Together, we walk out of the bathroom and toward the booth, my heart hammering harder with each step. I have no idea why I'm doing this. Or what's going to come of it. I'm not here looking for a man. Not for one night or long term. Men have been a source of constant tension in my life and about the last thing I need right now is a new one in the picture.
“Remember,” she whispers in my ear. “We're here to have fun. Just relax and pretend to be enjoying yourself. And who knows? If you pretend long enough, maybe you actually will.”
Chapter Eight
Brayden
When I see them coming back to the table, I can't take my eyes off Holly. The tiny green dress she's wearing matches the color of her eyes and clings to her every curve enticingly. I just wish she'd loosen up a bit and talk to me.
“Sorry, we're back,” Gabby says as she slides into the booth.
“I went ahead and ordered another round,” I say. “I'm assuming you're both still good with Cosmos?”
“Of course,” she says.
“Holly?” I ask, trying to force her into the conversation. “If you wanted something else –”
“No, it's fine,” she says, cutting a quick glance at me before she looks away again. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
I take a sip of my drink, never taking my eyes off Holly. There's something about her that I find compelling. Not that I can even begin to explain it - even to myself. It's not like we've developed a connection or chemistry over a scintillating conversation or anything. It's just something about her.
“So, you're both teachers,” I say, more to end the awkward silence that's descended over the table than anything.
Gabby nods and then subtly nudges Holly. The redhead looks up and gives her friend an awkward smile.
“Yeah,” Holly finally says.
“And... what do you teach?”
“History,” Holly says. “Tenth grade.”
“I was never very good at history,” I admit. “Wasn't really my thing.”
“That's a shame,” Holly says. “It's a wonderful subject.”
Gabby sits back and sips her drink, a content smile on her face, now that the ball is rolling. Obviously, I just need to get Holly talking about something she's passionate about. Gabby looks at me and gives me an encouraging wink.
“What do you like about it?” I ask.
“It's so interesting,” she says, her voice gaining more excitement. “Learning about the people and cultures from different eras, and the political environments that led to certain conflicts is endlessly fascinating.”
I listened to her talk about history for the next half hour. Not that she lit a fire inside of me to rush right out and study up on the subject or anything, but it was nice to get her talking and see her come out of her shell a little bit. At least getting her talking about something she clearly loved got her to loosen up.
“Where did you go to school, Brayden?” she asks.
“I went to Stanford, actually,” I say. “Got my BA in architecture and a Masters in Urban Development.”
“Wow,” she replies. “That sounds complicated.”
I shrug. “It's like you with History,” I say. “If it's something you love doing, you can really immerse yourself in it and find something others consider to be boring endlessly fascinating.”
“Listen,” Gabby says as she looks at her phone. “I'm going to go meet a friend. You two are good, right?”
A look of sheer panic crosses Holly's face at the prospect of being left alone with me. “W – who are you going to meet?”
“Oh, this guy I know, who happens to be outside the club waiting for me,” she says, grinning wide before turning to me. “You'll get her home safely, right?”
“Of course,” I say.
Gabby gives me a long look. “Promise?”
“Scout's honor.”
“Were you ever really a Scout?”
“Well, no,” I say and laugh. “But it sounded better than offering you a pinky swear.”
“Yeah, you're probably right about that,” she laughs. “But, I swear to God, if I get a bad report on you, I'll find you and cut your balls off.”
“Well, we wouldn't want that,” I say.
“No, we wouldn't,” Gabby says, a sparkle in her eye.
“Don't I get a say in this?” Holly asks.
Gabby takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “No, sweetie,” she says. “You don't.”
Without waiting for Holly to reply, she laughs and slips out of the booth, heading for the doors with a spring in her step. Holly sits back in the booth looking terrified. I guess from her perspective, it probably is a bit scary. I mean, she doesn't know me. I could be anybody. I'm realistic enough to know that an hour of conversation isn't enough to dispel her fears and misgivings. I get it.
“If you'd like,” I say. “I can take you back to your hotel now. Or, if you're not comfortable with that, I can call a car for you. No harm, no foul.”
She looks at me, uncertainty etched upon her face. I can tell that there's a debate going on inside of her. That she's torn between wanting to leave and fear, and something else – something deep inside of her that wants to stay. I don't want her to go, but I'll understand if she does. I mean, this situation is definitely odd.
“No,” she says slowly. “I – it's okay.”
“I promise I don't bite,” I say. “And I'm really not all that scary once you get to know me.”
“I'm just not used to being in situations like this.”
I give her a small shrug. “Honestly, neither am I,” I say. “I was actually just about to finish my drink and leave before you and Gabby showed up. I'm not really the nightclub type. I only came here because of Trey.”
“Yeah,” she says, a wry laugh passing her lips. “I'm not the nightclub type either. I'm only here because of Gabby.”
“Well, look at that,” I say. “Common ground.”
“It would appear that way.”
“Tell you what,” I say. “Since neither one of us are nightclub people, why don't we get out of here and go somewhere else?”
“Like where?” she asks slowly, and somewhat skeptically.
I shrug. “Are you hungry?”
She looks at me, a strange smile upon her face. “Actually, I'm famished.”
“Good,” I say. “Then let's go eat.”
She looks at her watch and frowns. “Do you think anyplace is going to be open this late?”
I chuckle. “It's Vegas,” I say. “Everything is always open.”
“Okay then,” she says. “Let's go eat.”
ooo000ooo
I hand my keys off to the valet and escort Holly to the front door of the restaurant. I have to admit, it's nice to be out of the club, away from the thumping music and the grinding bodies. And it's even nicer to be in the company of a woman like Holly. She's a little awkward, but charming, in her own way.
The hostess takes us to a table and sits us down, hands us both menus, and tells us our server will be with us shortly, before she turns and heads back to her station. At this time of night, it's not overly crowded, which is good.
It's a small Italian restaurant that I've heard good things about. It's not fancy and is decorated with all kinds of kitschy crap; the decor is complete with a wall of framed photos of celebrities who'd dined there. Very cliché. But, then, you don't really come here for the decor. You come for the food, which is supposed to be outstanding.
“It's not the most elegant place,” I say.
“I don't know,” she says. “The statue of Al Capone eating a meatball off the end of his gun at the front screams class and elegance to me. Nothing like some fine art in a restaurant.”
I shrug. “Could be worse. Could be a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker.”
“Or a black velvet painting of four Elvises playing poker.”
I laugh. “I think that might actually be hanging on the wall near the kitchen.”
We share a laugh as our waitress stops at our table. She gives me a smile and an appraising up-and-down look. She's a cute girl, and ordinarily I'd probably return the gesture and proceed from there. But, with Holly sitting right across from me, I smile politely and ignore her advances.
“Can I start you with something to drink?” she asks.
I quickly pick up the wine menu and flip through it. “A bottle of the Camden Merlot, please.”
“Be right back with it,” she says, with one last lingering look at me before turning and walking away.
“Looks like a girl with a crush to me,” Holly says.
I shrug. “You jealous?”
“Hardly,” she says and laughs as she rolls her eyes.
“Because you kind of sound jealous to me.”