Chapter 16
What to wear? What to wear?
My white cotton skorts will highlight the subtle tan I managed to get. I can pair it with a cute floral halter top and some strappy flats. Or maybe the black sundress? Both are safely in the friend-zone. Neither gives off a “this is a date” message.
I eye the sexy white crochet lace midi dress no one saw when I holed myself up in my room on my first night here. God, I love that dress.
No. It’s too much. Or maybe too little?
It’s too something.
Still going through my unpacked dresses hung in the small closet, I pause at dress number seven, cast a fleeting glance back at the racy little crocheted number, shake my head, and continue searching. But my inner voice keeps telling me that crocheted dress deserves to be seen. I mean, it cost too much not to wear out. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not wasteful.
Carefully, I slide it off the hanger, then slip it on. Oh yes. This is it. The dress. I walk into the bathroom where my toiletries and makeup are scattered across the countertop, fighting the smile that’s growing wider by the second. Tonight, I’m going all out. Makeup. Hair. Heels.
There’s nothing wrong with dressing up for dinner with a friend. I’ve been feeling down for so long—decking myself out, socializing, and sharing a meal with an adult who isn’t one of my parents is the next step in moving forward, isn’t it?
Overthinking has become my number two enemy… a by-product of someone else’s shortcomings.
Enemy number one is and will always be Matt. The ass of jacks. The dick of weeds. The mother of fuckers.
He turned out to be the devil—with a pitchfork in one hand and my heart in the other.
I slam my eyes shut, banishing him and the stupid nickname titles I’ve given him from my mind. I’m done kicking myself over the trash of all humans. That head of shit is permanently uninvited to infiltrate my night and ruin it.
Taking in a breath, I renew my resolve.
Tonight will be a good night.
As I twirl in front of the full-length mirror, my skirt flares out, the fabric rustling softly. Fun, flirty, and flouncy. I sweep my hair up into a messy bun, a few tendrils brush against my face, framing it perfectly. Subtle smoky-brown makeup emphasizes my brown eyes, while the clear lip-gloss adds a hint of shine. The sun has given my cheeks a natural flush, adding just the right amount of color.
I feel pretty. Sexy, even.
But best of all… I’m happy.
Daniel will love this racy little number with the peek-a-boo holes.
And my cleavage.
Yeah, he’s seen my cleavage before, but it’s not the same. Bathing suit cleavage is expected. It’s a given.
Dress cleavage is never a guarantee. They’re Bonus Boobs. I caught him sneaking a few peeks this afternoon at the pool. This dress displays the girls like a digital billboard lit up on the Vegas Strip, yet still leaves plenty to the imagination. It’s been a long time since I’ve made an effort to look attractive to the opposite sex, to any sex for that matter.
I’m as nervous as a middle schooler going to her first dance with the boy she didn’t tell her parents about.
Deep cleansing breath, deep cleansing breath.
Tonight’s just dinner with a casual acquaintance. A new friend—who happens to have piercing blue-eyes, is devilishly handsome, persistently annoying, genuinely charming, and has a razor-sharp sense of humor.
Best of all, the odorous stench of ink toner doesn’t linger three feet behind him, like Matt—the skull of numbs, the brain of peas, the bat of dings.
I really have to work on my anger.
With my legs crossed, I sit at the end of my bed, my foot tapping anxiously in the air. I quickly grab my small handbag, fumbling inside to find my phone and check the time.
Six-thirty.
Guess I’m a little overenthusiastic.
Swiftly snatching the remote control off my bed, I click on the television. There’s thirty long minutes of time to kill and I need to escape from my headspace before I lose my sanity. I click through the hotel’s default amenities station that’s hard selling Mayan mud treatments and hydrotherapies at their spa and land on…
Naked, sweaty, bendy… porn.
Ah, the perks of an Adults-Only resort… the channel selections are raised to a racier level of entertainment.
“How do they contort themselves like that?” I ask the tv screen as I tilt my head to the side and scrutinize the couple’s position. “That girl’s spine has to be made of a pool noodle.” Squirming, I watch further as things are about to get oral.
I quickly switch back to the Hotel Spa channel. The last thing I need is to have sex on the brain while I’m enjoying a purely platonic evening out with my pool buddy.
I jump in my place when there’s a knock on the door. My heart’s in my throat and my pulse is racing.
Oh God.
He’s here.
With my legs trembling and my knees feeling weak, my over-analyzing everything about tonight has rendered the lower half of my body completely useless. I’m answering that damn door even if I have to drag myself over to it. Defying my frayed nerves, I muster the strength to stand and make my way to the full-length mirror, feeling a slight wobble in my steps. I take a moment to fix my hair that didn’t need fixing and straighten my dress that didn’t need straightening.
