Jordan
Her name is Anya. I meet her in a bistro that seems to have been designed solely with dating in mind, considering its intimate seating arrangement.
I get up when Anya walks toward me, kiss her on the cheek, then pull out her chair for her.
We smile at each other once we’ve both settled in.
Silence.
My head is empty.
What do people talk about?
She hides her smile behind the menu, eyes shining when she looks at me, and leans forward.
“Does this feel as awkward to you as it does to me?” Her voice is soft, like we’re sharing a secret.
I blow out a breath, and my shoulders relax.
“Painfully so.”
Instead of looking offended, her smile widens.
“Oh, thank God. Then we can be awkward together. I was afraid it’d end up just being me alone.”
“I guess that means we’re on the same team, then.”
She gives a solemn nod. “Always a good start.”
The waitress comes over, and we give her our orders. Anya looks the waitress in the eye and smiles to her, too. She leans back in her seat, tall and curvy, clad in a forest green dress that clings to her body in all the right places and shows a teasing hint of cleavage.
Anya’s smile widens.
“You were checking me out,” she says.
I laugh out loud. There’s something about her presence that makes me feel stupidly at ease around her. This has never happened on a first date before.
“I absolutely was,” I agree.
She quirks her brow and turns her head in profile for a moment. “And?”
“You are exquisite.”
She presses her palm to her chest and flutters her lashes teasingly. “That’s so much better than the lame ‘you’re beautiful.’”
“Originality was what I was going for. You’re saying it worked?”
“I’d say so. Depends what your goal is, of course.”
“To make this a great evening for the both of us.”
Her eyes move up and down me with what looks to be pure appreciation. It’s flattering. She’s interested. It feels good to be wanted.
“That’s a good answer,” she says. “A very good answer.”
“Did I pass the test?”
“You’re certainly a step closer to getting lucky.”
“I’d say having this dinner with you tonight… I’m already lucky.”
“Oh, that was smooth.”
I grin at her while I like her. I do. I like her a lot.
“Tell me about yourself, Anya,” I say.
While I like her.
A lot.
I walk her home.
The restaurant kicked us out ten minutes ago, saying something about it being closing time.
I have a pleasant buzz going from the wine and the warmth of an evening filled with laughter is still moving through my veins.
Anya’s arm is linked through mine as we walk, and she regales me with stories from her job as a choreographer, demonstrating some of the more challenging dance moves along the way.
We reach her apartment building.
She leans her back against the front door. Her smile is luminous.
While I stand opposite her.
And like her.
A lot.
She looks at me. No longer with the wide smile. Now it’s just seduction. Straightforward as can be.
She reaches out, and her fingers slide over the front of my shirt. My chest.
She looks at me from underneath her lashes.
“You should come upstairs,” she says.
And maybe I should.
Because I like her.
A lot.