Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Gianna
“If all else fails, I look hot.”
I give myself a final once-over in my floor-length mirror, turning side to side to get a full view of my outfit.
The black leather pants I bought on sale a few months ago came in clutch.
I was starting to think I’d never find a place to wear them.
They paired perfectly with a champagne camisole that I stole from Lucia, a pair of black heels, and a few thin gold rings, necklaces, and a bracelet.
It gives exactly what I wanted it to give—namely, fuckable.
My phone rings on the bed, and I reach over and grab it. Astrid’s name is on the screen.
“Hey,” I say, putting her on speakerphone and dropping her back on the bed. “What’s up?”
“Are you ready for your date? And why am I looking at the ceiling?”
I groan. “You’re so needy.” I pick her up and prop her on my dresser. “Better?”
“Much. You, my friend, look amazing. Seriously. Drake isn’t going to be able to help himself.”
“That’s the plan.”
As surprising as it is, I’ve been more excited for this date than I have been for one in a long damn time.
There’s something fun about it. There are no expectations.
He could take me to a drive-thru, and I won’t be upset about it because it doesn’t matter.
If we go sit by the river and have terrible conversation, that’s fine.
If he wants to take me back to his place to fuck as most men prefer, I’m seriously not going to be upset about that.
Why? Because this isn’t for real. It’s fake for real. Who cares?
“Do you like my hair like this?” I ask, twisting my head so she can get a glimpse of the back. “I left it kinda messy on top but pulled it back at the nape of my neck. It’s too late to fix it if you hate it, so lie to me if you must.”
“It looks great. I love it like that. And your makeup is perfect. Did Lucia do it or you?”
“I did it, thank you very much.” I pucker my lips and add a dollop of gloss to the center of my lips. It makes my Cupid’s bow pop. All the attention I can bring to my mouth tonight, the better. “I got a little wild with the eyeliner, but I think I smoked it out enough that it looks all right.”
“What time is he supposed to be there?”
“He said he’d pick me up at seven. It’s currently …” I glance at the clock. “Six fifty.”
Astrid yawns. “Do you know where he’s taking you?”
“Nope.” I sweep her off my dresser and carry her to my closet to grab a cardigan and my purse.
“I don’t have a clue where we’re going, which made it hard to decide what to wear.
He just said he had it handled, which, may I add, is so super hot.
A guy takes control, and all I have to do is show up and enjoy myself? Yes, please.”
I hold up my accessories and make sure they look good with my outfit. I like what I see.
“Men taking care of things is so sexy,” Astrid agrees.
“I remember the day when Gray set up an appointment with an attorney for me. I didn’t ask him for help.
He just saw a need and knew he could fill it, so he did.
” She sighs happily. “I think that cemented what I wanted in a man. Someone who can get things done, who wants to take care of me, and can problem-solve.”
“You just described me. I get things done, take care of myself, and solve problems.” I gasp. “Are you calling me sexy?”
“I think that goes without saying.”
We laugh as my heels click against the floor.
I make my way through the house, admiring the little touches that make this house so special.
The exposed brick wall in the hallway. The fireplace separating the dining room from a perfectly odd, circular space that I use as a library is lovely.
The molding, which probably isn’t original but is old and intricate nonetheless, makes my heart skip a beat. It’s so charming. So special. So mine.
“Are you taking your Taser tonight?” Gray asks from somewhere in the distance.
Astrid laughs, shaking her head.
“Nope,” I say. “He’s not the kind of guy who warrants a Taser, unlike some men I know.”
“Someone should call your date and warn him to bring one,” Gray jokes.
“Ah, do you miss me, Gray?”
He snorts. “I miss you about as much as I miss chewing glass.”
I smile to myself, placing my purse and cardigan on the table beside the door. “It’s six fifty-five. He’s cutting it close.”
“I’m sure he’ll be there,” Astrid says as I walk to the kitchen. “Are you nervous?”
“No. Hey, how long do you have until your sourdough starter dies? Or whatever it does?”
“It’s very forgiving. As long as you feed it and you—”
“I have to feed it?” I swing the refrigerator door open and look in on Matilda. “Why would Lucia give me something that I have to keep alive?”
The jar is as bubbly and, quite frankly, gross as it was when my sister delivered it to me. I shrug and close the door.
“Call me tomorrow afternoon if you want to bake a loaf,” Astrid says. “I’m going to make some bread to take to the retirement center in town anyway, so I can walk you through the process.”
“Sounds riveting.”
She laughs. The sound of her laughter blends with the doorbell's tone echoing through the house. He’s here.
“Okay, focus,” I say, leaning her against a fruit bowl and stepping far enough away so she can see most of me. “Fit check. What do you think? Same rules apply as earlier—lie to me if you must.”
“You’re beautiful, Gianna. Those pants make your ass look amazing, and the top shows off your boobs. Shiny hair, glowy skin—you couldn’t possibly look any better. He’s not going to be able to keep his hands off you.”
That’s the plan.
I blow her a kiss. “That’s why you’re my best friend. Now, I gotta go. I’ll call you after with all the details.”
“Love you.”
“Love you most. Bye.”
I end the call and make my way to the front door once again. I drop my phone into my purse so it’s not in my hand when I see him. How tacky. Then I take a deep breath, will my heart to stop thundering like a storm cloud, and open the door.
“Hey,” I say as it swings far enough for me to see him. “You’re here, and you’re three minutes early.”
“If you’re not early, you’re late.” He drags his gaze down my body unapologetically. “Wow, Gianna. You’re absurdly beautiful.”
