Chapter 5
Gillian
I don’t know what’s making me more uncomfortable, going on a date with a guy so much younger than me or my tits spilling out of this deep, red, plush, formfitting, off the shoulder velvet dress Aly and Kira talked me into buying yesterday.
Correction.
Not so much talked me into buying but out of not buying by reminding me that I only own one other date dress.
Which – apparently – isn’t enough.
Especially for a single person.
You know…the whole girly…friendly…wardrobe…makeover scene looks a lot more fun in my telenovelas and spy dramas than it is in real life.
Most things worth looking at weren’t in my size.
There were no fun and carefree employees to referee their bickering.
And most importantly, I didn’t get a magical “this is it”, cue the change in music moment.
No.
I got a “can we wrap this up ‘cause Lionel forgot to grab our son from his piano lesson again” frame cut.
Perhaps the nightmare shopping experience should’ve been my sign not to come on this date?
This date that he pushed back by an hour.
Maybe that should’ve been my red flag that convinced me to cancel.
Come to my senses.
Gently reject the behemoth of a man who probably can’t spell behemoth because it wasn’t on this week’s spelling test.
Gahhhhhh…what am I doing?!
Did someone spike my white mocha with benzos?!
Am I suffering from paradoxical side effects?!
Vibrations rattle my small black clutch prompting me to quickly check the device causing them.
Unfortunately for me, the photo of my nieces and nephew splashing around in the beach water with my big brother only reinforces the idea of retreating.
Of getting back into my car.
Going home.
Ditching this dress.
Reclaiming my couch.
Curling up and watching old episodes of The Mentalist or Person of Interest where I can simply get lost in their complicated, romantic storylines versus trying to untangle my own.
“Wow,” breathlessly coos a voice that never fails to make my knees wobble. “You look like the lyrics come to life of a Four Tops song.”
It’s impossible not to beam brightly at the suspender wearing mountain of a man as he arrives directly in front of me. “And which one in particular are you thinking about?”
“’Can’t Help Myself’ would be the easy glove save,” Thayne casually proclaims, grin growing and growing and growing, encouraging the warmth in my chest to spread like wildfire, “and ‘Baby I Need Your Loving’ would be a respectable block. Hell, even ‘Ain’t No Woman’ could get me a stick taps from the boys…
” One hand nonchalantly captures my empty palm. “But I’m gonna go for the butterfly.”
“And that is…?”
“We talkin’ for hockey or for song choices?”
“I know what it is in hockey,” I sassily state back. “Knees down, feet flared but not tucked towards the ass because that makes it difficult to control the rebound.”
His white dress shirt covered torso slightly crumbles. “You tryin’ to get me to propose already, Gillybean?”
“You got a ring?”
“I will find the nearest store right now.” He slyly lifts my hand up to plant a kiss on the back of it. “Don’t threaten me with Hall & Oates.”
The reference to “You Make My Dreams Come True” leads to my head shaking in amusement. “You’re like a seven-foot walking, talking, puck blocking Jukebox.”
“I’m only six-five.”
Giggling at his correction is rewarded with another kiss on the back of my hand.
“And the butterfly save would be ‘Nature Planned It’.”
Catching my jaw from falling to the ground is impossible. “How the hell do you even know that song?”
“You said it yourself, beautiful.” Delicious smugness sliding through his stare has me biting my red stained lip. “I’m a walking, talking, puck blocking Jukebox.”
“I’m gonna call you Jukes.”
“And I’m gonna love every fuckin’ minute of it.” An arrogant wink precedes him pulling on the frame of the random 1920’s, outdoor hallway painting I had been waiting beside. “Shall we?”
Not only am I surprised the giant portrait is actually a door, I’m also completely amazed by the unexpected establishment we enter.
The tin tile style roof combined with the Gatsby inspired Art Deco furniture and the prohibition approved bar all work seamlessly together to create a truly hidden gem in The Sphere, the high dollar district located right outside of downtown Dalvegan on the opposite end of The Locker District.
Kira loves this area.
My credit card?
Not so much.
Come on now.
Who wants to pay $18.99 for a wedge salad?
But I guess it’s my fault for not speaking up?
For not actually suggesting something when she asks where I wanna go for lunch?
The door hasn’t even finished closing behind us when an attractive, muscular, older male steps in front of us to ensure we don’t continue inward until our presence has been properly verified. “Password?”
“Really, Bags?” Thayne good naturedly goads.
“We gotta do this every time I come in?” He impishly beams down at the man not much taller than me.
