Chapter 8
Eight
Serena
I can’t believe I’m doing this. What sane woman, who has sworn off men, agrees to a date with a guy they don’t even know if they actually like?
Oh, that’s right…me. What does one even wear to a lunch date?
It’s been so long since I’ve had to get dressed for an actual date.
With Braxton, things were different. We shed out of our uniforms and jumped straight into bed.
No outings or formal dates. That should have been my first clue he wasn’t as serious about me as I was about him.
I wish him nothing but the best, I just don’t know that I’ll ever stop comparing everything, and everyone, to him.
Or how long it’ll take me to truly see the new him.
The one that is in a relationship full of love and adoration.
It looks good on him. I only have to remember that Bentley isn’t him.
This date is just that…a date. There will be no wondering about our future, or clinging onto him because he’s showing me attention.
I can do this. I can have fun without becoming dependent. I have to do it this way for my sanity.
“You aren’t wearing that, are you?” Hazel walks into the room we’re sharing at the airport hotel.
“What’s wrong with it?” It’s a three-quarter sleeve floral dress that has a small bit of give to it. It doesn’t cling to my body or make me look unflattering.
She laughs and quickly covers her mouth as the door shuts behind her. “I’m sorry. That was bitchy.” She waves her hands up and down my body. “Nothing about that dress screams sex appeal.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I argue. “I’m not trying to land in his bed and be another notch on his bedpost.”
“It also defeats the purpose of having fun. I know damn well you aren’t frumpy and that’s what this monstrosity portrays.
” She crosses the room to her suitcase and flings the top open.
“If you don’t have any acceptable clothes, we’ll either have to go on a quick shopping trip, or you’ll have to wear something of mine. ”
“There’s no way your clothes will fit me. I’m taller than you and my boobs are bigger. Anything you give me will make me look like I’m trying to dress like a teenager.”
“Looks like we’re going shopping then.” A sinister smile crosses her face and I don’t like whatever she has planned.
My eyes lock on the alarm clock sitting between our beds, and I shake my head.
“There isn’t time.” Is my dress really that bad?
I don’t think he’d have an issue with it.
My thoughts flash back to the gossip sites I saw him on.
In almost every single one of them the women he was with were in skin tight dresses and dressed to the nines.
Surely, he isn’t expecting that from me.
“Besides it’s only a lunch date. It’s not like we’re going out for a night on the town. ”
“That you know of,” she winks at me.
“What do you mean?” My words are rushed and now I’m freaking out.
“I mean,” she grins, “if you end up having fun on your lunch date, who says it has to stop there? It could continue on throughout the rest of the day. You might want to be prepared for that.”
Not. Going. To. Happen. He’s a player and I would be an idiot to think our date will go further than that.
I’m using this as an excuse to fulfill my curiosity.
That’s all it is. Once I see that he’s exactly the way I have him pegged, despite calming little girls and helping old ladies with their luggage, I’ll be free to dislike him once and for all. Especially if my reasons are valid.
“Remember how you told me to take it one step at a time and do what feels right for me?” Her eyebrows furrow, not sure where I’m going with this conversation, and she nods.
“This is me doing just that. I will not change myself to go on a date with him. He either likes me, or he doesn't. Forcing myself to fit into what I think he might like is going against what I’m comfortable with.”
“But…” She begins, but I hold my hand up to stop her.
“No ‘buts’. I’m not like you. I don’t do well in any situation. If I happen to enjoy his company, then we’ll see where it goes. But I’m not going to plan for anything more than meeting him to eat lunch.”
“I guess.” She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “But you have to fill me in on everything when you get back to the room. I want every juicy detail.”
“I promise.” It’s not like I have anyone else to tell. I haven’t talked to my parents in ages, and I’m not close to my siblings either. As far as I’m concerned, Hazel is my best friend and family. “Have your phone handy in case I need a quick escape.”
She pulls it out of her pocket and waves it in the air. “Of course, just like the old times before you let one man zap the fun out of you.”
That was a low blow, and her eyes widen in shock once she realizes what she said.
“I have to go or I’ll be late.” I point at the phone in her hand, “And don’t forget to answer that if I text or call.”
“Got it. Now, go have fun. Live a little and let your hair down.”
I hate that saying. Like having it up somehow makes you uptight all of a sudden. Oh well, I don’t have time to think about the semantics of an old saying. I need to get this show on the road. The sooner I’m done with this date, the sooner I can come back to the room and binge watch Netflix.
The pizza parlor is packed, and I’m regretting my choice for lunch.
I tried to pick somewhere close to downtown.
It’s easy access for both of us and I can hightail it back to my hotel if I need to.
I’m unsure of where exactly I’m supposed to meet him.
It’s something I forgot to mention in our text messages.
Serena: I’m walking in. Are you here?
