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 a stupid 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.
Jolene: 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?
Jolene: 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 had any celebrity status. Unless you count Carter 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°.