“We gotta pretend you don’t know exactly who I am?
” His head tilts slightly to one side, light brown locks slightly swaying.
“We gotta go through the motions even though I scored you playoff tix – and a locker room tour – as a graduation gift for your future Dyr College freshman?”
This time the corner of his lip kicks upward prior to him confessing, “I don’t ask, I don’t get to keep this gig. And while we both know HE pays well…kids are expensive.” He lets a full mouth grin grow. “Especially when they play hockey.”
My date good heartedly surrenders. “Ain’t that ‘The Gospel Truth’.”
There’s no stopping myself from croaking, “Hercules?!”
Our eyes briefly meet. “Do you remember The Muses, Gillybean?” His teeth steal a small bite of his bottom lip. “Great songs and my first cartoon crushes.”
I don’t bother hiding my giggles. “Crushes? As in plural?”
“They were different heights and sizes and voice ranges. How could any guy in his right mind pick jus’ one?”
More snickers escape me on a shake of the head.
“First crushes and still crushes.” He playfully winks. “Who doesn’t occasionally pop a post when they start all that hip swayin’?”
Ohmygoooddddd!
Is he really just openly admitting to everyone in a ten-foot radius what occasionally turns him on?!
“Password?” lightly chortles the man he referred to as Bags.
“Robusta.”
Bags nods his gratitude, steps out of our way, and ushers a hand to the various open seating in the speakeasy. “Enjoy your night, Groffee.”
Thayne unhurriedly leads us to a peach velvet couch on the far side of the stage where a tall, dreadlocked woman is singing into a standing mic while a very short, Hispanic male enthusiastically plays the tambourine along to the music flooding through the unseen speakers.
We’re still settling behind our small, round, wooden table when I inquire, “Is he really playing the tambourine to a Toni Braxton song?”
“Not just any Toni Braxton song but ‘Another Sad Love Song’.” He ensures that I’m comfortable in the space before adventuring to do the same. “But yeah. Yeah, he is.”
Bewilderment seeps into my stare as it connects to his. “What exactly is this place?”
“The Kaloon,” announces my date at the same time he extends his arm around the back of the sofa.
“It’s a private, members only, Karaoke, coffee bar.
” Unbridled joy rips through his expression.
“They only serve things with coffee, so it’s where you come for a drink or dessert, but not dinner.
” Regret swiftly replaces the previous happiness.
“Which again I’m sorry about cancelin’ our reservation for that.
There was jus’ no way I was gonna make it in time. ”
Recalling the interaction, he had with the doorman is what encourages me to investigate, “Were you busy dealing with your own kid or something?”
Confusion quirks an eyebrow. “’Xcuse me?”
“You were relating to what the door dude was saying about the expense of kids, so it got me thinking that maybe you had one or some of your own that I wasn’t aware of, and that that’s why you pushed this back.
” T.V. drama knowledge widens my stare. “Orrrrrrr…you could’ve been dealing with discovering that the babysitter you hired really works for an underground trafficking network and had secret plans to kidnap and sell your child to a wealthy couple in the Netherlands. ”
Palpable horror has him lowering his jaw and whispering out, “What?!”
“Sorry…” toying with the edge of my clutch occurs out of embarrassment.
“I watch a lot of dramas. Particularly spy and romance because medical shit gets too much wrong for me to feel like I’m relaxing rather than preparing a lecture to reeducate the masses that that’s not how that particular procedure is actually done. ”
Amusement swiftly reappears in his expression allowing my bare shoulders to once more relax.
My nervous movements to still.
Toes to unfurl in my pumps.
Forcryingoutloud, have I always been this bad at dating?!
Is this why no one ever calls or texts for a second date?!
“No kids of my own – although I look forward to the day I have them,” Thayne smoothly announces prior to adjusting one of his suspenders, “but I get what he was talkin’ about ‘cause I’ve had a hand in rasin’ my little brother for as long as I can remember.”
“Bronny, right?”
Surprise swiftly cakes his face.
“You brought him to the family skate last summer.”
“You were there?” Disbelief scrunches him closer to me, woodsy clean scents instantly overwhelming my senses. “How the hell did I miss you?”
“I wasn’t um…” my frame mindlessly curls towards his like the smell is a Siren song, “on the um…” his leg presses lightly against mine, hitching my breath, “um…um…”
Cockiness tugs the edge of his lips upwards. “Ice?”
“That.” Clearing my throat occurs in hopes of regaining my composure. “I swung by on my lunch break. Grabbed a few pictures from the stands.”