Absurdly beautiful? No man has ever called me that before. “Thank you. I have to say that Date Drake is much hotter than Office Drake, and I didn’t think that was possible.”
He lifts a brow and the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really?”
“You should know by now that I don’t lie.”
We face each other, neither of us speaking for a long moment. The space between us is relaxed, and I could reach out and touch him without feeling at all awkward. This isn’t how first dates usually go, but then again, I’m not usually fake real dating guys I’m already friends with.
I grab my purse and cardigan and then step onto the front porch. He moves to the side while I lock up and then waits for me to descend the stairs first. Like a true gentleman.
“I would’ve brought you flowers, but I know that’s triggering for you,” he jokes, pulling open the passenger door of his Mercedes.
“Smelling a funeral before our date would’ve been a bit of a downer.”
He offers me a hand as I climb into the seat. “I tried to think of something to replace it with, like candy or a puppy.”
“A puppy?” I laugh. “Dear lord, don’t bring me a puppy. I can barely keep myself alive.”
He grins as he shuts the door and makes his way around the front of the vehicle.
He moves effortlessly. A thin black sweater hugs his broad shoulders, making him appear bigger and more solid than usual.
His thighs fill out the caramel-colored pants, highlighting his trim waist. The man, my new boyfriend, is a walking advertisement for physical fitness, and I am not mad about it.
Oh, the things I do for science.
Drake climbs in beside me, and we get buckled in.
I take a moment to survey the interior. The floorboards are spotless.
You can see out of every window without nary a streak.
There are no straw wrappers or errant french fries like there are in my car, and the air is lightly fragranced with a scent reminiscent of his cologne.
It’s like being wrapped up in one of his jackets. Or his arms. Or his sheets.
“So where are we going?” I ask as he pulls away from the curb.
“I thought we’d grab a bite to eat tonight. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
“No. But even if I had, I’ll always eat again.”
He cracks a smile. “My kind of girl. We’re going to a little place not far from here. A friend of mine and his wife opened it last summer, and it’s been doing very well. It was just named one of Nashville’s best new restaurants, which I find very cool.”
“That’s exciting. Are they chefs or businesspeople who like food?”
“She is a chef. Her name is Melissa. I believe she went to culinary school in Europe, then worked in a ton of kitchens around the world. My friend met her while eating street food in Singapore. Their story is pretty wild.”
“Oh, I love that. How did they get here?”
Drake looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Nox, my buddy, is from Nashville. Melissa fell in love with Tennessee, and they moved here about ten years ago. He quit his job last year to help her open this restaurant.”
“A man supporting his woman. How groundbreaking.”
He laughs. “Right? We live in this world now where we’ve taken the hustle culture of business and applied it to our personal lives. We’ve lost the idea of working together and supporting one another.”
I sit back in my seat and absorb that. It wasn’t what I expected to hear.
He’s not wrong. I know that because I’ve seen it with my own eyes. With my own parents. They couldn’t set aside their individual goals and power trips to create a safe, warm space for Lucia and me—or themselves.
“Have you been married?” I ask, the thought suddenly occurring to me. I don’t know a lot about Drake, really, and maybe his insight comes from experience.
“Uh, no. Why?”
“I don’t know anything about your love life post Jessica. Maybe there’s an ex-wife that I need to be aware of.”
He grins at me. “No ex-wives. You’re in the clear.”
“So have you had a lot of relationships? Where does this foundation you’re spouting come from?”
“I’ve had a few relationships, but nothing close to marriage.” He flips on the turn signal and makes a left at the light. “I guess my foundation, as you call it, comes from watching my parents. They’ve been married for almost forty years.”
“Whoa. That’s a long damn time.”
He chuckles. “It really is. They dated in high school and got married as soon as Mom found out she was pregnant with my sister Elodie. Mom likes to say that no one thought they’d make it and that sometimes her desire to spite them outweighed her desire to choke Dad.”
“She sounds funny,” I say, smiling.
“She’s pretty great.” He regrips the steering wheel. “What about your parents? What are they like? They must’ve been pretty exceptional to have you as a daughter.”
I half laugh at his words—appreciative of the compliment—but also aware of the irony.
I turn my attention to the scenery out the window. Not looking at Drake gives me a moment to gather my thoughts and figure out what to say about my mom and dad. I don’t want to paint them unfairly, but I want to be honest, too. How do I be respectful but accurate—and fair all the same?
It’s a fine line.
“They were good people,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
“Dad worked for the government, and Mom was a college professor. They were very successful, very busy, and so damn smart. In retrospect, I think that’s why they fought all the time and demanded perfection of me and my sister, Lucia.
It was exactly as you said—a dog-eat-dog household. ”
He frowns, reaching across the console and giving my hand a gentle squeeze before pulling it back to the steering wheel. No words were exchanged, no sentiments shared. But that little touch, a quiet acknowledgment of my truth, makes my breath halt in my throat.
“Here we are,” he says, pulling slowly into a parking spot at an adorable tapas place.
The parking lot is busy. The group currently exiting the building is laughing and smiling.
All good signs. “They have so many options on the menu that I’m fairly certain they’ll have something you like. If not, I have a backup plan.”
“Which is …”
He kills the ignition. “Cook you something myself.”
“At your place?”
Our eyes meet, and the heat that passes between them could burn down the entire city. The air is charged, so thick with energy that it’s nearly alive. Drake’s gaze drops to my mouth, to the exact spot I highlighted with gloss, and then he licks his lips painfully slow.
A half smile paints his lips as his sight returns to mine.
“And that,” he says, grabbing the door handle, “is why we aren’t going with the backup plan.”
“But …” I protest, but he’s already out the door.
Dammit.