“Wow, really, you smart-ass?”
“I’d rather be a smart-ass than a dumbass.” He laughs again.
It’s a deep, pleasant laugh—one I don’t hate at all. In fact, it warms me from the inside out and does something to my lower half I’m not exactly comfortable with.
I wish he went away.
He’s completely disrupted my routine, my life. We’ve been intimate, and I can’t get the taste of him out of my mouth; can’t get the sensation of his fingers gone from between my legs. It had barely taken me any time at all to come.
“I have no idea how to respond to that.”
No. He’s no dumbass, far from it. Behind those eyes and that youthful personality is an extremely intuitive man. I wonder how many people have failed to see that over the past few years.
Wonder how many people have taken advantage of him, men and women—maybe even his own family? I hear that happens sometimes.
* * *
It’s date night.
The first one in a long time, and I stand in front of my closet, chewing at my thumbnail, debating what to wear. Jeans, for sure—Wylee’s isn’t a fancy place. If fact, I could probably get by with sweatpants if I really wanted to.
For a first date, I would have never personally chosen Wylee’s.
I’m disappointed.
Staring at the building from the parking lot, I wonder how easy Brian will be to spot; if he’s inside waiting for me already or if he’ll be late.
It’s a big brown cedar shake restaurant with a huge back patio overlooking a lake and the boats in the harbor below. Christmas lights are strung all over the deck railing.
I can already hear the music. It’s probably from a jukebox—it’s that kind of place.
Jeans.
T-shirt covered in flirty, red hearts. Gold heart necklace.
Hair down.
Wedge sandals, casual but they add a few inches to my short frame.
Taking a deep breath, I clutch my small red purse, tucking it beneath my armpit before pulling open the door and taking the first step inside.
It’s not necessarily a crowded bar, but it has more people in it than I was expecting it to—considering it’s only seven o’clock. Don’t places like this get really busy around ten?
My eyes scan the room, looking for any signs of Brian or a man who looks like the teenage boy I remember from high school. I see several, but none of them look like the picture on the dating app; one man is completely bald with a mustache so that can’t be him. Another one is way too tall and bulky to be Brian. And then there’s a guy already sitting at the bar, leaning forward, elbows on the bar top, and it appears he’s already had a drink.
That can’t be. Who arrives to a date and orders a drink before their date even arrives?
Apparently, Brian does.
The man doesn’t turn until I approach, not bothering to look for me.
He’s laughing with the bartender—a woman, not that it matters—deep in what appears to be a humorous conversation, the young woman’s eyes meeting mine as I stand behind him.
She scurries off.
That’s when Brian finally turns and sees me.
It takes him a good few seconds to put my face and my name together; to connect the dots that I’m his date, and he drove all this way for me.