I explain my dilemma to the cute woman who makes sure I get a view of her cleavage. I have to give it to her for figuring out my weakness. Too bad the only tits I have on my brain belong to Samantha. Eventually, I walk out empty-handed. The flirty clerk said that most girls would be put off by flowers on a first date. My head circles back to girls wanting a jackass over a good guy. And the sales woman has just confirmed it.
My wait isn’t long before Samantha walks up prettier than a picture and I have to swallow. There is just something about her. She’s blissfully unaware that every guy she passes, young or old, checks her out. I want to tie her to my bedpost and have my way with her. But I hesitate because she carries herself like a lady. All of a sudden, I have this urge to open doors for her and drape my coat over a puddle so she doesn’t have to step in it. And what the hell? Am I pussy whipped before I even dip my stick in her?
“Ben,” she says, as a beautiful blossom of roses covers her cheeks.
I’ll be damned. I should walk away right now because I’m not that guy who deserves a woman like her.
“Samantha,” I say, taking her hand and needing a reason for touching her. I kiss her delicate knuckles enjoying her subtle scent.
“Aren’t you the picture of charm? Hmm, that makes two times you’ve kissed my hand.”
“I try,” I say, not letting go of her as we walk inside.
I give the hostess my name and we are led into a narrow dining room to a table for four. The extra place settings are removed while I hold out Samantha’s chair. My mother would kill me if I didn’t use etiquette at all times.
I sit by the window and stare too long at the vision before me.
“What?” she asks shyly.
Images of her naked on my bed play through my mind like a video on repeat.
“I wonder if the food is safe with you here,” I say instead.
She laughs and her whole face lights up. But it’s her mouth I zero in on. Her lips are a perfect shade of pink only hinting that she wears makeup. I want to kiss that mouth before I fuck it. An image of her on her knees with my hands all in her hair headlines in my brain.
“You’re never going to let me live that down are you?”
I shrug. “Maybe you can convince me you can keep your hands to yourself.”
And isn’t that a dumb remark? I most definitely want her hands on me.
The waiter comes and we order. I’m surprised by her choices because they mirror my own.
“Maybe one of us should take a chance and order the snapper. That way we can share.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t share.”
And something about the way she says it makes my pants get tight.
“Okay then. Tell me about yourself?” I ask.
“Nothing terribly exciting. I’m an event planner. I started my business when I graduated two years ago and things are good. In fact, I should be down at the Yacht Club getting set up for tomorrow’s event.”
I’m shocked that for someone not long out of college, she seems to know where she wants to go in life and is doing something about it. It makes me more intrigued than I should be for a casual hook-up.
“Oh. Now I feel bad for taking you away from your business.” Good to know her hesitation to accept lunch hadn’t been because she wasn’t sure about going out with me.
“It’s okay. I’ll stop over after. What about you?”
I want to know more about her, but give in to her question. “I’m an investment broker, glorified financial planner.”
She laughs, which is another win. “Interesting.”
“It’s more interesting we have a lot in common.”
“How so?”
“Well, we both have to do our best to please people in a short period of time and we only have one shot at it,” I say.
“True.”
“In the spirit of full disclosure, I should mention I’m a little older than you.” Her brow lifts. “I left my twenties a year ago. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“No,” she says with a grin and a slight shake of her head. “I’m twenty-four. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” She smiles.
“Not at all.”
Our first course arrives and conversation halts as we eat. I can’t help but stare as she puts food in her mouth, making it impossible for a napkin to hide my erection.
“Tell me more about your business,” I say in an effort to relieve the pressure in my pants.
Between courses, she tells me all about the impossible older woman in her eighties putting on a tea for her surviving friends.
“I never do social events, only corporate. But she’s a friend of my grandmother’s, so I couldn’t turn her down. On a Monday, she wants. She didn’t want the weekend because she and her pals usually have extended family that come around for dutiful visits.”
“Sounds like my grandmother. She’s a Southern belle through and through.”
Conversation is easy and somehow my thoughts clear of her in my bed and I find myself wanting to know more about this woman.
When we walk out a long time later, I’m reluctant to let her go.
“I know you didn’t want dessert, but maybe we can go for coffee.”
“Oh, Ben, your offer is tempting. But something tells me if I accept, I’ll be doing the walk of shame in the morning. Besides, I have work to do.”
“Shame?” I feign offense. “Trust me there is nothing to be ashamed of when leaving my bed.”