprised.
“What
you
need,” Nat says, pointing
at me with her fork, “is to get a man back in your life. Preferably
one that’s tall, dark, handsome, and has enough stamina to do it
six times in a night.”
She gives me a secret little smile.
“And I think I might know just where to find
such a specimen.”
Somehow I let Nat talk me into going out
with her.
Somehow
I’ve been suckered by her puppy-dog eyes,
just like every time. After a year of this, you’d think I would
have learned. But she always manages to plead and wheedle and
persuade me into going out with her when she wants to hit the town
– she’s convinced it’s for my own good.
I spend an hour getting ready, but most of
that time staring at myself in the mirror. My pale skin, my
awkwardly long arms and legs, my hair that falls around my face in
raven waves, and my brown eyes. I can never help but feel I belong
in a Disney cartoon as the clumsy best friend who always ends up
tripping over things.
“Fix your face.” Nat’s voice is stern, yet
playful.
“What’s wrong with my face?” I ask, reaching
into my clutch for a compact.
Nat places a hand on mine to stop me.
“You’re gorgeous, as usual, but you look
like you’re about to take an exam you didn’t study for.”
We are sitting at the second floor bar at La
Belle, overlooking the first floor dining area. True to her word,
Nat convinced Dave and James to get us a table. The restaurant
began taking reservations a month before its grand opening, and in
one week it had been booked solid through the first three
months.
I take a healthy sip of my martini and try
to relax. Even though the place is full, the noise level never gets
above a melodic hum. Between the alcohol and dim lights, I’m at
ease within moments. Nat smiles triumphantly.
“That’s more like it. It’s just a double
date.”
“For you, it’s a double date. For me, it’s a
blind date.”
“Semi-blind,” Nat counters. “You saw his
picture. James is a hottie. I mean, he’s no Gabriel Call, but…”
She lets it linger there. At the mention of
his name, my body reacts and I shift in my seat. Nat smirks. I
glance at my phone.
“Well, doesn’t seem like James is all that
excited either. They’re late.”
“Oh, they’ve been here for ten minutes.”
“What? Where?” I ask, quickly scanning the
bar area.
Nat nods her head in the direction of the
main dining room. I finally spot a guy who looks like the photo Nat
showed me, seated with a thin, blonde man.
“Why are we up here if they’re down there?”
I ask.
“Because is there anything better than
watching a man’s face light up when you walk across the room
looking like this?” She waves her hand up and down the length of
her body, and I admire – not for the first time – the fit of her
red dress. I glance down at my own outfit, a form-fitting black
skirt stopped just above the knee and an off-the-shoulder emerald
green top that shows off, and complements, my best assets: my
breasts and my hair.
I shake my head and then finish off the rest
of my drink.
“You’re too much. Let’s go.”
She glides. I follow, trying not to move too
awkwardly in this skirt.
James is even better looking than his
picture. He’s tall and fit, but not in a way that would be
described as hard or chiseled, but… solid. His smile reveals deep
dimples and his brown eyes are warm. We shake hands and his grip
manages to be both soft and firm at the same time. Something about
him reminds me of home.
I take the seat next to Nat, and across from
James. We order a round of drinks and exchange getting-to-know-you
questions and answers. When Dave leans forward to whisper to Nat, I
catch something about a flirty text message and realize we probably
won’t hear much from either of them anytime soon.
James takes a deep breath and looks me in
the eyes.
“So, I was watching a talk show and this
lady from a dating site was on. She was talking about the best
questions to ask on a first date.”
“Have you tried any?” I ask.
“No. I haven’t had a first date in a… a
while.”
The waiter appears with our drinks, but when
he asks if we’re ready to order, Nat tells him we’ll need a few
more minutes. No one had looked at a menu since we sat down.
“We should try one,“ James says
suddenly.
I sip from my drink and nod.
“Okay. Shoot.”
“What’s something you’re afraid to tell
me?”
“Wow. We just jumped right in it, huh?”
He throws up his hands playfully.
“Hey, she’s an expert. Something about
building trust.”
The liquor makes my tongue brave, and I
start speaking before I realize what I’m going to say.
“I’m really worried you’re not going to pay
for dinner.” His eyes get wide and I rush on.
“It’s not that I can’t afford my own dinner.
I mean, I think I can. I looked up the menu online, but they don’t
list the prices, which brings to mind the whole ‘if you have to
ask.’ Anyway, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have to wash dishes or
anything. It’s just that I live on a fixed income and this city is
expensive. I’ve already gone over my going out budget for the
month. Your turn.”
James opens his mouth and closes it again
while I try to catch my breath. I wonder if maybe I should have
gone with my other answer:
The other night, one of the richest
men in the country got me off using only two fingers on top of the
kitchen counter, and I can’t stop thinking about him.
