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At this moment, I’m terrified by the possibility that he may not want to see me again. Being with me may be a liability for him, and it breaks me to think that it might be over.
When I arrive at my car, the dam bursts and the tears cover my face. I put my head down on the steering wheel and whimper as my shoulders heave. I’m so distraught that I almost fail to hear my phone ring. I look down and see that it’s Scott and try frantically to compose myself before the phone stops ringing.
“Hello?” the sound almost stops in my throat but I manage to force it out.
“Stop crying, baby. Everything’s gonna be fine,” his voice soothes me.
“How did you know?” I stammer, my stomach still convulsing from my emotional outpouring.
“Look across the lot. I’m here. I can see you. Get yourself together so I can take you to dinner.”
“Let me go clean up first. Can I meet you somewhere?”
“My place. I’ll text you my address. See you soon, baby girl,” he hangs up and I watch him pull out of his parking spot.
I wipe the tears from my face and take a few deep breaths. After all of this, he still wants to be with me. It’s wonderful and surreal and sends my head spinning as I turn on the engine and race home to put myself back together.
Until now, I’ve always heeded my father’s advice. He’s been the dominant male figure in my life, but with Scott, I feel like I can trust his judgment just as much. He’s strong, passionate, and exciting, and when I look into his eyes, I can see that he really cares about me. I don’t know where this is going to take us, but I know that I want him to lead me to that place. Wherever it might be.
8
MY FIRST NIGHT WITH SKYLAR
SCOTT
Showered and dressed, I grab a beer from the fridge and wait for Skylar to come by. My anger was so intense when I left Presley’s office that I almost didn’t wait for her. I didn’t know if I would be able to calm down, and I didn’t want her to see me that way. My feelings changed seeing her condition when she got in her car. There was no way that I could drive off and leave her like that. She needs to know that she’s mine and that I’m not giving up on her.
Her car pulls up and I step outside to meet her at the door. She steps out of the car, and I almost lose the minuscule amount of composure that I have. She’s wearing a little, black dress with a slit up one side and a pair of long, black leather boots. Her blonde hair is down and draped over her shoulders framing just the right amount of exposed cleavage.
The urge to toss her over my shoulder and carry her to my bed is overwhelming, but I promised her dinner and she dressed for a night out. I close the door behind me and meet her in the driveway. If I bring her inside now, we might never leave.
“You look amazing,” I tell her as I lean down to kiss her forehead.
“I’m so relieved that you called. I didn’t know what was going to happen with us.”
Her eyes become glossy and I know she’s about to cry so I embrace her and say, “We aren’t going to talk about that tonight. I don’t want you to even think about tomorrow. Right now, it’s just you and me, and fuck everyone and everything else.” Seeing her cry would reawaken my rage, and I can’t let that happen tonight.
The restaurant is crowded for the middle of the week, so we take a seat at the bar and have some wine while we wait for our table. I survey the room then look at Skylar and grin from ear to ear.
“What’s that for?” she asks me.
“There are a lot of husbands that are going to be sleeping on the couch tonight,” I answer.
“What do you mean?” she looks genuinely oblivious to the level of attention that she’s attracting.
“Their wives are going to be pretty upset when they see the way they’re all looking at you. My hot little date is turning every head in this place.”
“Don’t say that. It’ll make me all self-conscious. Besides, wouldn’t you get jealous if they were all staring at me?” she chirps.
“Jealous of them looking? No. I like that they look. I want them to eat their hearts out because I can have you and they can’t. It’s talking and touching that might send them to intensive care. Looking is hot,” I explain.
“Well, what about you? You’re tall, dark, gorgeous, and full of muscles. You check off all the boxes. I bet if I checked, I would find a bunch of women staring at you,” she challenges me.
“They can look, too. You should get off on it just like I do. As long as you exist, they don’t stand a chance,” I tell her and watch her cheeks redden.
The hostess finds us and escorts us to a small table tucked away in the corner of the dining room. The candles are lit, and she’s brought over a bottle of the 2014 Chateau Canon Bordeaux that we were drinking at the bar. I fill our glasses and open the menu. “They make an excellent lobster bisque here. We’ll start with that.” Skylar nods and I advise the waiter.
“This is really nice,” Skylar says. “I don’t come to places like this. Starving college students don’t drink hundred and fifty dollar bottles of wine and eat lobster bisque.”
