Chapter 3
Danni
We descend to the second floor and choose a table for two on the starboard side. Chance pulls out a chair and plops into it before I reach the table. No matter. I’m capable of pulling out my own chair, which I do. I sit gingerly on my left butt cheek and lean heavily on my elbow.
The dining room walks the line between elegant and tacky. Chandeliers shaped like upside-down mushrooms light the center of the room. Navy curtains frame each window, their scooping valances meant to add opulence. Several yards away on the small stage, a jazz band plays at a low volume to allow for conversation. Unfortunately.
I bury my head in my menu and pretend to scour the offerings. As the silence between us drags on, the Port of Charleston floats by with its terminals and boats stacked with shipping containers.
The waiter arrives to take our order and our distraction, plucking the menus from our fingers, leaving us nothing to do but stare at each other.
“Do you like jazz?” Chance asks.
“Sure. Do you?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair, opening his body to the room.
He scans the crowd. I scan him. He might be more than a ten. Maybe an eleven or twelve.
His eyes come to rest on something. I turn my head to look. Four tables over, a slender young blonde woman is staring at him. She flits her eyes to the floor. The gentleman across from her is buried in his menu, unaware that his date just stole from the eye-candy bowl.
“You were checking her out,” I say.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You like blondes. You were trying to snag a blonde with your profile picture.”
Chance waves away my comment.
I cross my arms and look over Chance’s shoulder at the older couple swaying on the dance floor. My eyes drift to the heavy, draped curtain over the stage. “The decor is slightly over-the-top, don’t you think?”
“I’m half Indian. We invented over the top.”
“You don’t like your country’s aesthetic?”
“I love it.”
Our conversation hits another stop sign. I cross my leg, wiggle my right foot, feel the tug of my phone. I’ll just check the time.
It’s seven o’clock. The boat doesn’t dock until nine. Great.
I tap Instagram and start scrolling. Rather than offending Chance, my descent into social media oblivion seems to permit him to do the same. He pulls his phone from his pocket, rests an elbow on his knee, and immerses himself in the screen.
“Are you checking Farmers Only?” I say without looking up.
“No,” is all I get in response.
A few minutes later, our food arrives. Shrimp and grits for me and the Catch of the Day for Chance. We eat to the sound of knives and forks clicking against plates and lively conversations being had by everyone except us.
When we’re both done eating, the waiter takes our plates, and we’re stuck staring at each other again.
If I wasn’t on a boat, I could politely excuse myself, say I’m not feeling well, hightail it out of the restaurant. “So, why did you decide to come back to America?” The time will go faster if we at least try to converse.
“I already told you. I’m spreading my love.”
“I thought that was a joke.”
“I gave a detailed reason in my profile. Did you read it?”
I slouch in my chair. It hurts my rear, so I roll to one side. “I don’t remember.”
“What city was I living in before I moved to Charleston?”
I grab my phone.
“No cheating.”
“New York.”
“Austin. What’s my favorite restaurant?”
“Chucky Cheese.”
“Wrong. La Uppu. What’s my favorite food?”
“Curry?”
“Racist. No. Ice cream. You didn’t read my profile.”
I slouch a little deeper. “It was long.”
“You just saw my profile picture and you were on board. Who cares what he does for a living, what music he listens to, what country he’s from.”
“I figured I’d ask you on our date.”
“Blond-haired, blue-eyed white guys.” He throws up his hands. “They get all the dates. You proved my theory.”
“Did you pick that photo to manipulate me?”
“Maybe a little. For science.”
“You said you didn’t trust the biometric engine.”
“I don’t. I generated a bunch of fake humans and narrowed it down to the guy I thought would get me the most dates. You swam right into my net.”
“I’m not a fish. Also, I’m not your scientific experiment. For your information, I only pressed Choose one time. That’s all my coupon allowed.”
Confusion scrunches Chance’s features. “You don’t subscribe to the app?”
“No, why would I?”
“To find your soulmate.”
“Soulmates don’t exist.”
He looks offended, but his expression quickly resolves into resignation. “I knew this date was a bust when you started getting cranky.”
“Oh. Mister. You haven’t seen ‘cranky.’” Air quotes added for emphasis.
“I don’t want to.”
“That’s right. You don’t. So let’s stop this talk about me swimming into any kind of capture thingie.”
Chance laughs and tries to hide it with his hand.
I raise both hands like I’m calling a touchdown. “He laughs everyone. Chance actually laughs.”
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” I say, my arms still raised.
“That. Put your arms down. It’s weird.”
I oblige, only because my shoulders are already getting tired. “You’re weird.”
“Do you want to dance?”
I laugh but Chance looks serious. I glance toward the dance floor. Half a dozen couples are swaying to the muted sax and warm, upright bass. “You dance?”
“Sometimes. And we have time to kill.”
Do I want to wrap my arms around Chance’s neck? Not really. But he’s right. We still have—I check my phone—an hour and forty minutes of cruising before we can tuck this date into bed.
I hide my purse under the table, and then we traipse over to the small square of parquet flooring. He places his left hand on the small of my back and holds up his right hand. “Do you do it this way? Or this way?” He swings his hand to my waist.
“You can leave it there.”
He spreads his palms against my back and presses me closer as I anchor my hands around his neck. I didn’t expect to get quite this close, but I don’t retreat. My eyes are level with his lips. I trace their outline, marveling at their natural plumpness.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
I barely hear the music as we rock side to side. His scent overtakes me, the woody aroma of his cologne surrounding me in a bubble of coziness and warmth.
“I said, is this okay? Me touching you.”
“I’ve been in worse pain.” I lean my head back to admire his face.
A corner of his mouth turns up. “Then I guess we can continue.”
The song segues into another slow tune featuring a velvety melody and rich chords.
“Do we need to kill more time?” I ask.
Chance nods. The smile moves to both corners of his mouth. He looks less arrogant when he smiles. Kind even.
My heart thumps in my chest, reverberating to my lips. A deep breath brings my swirling thoughts into greater focus. Thoughts of putting my lips on Chance’s lips.
I gaze over his shoulder at another couple to distract myself. They’re picking up their feet in quick succession, shuffling in a circle, resting their heads in the crooks of each other’s necks.
Chance clears his throat. We lock eyes. He tilts his head. My lips pulse along with the bass drum as our bodies still, the hypnotic in and out of his breath relaxing every part of me. The floor sways.
I drop my hands and step back. “Wow. My...” I clutch my stomach. “I shouldn’t have eaten that shrimp.”
“What’s wrong?” He looks worried.
“Intestinal...stuff. I better head to the...” I jab my thumb over my shoulder.
“Okay.” Chance retreats and pockets his hands.
I whip around, working hard to steady myself on the wobbly floor. My body is light and heavy, half floating away, the other half sinking onto the carpet.
After wandering around in a daze for a minute, I find the lady’s room and stumble inside, thrust my hands under the water to cool my lips and the back of my neck.
What. Just. Happened?
One moment I was recoiling from Chance’s ego, and the next I was fantasizing about his lips. There are so, so very many reasons why falling for a guy’s looks despite his personality is not a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. Been there, done that. I am not kissing Chance no matter how unbelievably irresistible his lips are.
You’re not, Danni, I say to my rosy cheeks. You are not . You hear me?
A toilet flushes and a middle-aged woman approaches the sink. She eyes me worriedly.
“I’m fine. It’s just...shrimp. Yeah. That’s it. The shrimp.”