“Three weeks ago, my girlfriend of five
years broke up with me and moved in with another guy. I haven’t
told anyone but Dave because I’m too embarrassed to admit to our
family and friends back in Chicago. I haven’t told people because
I’m still in love with her and I’m hoping she changes her mind.
Maybe then no one will ever have to know.”
I watch as James takes a swig of his own
drink.
“Wow,” I say, “you win.”
He smiles tentatively and I add, “So, is
that a yes or no on paying for dinner?”
This makes him laugh so hard he tosses back
his head and his shoulders shake.
“I haven’t laughed like that in weeks,” he
says, looking directly into my eyes. It is then I realize who he
reminds me of: Matt. I smile broadly and say, “Good.”
We finally order. Over dinner, Nat and Dave
join us in conversation. We talk about James’ startup, currently in
its second round of fundraising, and my job. When the waiter
reappears and asks if we’d like dessert, James and I decide to
split a tiramisu. Even though we lacked any sexual chemistry, I was
confident we could be friends. I don’t flinch when uses his thumb
to wipe away a spot of chocolate sauce on the corner my mouth.
I giggle and slide my tongue to spot where
his finger had been. I feel like someone is watching me. I look
around the restaurant. My eyes find his almost immediately, like
I’m being drawn by a magnet. He’s standing on the second floor
balcony, watching my tongue travel across my lips. His own lips
form a frown and those hypnotic gray eyes meet mine.
Gabriel Call walks down the stairs and makes
his way over to our table.
“Hello, Kate.”
Gabriel doesn’t address anyone else at the
table. His eyes remain fixed on mine. I try to sound casual and
unmoved.
“Hello.”
My voice betrays me. I sound breathless,
nervous, and even happy to see him.
Damn it.
“Tim said I had to try this place while I
was in town. Said I’d like it. He was right.”
He’s standing close to my chair, and I’m
acutely aware of how much space he fills. And it’s not just his
body – it’s his entire presence.
“Tim?” I ask, trying hard not to think of
those glorious abs I know are hidden beneath his tailored suit, and
only inches from my face. I force myself to maintain eye
contact.
“My agent,” he replies with a smirk, as if
he can read my mind.
Everyone in publishing knows Gabriel’s agent
is Tim Keene, but apparently my brain is malfunctioning.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Call.”
Nat’s voice is confident and slightly annoyed. She’s not used to
being ignored. Gone was the flustered girl from the first time
they’d met.
At least one of us is behaving like a grown-up.
I make a mental note to high-five her later.
He smiles at her.
“Likewise. Natasha, wasn’t it?”
And just like that, all is forgiven. Nat
beams.
“And you must be Matt.” Gabriel turns to
James, who stares back in confusion.
“No, I’m James,” he says. “My girlfriend…
ex-girlfriend… is a huge fan, Mr. Call. She has all of your
books.”
“Ah, does she?”
He’s talking to James, but looking at me. I
can see the wheels spinning in his head.
“Why don’t you join us for a drink, Mr.
Call?” Natasha asks, and she completely misses the annoyed look on
Dave’s face.
“Well, we were done—”
“I’d love to, and call me Gabriel.”
It was as if Dave hadn’t spoken. Within
moments, the manager – who’d been hovering nearby just in case
Gabriel requires anything – appears with two extra chairs. Tim
joins us from the bar. He is short and stocky, and smiles like a
salesman, but not in a smarmy way. He has a reputation of being a
fierce negotiator, but also fair.
We shake hands and Tim narrows his eyes.
“Oh, I remember you. You two left together
the other night.”
I open my mouth before realizing I have no
response. Nat chuckles next to me and I reach under the table to
pluck her leg with my fingers. She only laughs harder.
“I have to ask, how do you write for women
so well?” James leans forward, pushing the plate with our
half-eaten tiramisu aside.
Gabriel places his arm along the back of my
chair. Anyone watching would think
he’s
my date. He casually
lifts his hand when he says, “Easy. I pay attention.” His fingers
come to rest on my bare shoulder and one fingertip traces small
circles against my skin. I shiver involuntarily and I swear I can
hear laughing in his head.
“Sounds like I should have read them,” James
says with a laugh. I know Gabriel’s answer hits a nerve. James’ ex
had felt like he paid more attention to work than her.
“Perhaps we should consider another market,
Gabriel. Relationship advice certainly sells.”
Tim is clearly joking, but Gabriel responds
anyway.
“I prefer to stick to the things I do
best.”
Gabriel removes his arm. I keep my mouth
shut, but my body screams in protest. He places a hand on my thigh,
under the table where no one can see. He makes no attempt to move
it any higher. It’s not so much sexual as it is possessive. I feel
claimed.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing back my
chair.
In the ladies room, I wet a paper towel with
cool water and press it to my face.
“What are you doing?” I ask my reflection.
Gabriel asked me to leave the other night, and now he’s crashing my
date.
I am going back out there, saying goodnight,
and then I’m going home. Alone.