Chapter 5 Nico
FIVE
NICO
I’m nervous.
It doesn’t make sense. Not just because I never get nervous about these things, but also because this is the only date I shouldn’t be nervous about. I’m literally paying for the guarantee of a good date.
And yet…
I arrive at our meeting spot a half hour early.
To avoid traffic, I made the drive from Philly to New York earlier today, and I’ve already checked in to my hotel room.
The agency strongly suggested a hotel bar for the first date—I’m assuming for safety reasons.
I don’t mind it, though. I want her to feel comfortable with me.
Plus, a bar lounge makes for much easier conversation, too.
I take a seat at the bar and order a seltzer while I’m waiting. Ten minutes later, I realize I’ve nervously chugged the entire thing and decide to switch to still water.
Spinning my watch around my wrist, I look around the bar once more.
The agency showed me a picture of my date, so I know what she looks like, but I have no idea if she knows what I look like.
Does doing a background check mean they sent her my dating profile and picture? Does she even care about that stuff?
Meanwhile, I have her entire profile saved on my phone, and I’ve referred to it way too many times this week. I couldn’t help it.
Daisy. 22. From North Carolina, recently moved to the Big Apple. Plays the piano, loves animals, and her ideal date is listening to live music.
Based on her profile and her picture, she seems like a sweet Southern girl who yearned for the city life.
Ironically, I would’ve matched with her instantly if she were on a dating app.
I’ve been a city boy my entire life and would’ve jumped at the chance to show her around NYC.
Add in some dogs and the preference for a quieter, softer life, and I’m sold.
I tried to look at the matchmaking call as just that, a dating service, but knowing that it’s not made the whole thing feel…weird. I just couldn’t shake the knowledge that my money could include sex if I wanted it to.
Fuck. Maybe this is a bad idea. I’m not an escort guy. What am I even doing here? All I wanted was to not feel lonely for one goddamn night.
I should leave. I’ll just call the agency, tell them I changed my mind. I’m sure they get that a lot, right? Guys with cold feet? I’m sure it would be—
But before I can so much as reach for my phone, my breath freezes in my lungs.
Because there she is.
It’s not an exaggeration to say she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women in my life, but there’s something about this woman that makes it hard to breathe. It’s her look, her walk, her smile… Everything.
She’s wearing a little black dress that hugs every curve of her body and black heels that make her legs look even longer. And she’s tall. I watch as she enters the hotel and walks toward the bar, her hips swaying with every step.
Her hair bobs with the motion, too. It’s blonde, long and flowing, and I immediately want to run my fingers through it. But then my gaze locks onto her lips, and I become singularly focused on what it would be like to kiss her.
She’s wearing the sexiest shade of red lipstick I’ve ever seen. I watch as she smiles politely at a passerby, and I decide yeah, she’s definitely the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
It takes her locking eyes with me for me to get my shit together. By the time she reaches me, I’ve somehow managed to compose myself enough to not look like a bumbling idiot in front of her.
“Hi,” she says with a smile. “Are you Nico?”
Christ. She has the voice of a siren. I’m tongue-tied all over again.
“Yeah,” I manage to get out. “Are you Daisy?”
Her smile widens. “I am. It’s so nice to meet you.”
It’s nice to meet you, too.
God, you’re beautiful.
I don’t say either of those things. I can’t. I’m stuck on her lips again.
Either she doesn’t notice, or she takes pity on me, because she glances toward the lounge area and asks, “Should we take a seat? Or are you comfortable here?”
The date. Right. Talking.
“Let’s take a seat,” I rush to say. When I reach for my glass, I finally think to ask her, “Would you like something to drink? I was a little early, so I took the liberty of getting a drink already.”
She glances over my arm to the glass I’m holding. “Sure. What are you drinking?”
“Uh…different variations of water,” I answer with a wince. “Sorry, I’m not very exciting right now.”
An amused smile tugs at her lips. “Somehow, I highly doubt that,” she purrs, and I swear to God, I could fall at this woman’s feet.
She looks at my glass again, making her decision. “I’ll take a water, too.”
And then it hits me. “Oh. Uh, no, that’s not—” I let out a laugh. “I’m not in recovery or anything. I’m just in training and can’t afford the calories. Please, order a drink if you’d like one.”
Her curiosity piques at that, but instead of a follow-up question, she says, “In that case, I’d love a glass of their Pinot Noir. Please.”
I’m already waving down the bartender. I left him a hefty cash tip before she arrived so he beelines over to me, and less than a minute later, I’m handing Daisy the glass of red wine.
“Thank you,” she says sweetly.
I nod, finally feeling myself loosening up in her presence. I even manage a smile in response. “You’re welcome.” Gesturing toward the lounge, I ask, “Should we sit?”
