11. Arabella
11
Arabella
A nother week of non-stop work, errands and taking care of mom goes by. It's finally Saturday night and I sigh a breath of relief that I've managed to get through it all. After our failed date, Brad continued to text, asking for a redo so I reluctantly decided to give him another shot, seeing as our date was ruined by Ryker’s alpha bullshit.
He should be here any minute. He wanted to bring dinner, but I eventually twisted his arm into going out, because staying in is a little too close for comfort for me. Guys start hanging out in your home and they start thinking they own you and can do whatever they want. Hopefully, he’s not expecting an outfit similar to last weekend, because it’s nowhere near what I would normally wear. I feel much more comfortable when the fabric isn’t digging into every curve and crevice. This time, I chose my favorite pair of skinny jeans and a loose off the shoulder sweater - tank top combo. The added comfort I feel only helps boost my confidence. A fluttering sensation skips through my belly, because I need to get laid–like yesterday. We don’t know each other all that well, so his texts have been respectful and sweet. I wonder if things would be different if he knew I’m a sure thing. At this point, he would have to royally fuck up for me to say no.
I’m frustratingly desperate after attempting multiple times, unsuccessfully, to get myself off this last week and I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. My fingers never get the job done on their own, but my plug-in massager has never let me down.
Until recently.
But that may actually be my fault.
I tried not to think about him. I really did. But every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing those ocean blues of his and imagining him bossing me around until I came. I put a stop to that shit real quick and ended up having an entire conversation with my vagina.
No, bitch. You will not think of that sexy ass man right now. Ryker Hart is off limits.
I did it wrong and that bitch went on strike.
It’s annoying and I’m pretty sure I broke my poor vibrator when I tossed him across the room last night. Have you ever been so close to what feels like the best orgasm of your life, and you can’t cross the finish line? I hope you never have to experience that cruel torture. Now, I’m a keyed-up mess and will literally hop on the next cock I see if I don’t come very soon.
A loud knock at the door pulls me from my frustrated thoughts, causing me to jump and I double check the peephole to see Brad’s face. “Hey. Come in. I just need to put my shoes on and we can go.”
Brad tried to convince me to stay in with him, with ploys to watch a movie and cuddle . I’m all for cuddle fucking, but as I said before, I never do it in my own apartment, so I obviously declined. Cuddling inevitably leads to feelings and I don’t do those. I require a hotel room, because I’m classy like that.
It takes too long to get to the restaurant, and my gut twists at the uncomfortable silence that has taken hold between us. Small talk is hard for me, because I don’t really want to get to know him. Dinner is just my way of ensuring he’s not a total sociopath before I get into bed with him. My thoughts linger on the hope that he’s not a dud, like the last one.
When we pull up to the new Italian restaurant across town, a smile forms because I’ve been wanting to try this place for a while and never had a reason. Points scored for Brad. The car comes to a halt and he cheerfully hops out, practically skipping over to open my door. How chivalrous. Ease up buddy, you’ll get your dessert, but not until you eat your dinner.
“Thanks,” I smile lightly at him. He’s taller than me, but that’s not hard to do when you’re five foot three. He has a slightly stocky frame and I can’t help but wonder what his body would feel like pressing down on mine. Patience, slut. I internally chastise myself.
“Pleasure is all mine.” I bet it is.
Once we’re inside, we’re directed to our table in the far back of the dining room. It’s secluded. Romantic, and I blow out a slow breath. I’m going to need to sneak in some convo about not wanting anything serious and not looking for commitment , just in case this goes the wrong way. Clingy men are a major turn off. Please let me be wrong. Please don’t be clingy.
“Can I get you both something to drink?” the waiter asks.
“We’ll both have a glass of red,” Brad answers for both of us and I groan internally at his blatant disregard for my preference. Do I love red wine? No. Will I drink it? Absolutely. But he sure as fuck just lost that good boy point he earned by bringing me here.
“I… don’t love red wine.”
He shoots a quick tsk in my direction, like my opinion doesn’t matter. “Red pairs better with Italian food. You’ll see.” I open my mouth to tell him what he’s about to see but think better of it. Now is not the time. Instead, I inhale a slow, measured breath and toss my arms across my chest before I say something I’ll regret.
