Sawyer
Zelda slides into the booth across from me, her eyes wide. She doesn’t come to places like this often, and it’s making her anxious as hell.
I still can’t believe she agreed to go anywhere with me. She’s so nervous that the pink spots on her cheeks still haven’t faded, and we’ve been walking for four blocks. In the dim light of the club, with her friend at her side, she played it cool, but now it seems like a struggle.
She catches me watching her again and gives me a smile, folding her hands together on the surface of the table.
“Here.” I grab two menus from the wire container at the side of the booth and push one across to her. “If you’re hungry.”
“Are you?” She opens the menu and looks at me over the top of it, her green eyes burrowing into mine.
I’m starving, but not for food. It was all I could do not to ask her to walk in front of me on the way here. The yoga pants she’s wearing hug her pert ass in a way I’ve never seen on another woman. Not that I’ve been paying much attention.
I think about peeling the pants down over her hips and tossing them aside, revealing the panties she’s wearing underneath, and then peeling those off, too.
“They have good fries.”
She frowns a little, scanning over the menu.
The waitress makes her first appearance, tattoos running down both of her arms. She’s got more than I have, and Zelda almost does a double-take when she sees them.
“What can I get you two to drink?” The waitress follows it up with a toothy smile at Zelda, but her expression turns into something else when she sees me.
“Beer.”
“We’ve got a few on tap, and if you’re interested—”
“Pick one for me.” I give her the hint of a smile.
“What about you, miss?”
“A Coke, please.”
The waitress disappears, and Zelda’s eyes focus back on me.
She carefully puts the menu down onto the table, then folds her arms over it and leans forward a little.
It has the extremely pleasant effect of pressing her breasts together so that her cleavage peeks out over the curved neckline of her top.
Every time she breathes, the view gets better.
I drag my eyes back up to hers, and my breath catches in my throat. She has a killer body. Absolutely killer. But her eyes are something else.
Zelda rearranges her face, taking one last big breath in and blowing it out, taking on a determined expression. “Do you always come here when you visit?”
That puts a wry smile on my face. “If I ever visited, I’d come here. I haven’t been here in at least five years.”
She nods, taking another look around at the place.
Bernie’s is a bar that’s more of a diner in the daytime.
There are worn booths and tables dotted around the room, and a big bar is positioned in the center of the place.
It’s tucked inside a rounded rectangle, with space inside it for the bartenders to polish glasses, lean up against the bar top, and generally waste time until evening comes when the drinking crowd shows up.
I used to come here in high school if I had a few extra bucks for a burger, or I was sick of my aunt’s house.
It wasn’t a place for the popular crowd, which was at least half the reason I liked it.
“Why not?”
Her eyes are back on mine, and her shoulders are tensed a little, like she knows this is the kind of question you normally wouldn’t ask someone you don’t know.
Her expression is totally sincere, questioning, curious, and her lips are parted slightly as she breathes, listening and waiting while her question hangs in the air.
I give her a half smile that fades into something more closely resembling the truth. “I don’t have much to come back here for.”
“Really?” She leans back against the wall of the booth. “Why are you visiting now?”
“Are you sure you want those kinds of personal details?”
She bites at her bottom lip and blushes a little bit, and it’s so cute I almost die. Then she laugh a little, the sound falling on my ears and lighting me up inside like sunshine. “Can I say—I never do this kind of thing. This is weird.”
“What’s weird about it? The bar?”
Her eyes flick across to my arms, covered by my jacket, and it’s then that I can’t stand to have it on anymore, so I shrug it off, tossing it into the booth next to me.
Now the tattoos running down to my wrist are on full display.
“You’re not exactly…the kind of guy I normally go out on dates with. ”
“This is a date?”
“Oh, God,” she says, and lifts one hand to her face, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Is it?”
I let her wriggle for a few beats, then let her off the hook. “Nah,” I say. “We’re two random acquaintances out taking a walk. And grabbing some food.”
I want it to be a date. The moment the words are out of her mouth, I know that’s what I want this to be. But I also know that Zelda—no matter what her story is—is too good for me. It’s written all over her. It’s written all over me.
She seems to summon something deep inside herself then, and focuses on looking me straight in the eye. “You know…” She picks up the menu again and moves it over three inches to the left. “I wouldn’t—” Then she shakes her head, looks away, cheeks flaming. “This is all so—I can’t say it.”
“Say it.” I don’t know what this is between us, or what it could become, but for some reason, I feel like we can talk to each other. If we get past this initial awkward tension, we could—
“I wouldn’t mind if it was a date.”
“Wow,” I say, leaning forward. “Are you sure about that? You don’t even know my last name. We’re total strangers.”
Uncertainty flashes across her face, and I hear her phone buzz again in the pocket of her yoga pants. I didn’t even know yoga pants had pockets, but these must. The vibration of the phone makes her set her mouth into a thin line.
“If you tell me your name, we won’t be total strangers. And then maybe we could go out on a real date.”