Bentley: Yes, I have a table in the back. There are a ton of people in here. Want me to walk up front to get you?
Serena: I’m capable of walking in there on my own.
Bentley: Too late.
I look up and Bentley’s smiling face is right in front of me, separated only by the glass door. “Hi,” he yells through it and waves.
Angling my head toward the ground to keep him from seeing the grin I’m wearing; I shake my head.
This man is full of surprises, and I’m not sure if that is a good or bad thing.
Bad. Definitely a bad thing. If he worms his way into my heart, I’m not sure I can stop myself from catching feelings.
Now that I’ve composed myself, I lift my head and open the door. “Hi.”
People are milling about, but as we walk in, they stare at us. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Why are they looking at us?"
He shrugs his shoulders as if he has no idea. "Maybe they aren't used to seeing such a pretty face." He smiles at me as he says that, except I know a bull crap line when I hear one.
It’s part of the job as a flight attendant. So many men try to smooth talk their way into free alcohol or try to get in our pants. I've heard everything, and his statement does nothing but put me on high alert. "You should probably be a little more original."
"I am as original as it gets. I've never tried being something that I'm not." His voice is gruff with a bit of sadness mixed in.
I didn't mean to offend him, but come on who says that to a woman they've literally just met? "If you say so." He continues leading me through the throng of people until we are at a table in the back corner, just like he said.
"Which side do you want to sit on?"
"It doesn't matter to me. One side is no better than the other." He walks around the table and pulls out the chair closest to the wall, waiting until I sit down before going back around and sitting with his back to the rest of the restaurant. "It's strange that you picked that seat."
He picks up the menu and begins scanning it. "Why do you say that?"
I pick up another menu from the table and lift it until it covers most of my face. It's not because I'm nervous, well, not completely. I just don't want to give away too many facial expressions.
Shrugging my shoulders, I look over the menu. "I don't know, most of the men in my family, or even men I see at restaurants, rarely like to sit with their backs facing the door."
He smirks but doesn't lift his eyes from the laminated paper in his hands. "Normally, that would be true. But, since I began playing pro, it's a lot easier for me to get through a meal without being recognized if I'm not facing the entire restaurant."
Huh, I guess I never thought about it like that before. Then again, I've never gone out on a date with anyone that has celebrity status. Unless you count Braxton because he was popular with all the flight attendants. "That makes sense. What do you do when you are recognized?"
Now, he sets the menu down and looks into my eyes. "When it happens, I wait to see what they're going to do. Sometimes it is to talk or take a picture. Other times they will come up to me and ask for an autograph."
That has got to be annoying. I don't know that I would ever get used to that kind of life. "Do you usually give them one?"
"Yeah, usually. It won't do me any good to act like an asshole. Besides, it only takes a few seconds for me to sign a piece of paper or whatever they have on them."
So, he's not an asshole. He's just pushy as hell until he gets what he wants. "Do you know what you want?" The only reason I'm asking is to change the subject. This is the first, and most likely only date we will ever have, and I don't need to know his full life story.
"Not really. I mean pizza is pizza, right?"
I set my menu on the table and bring my hands to my chest in surprise. "No, pizza is not pizza. You're in Chicago. One of the best places in the United States to eat pizza."
Bentley leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, "Okay then, which one should I get?" I don't miss the way his shirt tightens over his arm muscles. And it feels like the temperature in here just went up 10°.
"That depends, what sort of things do you like?"
"As much as you probably don't agree, I'm actually a simple guy. Cheese or pepperoni are what I stick to."
While I am shocked by his choices, it seems a little boring. "Okay, you wait here and I'll go order the pizza."
There’s a line at the counter, and I walk to the back.
As I’m standing there, two women break from the line and head straight toward Bentley.
I guess his presence in the small pizzeria didn’t go as unnoticed as he hoped.
A pang hits as they sit down, exactly where I just vacated, and start a conversation. I wish I could see him.
Even if this is only a one-time thing, it hurts that he’s talking to other women while he’s on a date with me.
One of the women leans over the table, showing off her cleavage and I want to do something to let them know he’s here with me.
I’m not sure where this possessive streak has come from, and I don’t know if I like it or not.
Before I do anything drastic, like turn around and stride right out the door, Bentley scoots his chair back.
What’s he going to do? Leave with the beautiful women by his side?
I’m seconds away from leaving, but he surprises me.
He’s by my side in less than a minute. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I peer over his shoulder and notice the two women staring, wide mouthed.
I guess they didn’t think he’d walk away from them.
“That sounds like a fantastic idea.” My pizza craving will have to wait.
He left those two who no doubt offered him more than I’m willing to, and now I want to see the layers this man has to be hiding.
There’s no way he’s arrogant and sweet. Or, maybe, he’s trying to get more from me than I’m willing to give. Either way, I want to find out.