Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I tuck the pink racerback tank top into my dark jeans and then immediately pull it out again, unsure of which way looks worse. It’s the only pink thing in my wardrobe, a base layer only ever worn under a zip up running jacket.
The only instruction I was given about my hedonism lesson tonight is that I’d need to wear pink, and I was told that it would cure me of caring what other people think.
Not loving the idea that Danny thinks I’m one of those people who cares too much about what other people think—which might be proof that I am one of those people.
I exit the bathroom to find Danny in the kitchen. When he sees me, his mouth opens slightly and his eyes scan the outline of my normally covered up shoulders and clavicle.
He clears his throat. “Ready?”
“Shouldn’t we eat dinner first?”
“We’ll eat there. Don’t worry—I’ll stick to my macros.”
Danny holds the apartment door open for me, and I duck under his arm.
“If this is karaoke, let me just stop you right here. I don’t do public speaking, or singing.”
“It’s not karaoke.”
“Trivia night?” That would actually be perfect. An opportunity to show off my skills, get the upper hand back for once.
“We’re having dinner. That’s all you need to know.”
We walk through the twinkle-lit streets of South Lake Union, the cranes lit up in Seahawks blue and green in the night sky.
I slow my pace slightly to match Danny’s relaxed, meandering gait.
He points out bakeries along the way. Which place has the best brioche and who uses flour imported from Italy.
“Here we are,” he says, stopping in front of an empty-looking skyrise in Belltown.
I frown. “Pretty sure this is an office building that’s closed for the day.”
“Look higher.” He points to the roof of the building, where I can barely make out the telltale lights and the pulsing sounds of nightlife. He grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We take the elevator to the top floor and exit into another world.
The lounge is Moroccan themed, with steel lanterns hanging at different levels, artfully patterned tile adorned with deeply hued rugs and lush greenery filling the space.
There are panoramic views of the city and it’s hard to tell where inside ends and outside begins.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, taking a seat at one of the tables. The best seat, where I have a view of the entire lounge.
“Can I get some drinks started for you?” a server asks. His chunky glasses are Barbie pink.
“Just a couple of iced teas,” I say quickly, before Danny has a chance to even think the word vodka.
The server nods and hands us leather book menus, then leaves to get our drinks.
“No QR code to deal with. Love that. And there’s lots of healthy options here,” I murmur, nodding in approval. It’s nice to get a break from cooking at home. Meal prep is the gold standard of discipline, but even I can admit that by night four of the same meal, it gets a little boring.
Danny sits back in his seat, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He keeps forcing the corners of his mouth back down, as if they’re spring-loaded.
“What?” I run my tongue over my teeth to make sure I don’t have lipstick on them. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason. I’m just glad you like the restaurant.” He grins.
I roll my eyes and set down the menu. “OK. I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. This whole lesson is about not caring what people think, right? So you bring me to this romantic restaurant, and you asked me to wear pink, fully knowing that people will assume we’re on a date.
Well, I don’t care. They can think whatever they want.
I know the truth; you’re my client, and this is nothing more than a business meeting where I show you how to order healthfully in the wild. ”
“You got me,” Danny says, opening his menu. “I should have thought of something more clever.”
A well-dressed man at the bar keeps glancing over at me.
He’s traditionally handsome, with symmetrical features anyone would enjoy, and wearing a dark suit with no tie and a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
Pale pink socks peek out from under his tailored trousers.
I focus on my menu, but his eyes are still on me.
I pat my hair to a make sure it isn’t doing something weird, but my chignon is still tightly secured at the nape of my neck.
I peek at him surreptitiously from behind my menu. A former client, maybe? No, I remember all my hot clients. But why would a man that looks like that keep looking over here at me?
“Excuse me,” a new man says, approaching our table and kneeling so he’s eye level with me. He’s got a brown lumberjack’s beard and matching brown eyes, and is wearing a skinny pink tie. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I saw you from across the room and really liked your whole vibe.”
My what?
“Oh.” I glance at Danny nervously. “Thanks.”
“Come find me later, OK?” The man winks, and rises back up.
“That was weird,” I lean in and whisper to Danny. “Guess he didn’t think we were on a date after all.”
Danny shrugs and accepts his tea when it arrives, reaching for the brown sugar cubes. I bat his hand away and push a plate of lemons toward him instead.
We order our dinner, Danny opting for the fish tagine while I get the couscous with chicken. The waiter leaves and I’m approached again, this time by the handsome man from the bar.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says, his eyes darting from Danny to me. Oh god, he’s even more attractive close-up. “But do I know you?”
“Ah, yes,” I say, realization finally hitting me. Duh, Lauren. “This is Danny Kekoa, the UFC fighter. You probably know him as the ‘Lothario of Lahaina.’ ”
“No, I mean you.” The man’s bright blue eyes don’t move from mine.
I study his face. Um, no. I would definitely remember those eyes. I shake my head. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Too bad.” He smiles. “Let me know if you want to change that. I’ll just be over by the bar.”
This flattery unleashes a light, pleasurable feeling throughout my body. A heady cocktail of dopamine and serotonin. Wow. I should really wear pink more often. I sit up a little higher in my chair, kind of feeling myself now, as several eyes around the room try to catch mine.
Danny bites his lip but his dimples are still blazing.
“What?”
Just then, a woman comes to our table, placing her business card next to my drink, with the words “call me” written next to a hot pink lipstick kiss mark. She leans in, and I can smell her rosewater cosmetics as she whispers something in my ear. Something I was not expecting.
My goodness. Heat spills into my cheeks. I take a sip of ice water to cool myself down as the woman winks and sashays away.
Danny brings a fist to his mouth, muffling a laugh with a fake cough. “She seems friendly.”
