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I want to see her and I don't. Every time I see her something happens to my brain. I get... 'stupid' isn't the word. But it isn't far off. Kyra always is one step ahead.
All I want to do is make her smile.
Fuck, I'm starting to sound like a fucking Hallmark card. Fuck that.
Outside, she's the first thing my eyes go to. Fucking hell.
What have I done?
"Hey," she says.
"So, it fit," I say, trying and failing not to let my eyes run all over her.
Wow. Fucking yeah.
The dress looked OK on the mannequin, but its bright red bands of material make her look like walking sex. Classy walking sex, but still.
A man with a stunner on his arm walks past, staring at Kyra. I glare at him.
That's my girl you're looking at, buddy.
"You look good," she says.
I take a breath. "Yeah, sorry. You too. Want to go in?"
She smiles, and then I have her hand in mine, and I can't tell if my pulse is racing because it's happening, we're going, or because she looks so damn happy.
That's my girl.
Inside is all red curved-ceiling, Art Deco, chandelier-filled splendor. Normally, I'd be admiring the decor, the Parisian style navy armchairs and hexagonal light wooden tables, but right now all I can admire is her.
I am a fucking idiot. I should've saved this dress for the bedroom.
I have a fucking boner and we haven't even kissed.
Right after we're seated, I order us some drinks.
"How do you know this place?" she asks.
"Dad used to have his Christmas parties here," I explain. "He'd spend as much as he could at the end of the year so he could write it off on his taxes."
"Sounds like your dad."
"Yeah," I say, eyeing her. "He always thought the world of you, though. Told me I was a damn fool when we broke up."
"Oh." She smiles a bit brokenly.
"Shouldn't have brought that up," I growl.
"No," she says.
"What about you, though?" I say.
"What about me?"
"I..." It's hard putting it into words. Especially with her looking so goddamn good across the table. "You've just changed so much. Feels like there must be a reason. A big one."
She sips her water, clearly even more uncomfortable. Looks like I'm on a fucking roll tonight. "Changed how?"
A shrug. "Sassier. Bolder."
She puts her cup down, eyeing me. "You know, I did a lot of growing up after you left me, Landon. There's... some things I should tell you."
"I know, and I was an idiot, a complete idiot." Am one now, seeing as I still can't bring my idiot ass to tell her the real reason, even as I'm seizing both her hands. "Really."
Her gaze drops to our clasped hands, just as the waitress putters up, at the worst time. "Here are your drinks."
"We're ready to order," Kyra blurts out, grabbing the menu, even though she didn't so much as glance at it earlier. "I'll have... steak."
"I'll have the steak too," I say.
Kyra takes a deep swig of her Sex on the Beach, and I drink my whisky on the rocks deeply too. I'm going to need it.
"So," I say.
"Sorry." Kyra forces a smile. "I'm hungry."
"Of course."
It takes me a good minute to figure it out: she's not going to tell me. It, or the 'things', whatever they are.
Although I have other things on my mind, too. "Tell me. What does a guy have to do to get you to stay the night?"
She leans in, the beginnings of a smile on her red lips. Were they always that red and juicy, or did she touch them up in the bathroom when she changed?
"We'll see," is all she says.
Overhead, there's a big band playing and, for the first time, over her shoulder, I notice a small crowd dancing.
"Look," I say.
She looks over her shoulder and laughs. "Wow. How did we miss that coming in? Looks like they're having fun."
"Want to join?"
"I don't know."
I rise. "I do. May I have this dance?"
The corners of her lips quirk up. Damn, do I want to kiss her. But this is second best. "Alright."
That 'alright' gets her off her seat, glides her onto the floor with me - it wraps our arms around each other's shoulders. Grooves our hips.
"Fuck," I mutter, suddenly remembering.
"What?" she asks.
"I hate dancing."
She just laughs. "This was your idea."
And yet, there's something about her hips moving with mine. Even as I step on everyone's feet. It makes it OK, fun even.
One song, then another. I can't seem to leave. I'm still a shitty dancer - all the moves, even as Kyra, laughing her head off, tries to show me, are as mysterious as if we're on an alien planet. But her grin just widens and widens, takes over her face. Takes me in, too. As long as she's smiling, I am.
Who knows how long has passed when our waitress taps me on the shoulder and gestures to our meals on the table.