“Relax,” I scold my reflection. “It’s only dinner.”
With a feigned nonchalance, I stroll towards the door, curling my hand around the cool doorknob. I draw in a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then finally open the door.
There he is.
A tall, delectable snack in human form.
He stands before me, looking so incredibly handsome in his navy slacks and a short-sleeved baby blue button-down cotton shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes even more. His dark blond hair is a little messy, in that kind of way that begs to be touched.
A slow, sexy smile curls up from his lips and his eyes roam over my body in a very un-platonic way.
“Hi,” I say casually, ignoring the fact that my internal temperature has risen to molten lava level.
“Hi.” His tone is cool, but his eyes smolder with fire. “That dress is…,” he clears his throat, momentarily gazing down at his feet. “Nice.”
“This old thing?” I wave my hand dismissively. “I threw on the first thing I grabbed,” I lie.
“It’s very…” He blows out a breath.
Hot? Provocative? Respectably whorish?
“Nice,” he finishes his thought.
“You already said that,” I answer with a smile. “Hungry?”
He looks me up and down again, a glimmer of lust in his eyes. “You have no idea.”
Oh, I think I do.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“I forgive you,” he says as we walk down the pathway toward the French restaurant.
“Forgive me for what?”
“The lack of flowers.”
“Seriously?”
“When it comes to first dates, men like to be properly romanced.”
“Again, this is not a date,” I firmly state.
“Let’s make some ground rules regarding our date,” he continues, disregarding my protest. “I’m not putting out just because you’re buying me a meal.”
“Technically, you bought your own meal when you paid for your all-inclusive vacation. So, I’m okay with that.”
“Don’t go looking for a one-night stand. I’m not easy,” he stresses, lightly bumping his arm against mine.
“You not being easy is an understatement.” I nudge my arm back against his. “Any other rules?”
“More of a request.”
“Do I even want to know?” I ask hesitantly.
“You might not.”
“Go ahead. Ask anyway.”
“Can you wear that dress for the rest of the time you’re in Mexico?”
I look down at the ground and smile. “You like this dress, huh?”
“It’s…,” his gaze travels up and down my body, “nice.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Daniel places his hand on the small of my back, sending a thrilling quiver through my body as we enter Lis, the French Restaurant. That soft, innocent touch set the butterflies free in my stomach, goosebumps prickling up my arms, and my heart longing for more.
We approach the hostess podium, where a woman dressed in a sleek black uniform is standing.
“Buenas noches,” Daniel says. “Edwards. Room three-twenty-four. And my date here,” he gestures toward me, “is from room three-twenty-two.”
“I’m not his date,” I insist. “I’m his dinner companion.”
Our hostess gives us a knowing nod. “El amor está en el aire.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Love is in the air, se?orita,” she answers with a subtle wiggle of her brows.
“Of course it is.” I say, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. They’re really playing up the ‘Love Air’ around here.
I sneak a peek at Daniel, who seems to have the same thought. Our eyes meet, and we exchange smirks.
“Any food allergies?” she asks.
We shake our heads in unison.
“Okay. This way,” the hostess gestures, leading us to our table.
As we’re guided through the restaurant, I admire the opulent surroundings. The place exudes elegance, with its creamy off-white walls and rich dark wooden accents adorning the walls and ceiling. Soft, flickering votive candles grace each intimate table. In the room’s corner, a lone cellist fills the air with the enchanting melodies of classical music. The deep resonance of his instrument elevates the already exquisitely romantic ambiance.
The sound of silverware clinking and the faint murmur of conversation from the other diners fill the air as we pass by their tables. Inhaling a deep breath, I savor the delightful scent of freshly baked bread, baguettes—or whatever they call them. It’s heaven to my senses and Kryptonite to my thighs.
And my ass.
That won’t stop me from devouring every last crumb.
After all, I’m still spite dining.
Once we reach our table, Daniel pulls out a chair for me while our hostess places our menus on the pristine white tablecloth.
“Ms. Harper,” he mutters in a low, seductive tone.
“Thank you,” I say politely as I take my seat.
Leaning down, Daniel delicately places the white cloth napkin on my lap, the fresh scent of his aftershave enveloping me, working its sexual voodoo on me. “You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he murmurs softly in my ear. The stubble from his beard scruff brushes lightly against my cheek and the air between us hums with electricity, sending a lascivious quiver down my spine.
And elsewhere.
Mostly south of my waistline.
Heat rushes to my face and I glance down at my lap, caught off-guard and flattered by his compliment.
As he moves around the table to his chair, I steal a discreet glance at his backside.
Well, well, well. Bonjour Daniel’s magnifique ass. Merci beaucoup for coming out tonight.
That’s all the French I know… but I think my point was sufficiently made.
