Chapter 20
ANASTASIA
Dean and I have been texting back and forth since our first meeting, and tonight we’re going on our first real date.
Told me to be ready by seven. Which is in exactly ten minutes.
We had a simple coffee date a few weeks ago, it was nice and all but I wasn’t really planning on seeing him again.
Didn’t feel that spark and excitement. But then Eryx wanted to challenge me.
Wanted to exert the dominance he thinks he has on me and because I was feeling petty and wanted to beat him at his own game, I accepted the dinner plans Dean made for us.
And a girl never turns down free dinner.
I clean up nice when not in this school uniform.
I’ve got a red silk dress that stops a few inches above my knees.
Long enough to keep me decent, but short enough to say I’m down for some fun.
It’s another outfit I borrowed from Ro, along with some black heels that tie up my calves.
Maybe its too much for a first date, but I haven’t had the chance to play dress up in a while and I miss the feeling of getting ready.
Picking out a nice outfit, sitting down to do my makeup and style my hair makes me feel pretty. Makes me feel powerful.
There’s a knock at the door, and I give myself one last glance over before spritzing my some of my favorite perfume on my pressure points. Just like mom taught me. I swipe some gloss on my lips and grab my small clutch that holds my pepper spray—just in case—my phone, and ID.
I open my room door and Dean’s on the other side. His hair is gelled back, and he has on a crisp white button down, paired with dark navy slacks and some stylish black wingtip shoes. His eyes rake down my body and takes a moment taking me in before he speaks. “Wow, you look incredible.”
His words heat my cheeks. It feel nice to be noticed.
“Thank you, you don’t look half bad yourself.
” I give him a coy smile. He extends out his hand to me and I take it crossing the barrier of my room before closing the door behind me.
I get a whiff of his cologne, a spicy musk.
I try not let my face show just how much I hate it.
It reminds me of my father, and that brings nothing but bad memories forward.
Ok stop it Stassi, don’t let this one small and insignificant thing deter you and ruin your night.
We leave the dorms and I follow him down to the parking garage. We come up to a black Audi RS7. Which ironically is parked next to a very familiar, sleek, black bike, sans owner.
He walks me to the passenger side door and opens it for me, waiting until I slide in then closes the door before going over to his side. He backs up quickly and next thing I know we’re going down the pebbled path leading towards the University gates.
The car glides down the dimly lit road. Soft music plays low in the background. I sit with my hands folded on my lap, never knowing what to do with them, I’m always fidgeting. I keep stealing glances over at Dean behind the wheel. He glances my way too, before finally breaking the silence.
“I know I’ve already said it, but you look absolutely stunning tonight Anastasia.”
“As opposed to any other day?” I play with him, giving him a flirty smile.
“No, you always look beautiful,” he says placing his right hand on my exposed knee. But not in an alarming way.
He has me smirking now. “Careful, flattery this early might make me suspicious.”
“What if I’m being honest?” He says grinning at me.
“Then I’ll pretend to believe you. For tonight.”
“I was starting to think you’d cancel.”
I pause for a moment, “I almost did. I’ve had an obnoxiously exhausting week. But then I figured... why not let you try to impress me?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Fair enough. I’ve got decent food, good music, and—” he glances at me again, eyes lingering “—even better company. I’d say I’m off to a strong start.”
I glance back at him trying not to let my smile show too much.“You’re very smooth.”
“I’m just getting started.”
A moment later we’re pulling up to the front of La Dama. Soft golden lighting and sleek marble, the kind of place that whispers money. A valet appears almost instantly, opening my door with a practiced smile and offering a hand to help me out.
Dean’s already circling the car to meet me, his hand finding the small of my back like it belongs there. We walk through the glass doors into the softly lit dining room, the scent of citrus and rosemary drifting through the air.
At the host stand, a sharply dressed woman looks up, her expression shifting into recognition the moment she sees Dean.
“Mr. Ashford,” she says warmly, already reaching for two menus. “Right this way.”
We’re led past clinking glasses and quiet laughter, deeper into the restaurant until the noise fades behind us. Our table is tucked into a corner at the back. It’s semi-private, with a candle flickering low between us.
It feels deliberate. Intimate.
Is this too much for a first date?
A waiter appears almost instantly. I reach for the menu, but Dean lifts a hand, not to me, but to the waiter.