A sense of unease washes over me. It’s my amygdala, the brain’s security guard, waking up to warn me of a threat. I narrow my eyes at Danny. Something is up, and if he doesn’t tell me right this second, I’m going to lunge across the table and squeeze those lemons in his eyes.
“What is going on?” I demand. “Tell me right now.”
But Danny is red-faced and no help. Our server returns to refill our water glasses and I grab him roughly by the arm. “What is this place? Is this like a hidden camera show or something?”
“It’s swingers night.” He shrugs, setting down my glass. “I really like your shirt, by the way. Lululemon?”
Hot embarrassment floods my chest. I close my eyes. “Are you telling me that everyone in this restaurant thinks I’m here seeking casual sex?”
“Oh, yes. Specifically, they think you’re a unicorn. That means a woman who is down to join the orgy alone, considering your dinner companion isn’t wearing a lick of pink. Unicorns are always a hot commodity in the lifestyle.”
Oh, god. I sink down in my chair, covering my face with my menu.
“Ah, cheer up, Theranos.” Danny grins. “So a room full of people have the wrong idea about you. So what? You didn’t die. Proof that it doesn’t matter what people think of you, as long as you know the truth.”
My cheeks are hot, but not with embarrassment. With rage.
“Enjoy this moment, Daniel Kekoa,” I say, my voice eerily calm. “Because you don’t even know the hell I’m capable of unleashing on you. You can’t even fathom it. I hope this was worth it.”
Our food arrives, and another man stops by our table. “Hi, my wife and I saw you from across the bar and really like your—”
“No.” I bite my chicken and chew ferociously.
“Oh, this was worth it.” Danny grins. “You have to admit, it’s kind of freeing.”
“It’s humiliating and infuriating, actually. Eat your fish. I want to get out of here.”
“Oh, I plan on savoring it,” he says, bringing his iced tea to his lips. “And, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a dessert course, and letting our waiter know we’re in no rush.”
My eyes shutter closed. Of course he did. I sigh, resigning myself to the humiliation. “Just so you know, I knew something was up from the get-go.”
“You did not.”
“Yes, I did. It was obvious. Getting approached out of the blue like that?” I snort, shaking my head. “Not exactly a common occurrence for me.”
Danny’s eyes shift slightly. “I approached you.”
“No, you didn’t. You just saw an open seat at a packed bar and reacted accordingly.”
“I have a reserved table at that bar, with bottle service. I didn’t need that barstool. I sat there because”—Danny winks—“I saw you from across the bar and really liked your vibe.”
I throw my napkin at his head, but he catches it in midair.
“No, but seriously,” I press. “If you had a reserved table, why did you come sit next to me?”
Danny folds my napkin into triangles, then turns it and makes more folds. He speaks, but doesn’t look up. “Because I always do what feels good in the moment. And in that moment, the thought of any other man sitting next to you didn’t feel good to me.”
He places the folded napkin on the table, now a geometric origami swan, and pushes it in little curves so it swims back to me.
I smile. “You need to show me how to do that so I can keep Emma and Zoe entertained at nice restaurants.” I look down at my hands, suddenly missing the girls so much.
It’s only been three days. How am I supposed to live through an entire summer without them?
And what if Casey falls in love with California—or worse, Helena?
What if they move away and start their lives as a real family without me?
Danny leans forward, tilting his head. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry. I just miss the girls.”
“Never apologize for missing your family. I once showed up to my little cousin’s school fresh off a fight, my face black and blue. The principal almost called the authorities. My auntie was so pissed. But I just missed him, you know?”
My shoulders relax. “Tell me more about them. I like hearing about big families.”
Another suitor stops by the table, and I politely decline without looking up.
I don’t want to distract Danny, who gets going in an instant, talking of his cousins, aunties, uncles, and mostly his grandmother.
His eyes sparkle when he speaks of her. I can almost feel it, the warmth of growing up with that many different people who love you.
In return, I tell him about my dad and his colorful courtroom battles, of Maya’s nondating adventures, of Casey and the girls. How Zoe is fearless and how Emma is empathetic, and how Ally would be so proud of both of them.
The server arrives with our dessert course, but Danny puts a hand up to stop him. “Would you mind wrapping those up to go? I think my dining companion would appreciate a quick getaway.”
“No, we can stay a little longer.” I look to the server. “Could we have two decaf coffees, please? And we’ll eat those stuffed dates here. The rest can be wrapped. Thank you.”
Danny raises his eyebrows. “Theranos. I’m impressed.”
“Why?” I say, selecting a date. It’s stuffed with goat cheese and walnuts, and drizzled with honey. “I’m not a total prude.”
Danny leans forward and pyramids his fingers. “Please explain. In extreme detail. Talk slow.”
I laugh, taking a bite. The sweetness settles deliciously in my mouth, and I sigh in bliss. “Only one of these for you. Bill told me how much fans hate a fighter not making weight.”
“Body shamers. I can’t wait for the day when I can get one of those dad bods.”
“Well, you already have the right shoes,” I say, flicking my eyes down to his Crocs.
Danny grins. “Wearing them is an automatic tick in the pleasure column.”
“Do you want kids?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Sorry, that was … I didn’t mean …” I set my date down. “That was too personal.”
Danny looks amused. “Why is that a bad question?”
“It’s not. But in the dating world, if you ask something like that too soon, it can scare guys off. You have to approach these things delicately.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date.” He pops another morsel into his mouth.
“Hey, I said you could only have one.”
“Let me live, Theranos.”
The bill arrives, and Danny slides it to his side of the table, despite me explaining that I can expense it. It isn’t until we gather our coats to leave that I realize he never answered the question.