I open the menu to reveal a tantalizing array of dinner options. Knowing that Daniel is well aware of my unapologetic love for food, I make no pretense about ordering one appetizer.
I’m getting two. Because I want to and I can.
Peeking over the top of my menu, I observe Daniel as he peruses his own, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. There is a sensual charm about him when he’s quiet and deep in thought.
“Do you know what you want?” I ask.
Lowering his menu slowly, his gaze locks with mine, his eyes filled with a dark intensity that leaves me breathless.
“I know exactly what I want,” he says darkly.
I don’t know much, but I know he’s not referring to the coq au vin.
Squirming in my chair, I squeeze my thighs together, attempting to contain the fire he’s stoking.
Flustered, I quickly redirect my attention back to the menu, desperately searching for a distraction. “Have you ever tried escargot?” I ask, hoping to shift the focus away from the intense connection between us.
“Yes,” he responds.
“Do they taste as gross as they sound?”
“Once you get past the whole eating a snail thing, they’re actually delicious.”
Unsure, I hesitate. “I… I don’t know.”
“Tell you what—I’ll order it and you can try it from my plate,” he offers.
“I don’t want to take food from you.”
He arches an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “God forbid,” he chuckles.
Laughing with him, I smile. “Yeah, I’m totally going to steal your food. Let’s order different things.”
“I can’t do it. I can’t do it.” My hand instinctively covers my mouth as I vigorously shake my head.
“Then don’t.”
“But I want to,” I mumble through my fingers.
He chuckles. “You’re a walking contradiction. We’ll do this together.” Gripping the shell using a small pair of tongs, he lifts the tiny snail fork from the small snail-shaped plate and scoops the baked bug out of its shell, holding it up to me.
“Oh my God. It’s so ugly. I’m going to die.”
“You are not going to die. And you don’t have to eat it.”
“Yes, I do. Hold on. Let me get ready.” Closing my eyes, I inhale and exhale a few deep breaths.
“Are you always this dramatic?” he asks dryly.
I crack open one eye, narrowing it at him. “Only when I’m eating slugs.”
“Snails,” he corrects.
“Same thing.” I blow out a few quick breaths to steady myself.
“Are you doing Lamaze now?”
“Don’t knock my process.”
“Tess, you’re nuts,” he says with a grin, finding my totally normal, perfectly reasonable apprehension funny. “Are you ready?”
Summoning my bravery, I straighten up in my chair and take a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’m ready.”
He brings the fork to my lips. Its briny, buttery, garlicky aroma is surprisingly pleasant.
“Tess?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to open your mouth,” he reminds me softly.
I glance down at the dark buggy blob dripping in melted butter, close my eyes tightly, and s-l-o-w-l-y part my lips.
Gently, Daniel feeds the escargot to me (which, if it wasn’t a broiled bug, it’d be a thousand percent sexier) and I take it.
After a few chews of something I can only equate to a buttery, garlicky rubber band, I open my eyes to a clearly amused Daniel, resting his chin in his palm, grinning as he watches me.
“So?” he asks.
“It’s fine,” I answer nonchalantly, swallowing the chewy creature, grateful I didn’t projectile vomit it across the table.
“Want another?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “Thank you. I’m done. For life.”
“So, do you have any brothers or sisters?” Daniel asks, as he watches me reach across the table and stab my fork into a shrimp in his bowl of Bouillabaisse.
“No, just me. Which means I’ve had my mother’s undivided attention my entire life.” I take a quick bite of the succulent shrimp, savoring its delicious flavor. “Damn, this is good.”
“You didn’t like it? I mean her attention, not the shrimp… which you obviously do.”
“When I was a kid, she put the hell in helicopter parenting. I appreciate it more now to a point. A point she crosses often. But she means well.” I finish my forkful, my eyes lingering on his bowl, longing for another taste. “Do you have any siblings?”
“A sister. She’s married with a baby and a two-year-old.”
“And of course, you’re the cool uncle.”
“The cool uncle with the failed marriage.”
“That’s right. I forgot you were married before.”
“Yup,” he says matter-of-factly. “Not my best decision.”
“So, someone was crazy enough to marry you, huh?” I tease.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, a smirk forming on his lips as he leans back in his chair. “Imagine that.”
“Did your family like your ex?”
“For a while. But circumstances changed that.”
“Circumstances?”
“Yeah,” his tone softens, as if he’s sharing a secret. The vulnerability in his expression tugs at my heart, urging me not to pry for more information.
“Well, anyone who’d let you slip through their fingers is a fool,” I say, echoing what he once said to me.
His gaze lingers on me for a brief moment, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You hardly know me.”
“I know enough,” I say, smiling back at him.
“I’d like you to know more.”