“She’ll have the halibut, grilled, no cream. And a glass of the ‘22 Sancerre,” he says smoothly, then glances at me. “You like citrusy whites, right?”
I blink. I didn’t even say a word.
“Yeah,” I say, slow. “That works.”
He orders something for himself too, I don’t catch what. My thoughts are still snagged on the way he didn’t ask, just... decided. Like it was normal.
My wine arrives quickly. I got to give it to him, he knows his wines.
It’s good, the taste sharp, and cold, something crisp that slides over the nerves buzzing under my skin.
We make small talk, and I laugh a few times, more from the wine than his charm.
Dean is engaging. He's practiced. But something about the way he looks at me feels curated.
Our food comes quick. Mine with a side of roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables. Him with his porter house and broccoli. I could really go for a damn burger right now. Greasy, with bacon and cheese—no pickles—and fries.
I’ve never been big on seafood, and I really don’t like steamed vegetables. There’s no flavor. Even now as I swallow this down, it’s like no one back there believes in seasoning their food.
Dean chows on his steak unfazed. Medium-rare. Too pink for me but it looks hell of a lot better than this damn fish.
He’s currently talking about mergers and some big stock he just got into. I can’t help but notice there’s a piece of broccoli stuck in his teeth as he speaks.
Should I tell him?
By the time the waiter clears our plates and starts talking about dessert, I excuse myself. I’ve had three glasses, and he’s pouring me a fourth. I’m a lightweight, and I know my limits.
“Bathroom,” I say, grabbing my clutch and slipping out before he can offer to walk me there too.
The hallway is dim, quieter than the dining room. It’s lined with tall black and gold mirrors. I pause by one, touching up my lip gloss, and trying to keep my balance. I’m still a little flushed from the wine and Dean’s gaze.
Then I feel it. That shift in the air.
I keep waking down the hallway and make my way inside the women’s restroom. I hear the lock click behind me and when I turn, my breath catches.
Eryx.
It’s like I have spider senses when its comes to him.
Leaning against the door like he’s been waiting for me. His eyes rake over me, and not kindly. Suddenly I’m feeling overly exposed, and I try to cover my chest by crossing my arms.
“What are you doing here with him?” he asks, voice low and edged.
I swallow. My body is already reacting to him, my pulse quickening, a strange thrill twisting in my gut. “Nice to see you too, Eryx. You make it a habit of following me into bathrooms now?”
He steps closer, not bothering to hide his irritation. “That guy’s a snake. You think wine and white tablecloths make him less of a threat?”
“You spying on me?” I lift a brow, trying to stay steady. “Didn’t know you were on the La Dama guest list.”
He steps into my space, so close I can smell the fresh musk of his cologne, the faint burn of whiskey on his breath.
He leans in close, his lips brushing against my ear.
“You look good,” he murmurs. Then adds with a bite, “Too good to waste on someone like him.” One hand caresses my shoulder while the other wraps around my neck.
Applying just enough pressure. His lips ghost over mine, tempting me, but he doesn’t kiss me.
My back hits the wall as he closes the space between us, one leg slipping between mine. Pressing firm and deliberate.
My breath stutters. Heat rushes up my neck. On instinct I grind against his leg. The wine is creeping up on me, making me needy. I want his mouth on me again. The memory of our night together floods me.
“Eryx,” I warn. But it comes out shakier than I mean it too.
He tilts his head, watching me. “Go ahead,” he says, voice rough. “Take what you need.”
I don’t even think. My hips start to move, slow, grinding against the hard muscle of his thigh. His hands move to his sides, jaw tense, eyes locked on mine like he’s daring me to keep going.
My lips part.
Then he leans in close, mouth near my ear again. “Go home.”
My movements stop. “What?”
“Just trust me.” He steps back like nothing happened, the heat of him still lingering on my skin. “Your ride’s already waiting outside.”
And then he’s gone, vanishing down the hallway like a ghost that knows he left something burning behind. Bastard didn’t let me finish.
I straighten myself out and head back out, as if nothing happened. Because nothing did happen.
I step outside of the restaurant, completely avoiding the table where Dean is waiting for me to return to. I pull my phone out and send him a quick text.
Me
Hey Dean, so sorry
An emergency came up with the girls and I need to leave
I got a ride share so no need to worry
Just like Eryx said, a car is waiting for me when I step outside. But it’s not who I was expecting.