“How did you like Gravity?” he questions.
Where’s that wine? I think back to the time I spent inside the Gravity, biting my lip as I recall the feral look on Ryker’s face as he pulled me into that booth and practically forced water down my throat. “It was fine,” I lie. “I can’t believe how many people I walked past that were either half naked or all the way naked. It’s pretty cool how comfortable everyone seemed, literally putting everything out there for anyone to see.”
He regards me for a brief moment and I’m unsure if he’s waiting for me to say more. As he finally starts to speak, our wine arrives. Thank god. Brad lifts his glass, tipping it in my direction, “Cheers.”
For wine, I’ll admit it’s not that bad.
We order our food and the conversation flows fairly well as I attempt to not send the wrong signals. “This is fun,” I admit. “Thank you.”
He nods. “My pleasure. Would you like more wine?”
He smiles and a slight blush creeps up my neck. Now it’s my turn to nod because I definitely could use more alcohol.
“Great. I’ll go get it.”
“Wait–” I attempt to stop him, but he’s already up and striding to the bar with a slight spring in his step like he has no worries in the world. I realize that I was toasted last week and we didn’t get much of a chance to get to know each other, but there’s something different about him today and I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy that particular level of happy.
By the time he’s on his way back, the food is arriving and my stomach makes a loud grumble when the scent hits my nose. It smells delicious. When he sets the glass in front of me, my face starts to feel warm, which is usually my cue that I need to slow down or I won’t walk out of here. If I’m going to be naked, riding his dick later, I’d like to remember it. Remembering it isn’t always a requirement, but with my assistant out of commission, I think it’s best to keep my memory intact.
The next hour is spent talking about work, family and kink clubs. Not in that particular order. Although, I make a very intentional choice not to go into too much detail because my general life is not all that exciting. We eat and sip the entire time and I’m genuinely having a not terrible time.
“You’re not drinking much. Do you not like it? I can order you something else.” It’s not my favorite. I never understood how people could describe wine as anything other than tasting like bitter, rotten grapes. Hints of green apple and smoked cedar my ass. I let out a slight chuckle at my own inner musings.
“I do. I just have a low-ish tolerance when it comes to wine, since I don’t drink it often, so I need to go slow.” It’s mostly true. “I’m actually going to go get a glass of water. My mouth is drier than the Sahara.”
As I begin to stand, a wave of dizziness washes over me and I fall back into my chair. “I’ll get it. You just relax and I’ll be right back.” He wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin that rests in his lap before walking away.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to relieve the throb that’s now pulsing through my head. Twirling some pasta onto my fork, I take a bite, hoping it’ll help soak up the alcohol. I don’t remember ever feeling this way while drinking. Nausea rolls through my stomach as soon as I swallow and I realize something is very, very wrong.
Standing, I slowly work my way to the bathroom and send a silent curse to whoever decided we should sit so far away. When I eventually get there, I lean into the door, using my body to push through, since my arms don’t seem to have the strength. My arms hold me up when I get to the sink, and I give my head a quick shake to clear the fog that’s taking over my mind and my vision.
“Hun, are you okay?” I don’t know the voice, but I feel her arm land gently on my arm. “You’re sweating. Shit. Let’s sit down on that bench over there.”
Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion as she guides me to sit, but my limbs start to shake as dread takes hold. A burst of adrenaline follows and I reach up to grab her arms. “Please. I need help. I think my date did something,” I gasp.
“I don’t know how to help you. Is there someone I can call?”
I clumsily pull out my cell, scrolling by mom’s number. Out of the question. Same with Axel. No thanks. Wrinley goes straight to voicemail. My chest tightens as this nice stranger helps me scroll through my address book, when I see his name. Ryker Hart. My mother’s ex. I know calling him isn’t the right thing to do, until I think back to six years ago, when he made me promise to do just that, if I ever needed anything. I definitely need something. Will he answer? My finger hovers hesitantly over the bright green dial button for a long, silent moment. When another wave of dizziness hits me, I know I don’t have a choice, so I do what I probably shouldn’t and I call him.