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“I’ll check with the concierge and let them know I’ll be joining you—” I wait for her name, she takes a second to realize I don't know who she is.
“Oh, I’m Holland. The other best friend.”
“Nice to meet you, Holland, I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Okay. Bye.” She scurries off, talking to herself, hand gestures and all. She’s so different to Oakley and Channing, and I wonder how on earth she ended up a part of the trio.
The concierge, who obviously heard about my impromptu car purchase, is quite accommodating when I request them to change the dinner arrangements and add a few things for me. I make sure they have her favorite champagne — the one we drank when she stayed the weekend. Oakley already took care of her cake and all her favorite foods. I asked for a blank birthday card, flowers, and a small gift box to be left in my room for me.
It’s so strange how their attitude changes, they saw this man come in with tattoos and aviators and immediately dismissed me. But purchase a half million dollar car, and boy, then they’ll move mountains for you. The daddy-daughter date afternoon is a hoot, Tala and I laugh, and she’s happier; the heartbreak isn’t over, but she’s less upset about douchey-mc-fuckface. This time away from the city, her brothers, and everything seems to have been the best thing for her. When we eventually part ways, she’s forgiven me for buying an old-ass car. We spoke about Channing, and I admitted how much I actually liked her. My daughter seems to think she liked me more than she said too, and that might have been a bigger issue than my kids.
Women are complicated, they can never just say what they mean, or articulate what they want. I know I wasn’t exactly straightforward with her either — she said casual, and I thought if I said I wanted more she’d run. She ran anyway.
In my room, I take a long shower and dress in the only pair of smart pants I brought with me and a silver grey button down Armani shirt. Smart enough to look good, casual enough not to look like I’m going to a business meeting. The inn staff have left everything I asked for on the table, and I sit down to write in her birthday card.
Channing,
Happy 30th Birthday,
This one is a milestone, and I hope you’ll
pass many more behind the wheel.
I saw you in this car today, and the
way your face glowed, I knew it was
meant only for you.
Happy Birthday, Beautiful.
X
Kalon
I put the old raggedy car key in the pretty silver gift box and tie the ribbon with about as much finesse as an ice-skating hippopotamus. It doesn’t look pretty, but it’s the thought — or whatever. I check my watch, it’s twenty to seven. I grab the flowers, card, and box and take the short walk to the restaurant. I’d rather be early than late.
The three ladies are at the bar when I get there, sipping cocktails and chatting like only women can. She looks so happy, so perfect. And so goddamned, fucking sexy. The strapless red dress that kisses every curve is obviously designer, and only her boobs are stopping it from falling off. The sight of her alone makes me hot under the collar. I watch them for a while before they notice I’m there. Channing turns around, it’s as if she felt me there watching. Her cheeks burn red, and she looks a bit shocked to see me. I have a feeling Holland may have forgotten to mention I’m joining them. In fact the look on her face says that is exactly what has happened.
“Good evening, ladies. You didn’t have to wait just for me.” I greet them and Oakley looks like she may pop a blood vessel. I hand Channing the flowers and kiss her on the cheek; she smells unfuckingreal. “Happy birthday, Channing,” I say only to her, and she smiles at me. My stomach flips and there’s absolutely no way — not even if I sewed it to my leg — that I can stop my dick getting hard. Her in that dress, those heels, just all of her.
“You smell nice,” she blurts out then covers her mouth. Oakley and Holland just about pee laughing at her, and she turns the same red as the dress I keep wishing I was taking off her. The blush goes from her cheeks, down her neck, and even her cleavage is a warm color. I like that I have that effect on her — and that she thinks I smell good.
“Thanks,” I say, not sure what the right response to that specific compliment is.
“Well, now this shitshow is over, should we go eat?” Oakley tries to diffuse the silent stare between Channing and me. She walks off to the table with Holland in tow, but my eyes are still locked on Channing’s, and we take a second before we even notice we’ve been left behind.
The table is decorated with giant 30 balloons, glitter, confetti and all the trimmings one would expect someone like Oakley to have arranged. The hostess takes Channing’s flowers and offers to have them put in her room. We join her friends who are very deep into a whisper argument that probably has to do with me being at dinner. I pull out Channing’s chair and then take a seat next to her, surprised her friends didn’t make sure there wasn’t a space so close for me. They don’t look very happy to see me, but Channing doesn’t look like she minds too much.
Their cocktails from the bar are brought to our table and I order a whiskey. I may need a drink the way the two ladies across from me are giving me the stink eye. The waitress delivers my drink and takes our hors d’oeuvres order. Channing excuses herself from the table, leaving me with her friends — who obviously hate me for some reason.
“You two know she dumped me — right?”
“We know,” Oakley says. “Question is why?” Ooh, she’s a feisty one. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her vicious streak come out.
“You’ll have to ask her, because I was blindsided.” We don’t get any further, when Channing comes back. I get up and help with her chair, the whole time Oakley giving me daggers with her eyes.
Once we start with dinner, the conversation gets easier, and the food is phenomenal. After dessert, but before cake, Holland suggests it’s time for gifts, clapping her hands excitedly and handing over a gift that’s wrapped like a work of art. I hadn’t planned to give her my gift publicly. I was just going to give it to her and let her open it alone.