She leads the way and ends up choosing a pair of lounge chairs tucked against the back wall. There’s a small table between them, but for the most part, they’re right up against each other on a slight angle. I watch as she spins and settles gracefully.
“So,” she starts, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her wine. “You’re an athlete? What sport?”
I place my water on the table and take my seat beside her. “I’m an MMA fighter.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wow. That’s an…intense sport.”
I chuckle, used to the reaction. “That’s putting it lightly.”
“What made you choose that?” she asks, taking another sip.
I shrug, twirling my glass in thought. “I guess I kinda just fell into it,” I answer honestly.
“I grew up with two brothers, one of which ended up in the military, so my entire childhood was already fighting. Wrestling coach found me in high school, and then when MMA started getting popular, I switched to an MMA gym my junior year.” I look up to see her studying me curiously. “I’ve been training ever since.”
Daisy’s forehead creases with the slightest frown. “But…you’re in the UFC. Are you telling me you just happened to end up in the greatest martial arts organization in the world?”
Slowly, a grin forms on my face. She looked me up.
“I didn’t realize you were a fellow MMA fan,” I say casually.
The sweetest pink blush tinges her cheeks. “I-I’m not,” she says. I secretly love the subtle shift from confident escort to blushing woman.
It makes this feel real.
After a moment, she sighs and says, “Okay, fine, I stalked you a little bit. I got curious.”
My grin widens.
“And…I had to. To be safe.”
All humor drops from my face and I nod once, stiffly. “Good. You should be safe.”
But then the reminder makes something else occur to me. When I frown, her eyebrows narrow in confusion.
“Are you safe?” I demand. “I mean, do they really just send you to meet with strange men? What if I was dangerous? I punch men in the face for a living, for fuck’s sake. What if I hurt you?”
I’m startled out of my rage when I feel her warm touch on my hand where it lies on the armrest of the chair.
The words die in my throat.
“I’m safe, I promise,” she says softly. “We have all kinds of security measures. Background checks, panic buttons, that kind of thing. Don’t worry.”
I don’t think my frown lightens even a little bit. I sound grumpy as shit when I say, “Still. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”
“I don’t,” she responds, amused.
I tilt my head in thought. “You should learn some self-defense. Have you ever taken a class?”
Why does she think this is funny? “I haven’t, no.”
“You should. Security or not, you should know how to protect yourself.” I hesitate before adding, “I can teach you, if you want.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” she says with a smile. “Not tonight, but…if you’d like, we can do it another time.”
My frown returns. “Not if I like. If you’d like.”
“Nico, I’m here for you,” she says. “You make the decisions here.”
I hate the sound of that. “I don’t like having that kind of power over you. Especially knowing you don’t know self-defense.”
Her smile grows. It’s only when she pulls her hand away that I realize she’s been touching me this whole time, gently sweeping her fingers over the back of my hand.
I stare at my hand, at the absence of hers, wondering how to get it back.
“How about this,” she starts. “If you decide you want to see me again, you can show me some of the basics next time.”
“Deal,” I agree. Way too fast.
That fondness on her face shines brighter. “I think you might be the sweetest man I’ve ever met, Mr. Price.”
I can’t stop staring at her. “Just Nico is fine,” I say dazedly.
Because Mr. Price makes this sound like it’s not a real date.
I look at her with new eyes, finally realizing something I should’ve picked up on when I was making the call to the agency.
“Your name isn’t Daisy, is it?”
She might not even realize that the smile she gives me is a little sad. It’s also the only answer I get.
“That wasn’t me pushing for your real name,” I hurry to add. The last thing I want her to think is that I’m an overeager client who wants to push her boundaries. “It was just an observation.”
Coming face to face with the knowledge that this is a fake date bothers me.
“Can I call you something else?” I ask, desperate to take control of this night, to make things feel a little more real. I swivel my head to meet her eyes and find her watching me. “I mean, if that’s offensive, then forget it, but—”
“You can call me whatever you’d like, Nico.”
Thank God, she sounds like she means it. I would’ve called her Daisy if she wanted me to, but a part of me likely would’ve felt distant for the rest of the night.
Why do I suddenly need this to feel real?
And why did I think picking a new name for her would make that possible?
A nickname, I decide. In that sense, people pick names for others all the time.
“Can I call you Red?” I finally ask. With the way my focus keeps going back to her lips, it’s the first thing that comes to mind. It feels fitting, too.
I don’t understand why she looks amused by the nickname, but I don’t question it because it’s followed by a flash of adoration. And that’s real enough.
“I like Red,” she says.
Thank fuck.
“Well, in that case…it’s nice to meet you, Red.”
Those red lips curl into a genuine smile.
“Likewise, Nico.”