Chapter 3 #2
“Okay, okay. I’m good with all that info, thanks.” She laughs again. “Let me know how it goes. And Tully, you know your too much is just right…right?”
I grin. “Says my twin. Love you.”
The restaurant is this classy little Italian spot downtown—candlelight and white tablecloths. No hockey-bro dive bar bullshit.
When Lola walks in, my brain short-circuits.
She’s in a black dress that hugs every curve, tattoos curling out from the neckline like they’re daring me to stare.
Her hair’s down in loose waves, and she’s swapped those boots for heels that make her legs look illegal.
And fuck me, was that a flash of tattoo I just saw?
I want to slide her dress up her thigh to see.
She spots me at the corner booth and smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I stand and pull out her chair, handing her a rose that’s a deep, velvety purple.
“For you,” I say.
She smiles and sits down, looking up at me. “Thank you. You clean up nice.”
I laugh, holding my collar out slightly to breathe easier. “You’re killing me in that dress. Stunning.”
“Thank you,” she says softly.
We order—pasta for her, steak for me, and wine that tastes expensive and makes her cheeks flush pink after the first glass. The conversation flows easily. She teases me about the party (“Coach still hasn’t found out?”), I tease back (“You didn’t seem to mind crashing!”), and we both laugh a lot.
My chest started doing that stupid racing thing the minute she walked into the room.
Then the comedy starts.
Halfway through appetizers, the waiter—a nervous kid who looks like he’s on his first shift—trips over absolutely nothing. His tray goes airborne. A full carafe of red wine rockets toward our table like a missile.
I lunge to shield Lola instinctively, but physics has other plans. The carafe clips the edge of the table, explodes in slow motion, and drenches us both. Wine everywhere—my white shirt instantly see-through, her black dress now glistening like it’s been dipped in merlot.
The kid freezes, horrified. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”
Lola blinks once, twice. Then she bursts out laughing. Not polite giggles—full, uncontrollable laughter that makes her clutch the table.
I look down at myself—shirt clinging, wine dripping off my chin—and start laughing too. Hard.
The waiter stammers his apologies, offering napkins and club soda and free desserts.
Lola waves him off, still cracking up. “It’s fine, seriously.”
I grab a stack of napkins and dab at her arm where wine’s running down her skin. My fingers brush hers, and she doesn’t pull away. She looks at me, eyes bright, her mascara smudged just a little from laughing so hard.
“You okay?” I ask, voice softer now. “Sorry about that.”
She laughs again. “I’m okay. I feel worse for that poor guy…and your shirt. This dress is old, no big deal.” She sighs. “You don’t know how bad I needed that laugh.”
“Yeah?” I wipe a drop of wine from her cheek with my thumb.
Our eyes lock, and the air shifts, suddenly charged. Her lips part like she’s about to say something smart-assed, but instead she leans in, slow.
“You’re soaked,” she murmurs.
“You too.”
“Ruined dress. Ruined shirt.”
“Worth it.”
She closes the distance first. The kiss is wine-sweet and perfect.
Her hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my damp hair.
I pull her closer across the table, ignoring the wet fabric, the staring waiter—hell, the entire restaurant is probably watching.
Our kiss is sweet and a little comical because we’re both sticky and smell like a vineyard.
When we break apart, she’s breathing hard, forehead against mine.
“This night has just proven that I’m trouble, hasn’t it,” she whispers.
“The best kind,” I say. “The kind I want to keep getting into.”
She laughs again, softer this time. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet, Captain.”
The waiter finally brings us to-go boxes, extra napkins, and a bottle of wine on the house.
He follows us out the door, pleading that we not leave a bad review.
Poor guy. We walk out of the restaurant hand in hand, both of us still drenched, laughing like idiots, her heels clicking on the sidewalk while I try not to slip in my ruined dress shoes.
When we reach the parking lot, we realize that we both took Ubers here. We end up walking anyway, wandering back to school slowly because neither of us wants the night to end. Every few steps, she bumps her hip into mine on purpose. I steal kisses at stoplights.
She reaches down and adjusts the strap on her shoes, and I stop with her.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She makes a face. “Rethinking the heels now.”
“Come here.” I turn and look at her over my shoulder, pointing at my back. “At your service.”
She laughs and takes her shoes off, sighing with relief as she shifts her shoes to one hand, and then climbs on my back. Her legs wrap around my waist and she holds on, her hands resting on my chest.
By the time we reach her door, I am flying so high.
“Can I see you again?” I ask, my hands on her face.
“Yes, please,” she whispers before I kiss her again.