“You are delusional,” she replies.
“Which is what I'd expect a jealous woman to say.”
We share a laugh and Holly throws a packet of sugar at me. I'm glad to see that she's loosened up enough to be able to joke around with me a bit. We pick up our menus and spend a couple of minutes perusing them, the silence between us a hell of a lot more companionable and less strained than it had been back at the club.
The waitress returns and sets glasses down in front of us, opening the bottle and letting me taste it before pouring. When she's done pouring, she sets the bottle down and gives me another of those ‘come-hither’ looks.
“Did you know what you wanted to eat yet?” she asks, looking at me, her tone flirtatious.
“Oh, I just bet you have a recommendation or two about that,” Holly says under her breath.
I have to stifle a laugh and see the waitress' cheeks flare with color. Holly looks up and gives her a saccharine sweet smile. The woman clearly has a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.
“I'll take the spaghetti carbonara,” I say.
The waitress' cheeks are still flaming red and she's avoiding all eye contact, which is making it harder for me to keep choking down my laughter. She's looking down at her order book, still refusing to meet Holly's eyes.
“And for you?” she mutters quickly.
“I'd like the alfredo ravioli, I think.”
“Very good,” she says and turns, practically sprinting away from our table.
“I think you embarrassed the poor girl,” I say.
Holly shrugs. “She was kind of embarrassing herself,” she says. “I mean, if we were out on a date – which we're not, of course –”
“No, of course not,” I say and shoot her a smirk.
Holly gives me a lopsided grin. “If we were though – and she had no way of knowing we weren't – what she did was pretty tacky,” she says. “Giving you the up-and-down eyes like she did? And that flirty little tone of voice? Come on. No self-respecting woman does that.”
“Well, maybe you should tell her manager,” I say. “Or leave it in a bad review on Yelp.”
“I just might do that,” she says and laughs. “Or, I might torment her a little more and call it even.”
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” I say. “You apparently take your revenge very seriously.”
“That I do,” she says. “It's not wise to cross me. I'm pretty sure I've got Sicilians in my bloodline somewhere.”
I pick up my wine and laugh. “Noted,” I say and raise my glass to her. “To never getting on your bad side.”
She picks up her glass and touches it to mine. “You're a wise man, Mr. Anderson.”
“I have my moments.”
We sip our wine and I can't take my eyes off her. The way the flame from the candle makes her skin glow and her eyes sparkle is intoxicating to me.
“This is a good wine,” she says. “Merlot is my favorite.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Oh, did you now?”
I nod. “I did,” I say. “I'm a pretty perceptive and intuitive guy. I don't like to brag –”
“Really?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.
I flash her a grin. “Well, maybe a little,” I say. “Anyway, I can usually size people up pretty quickly. It's always been a talent of mine.”
“And obviously, you're a very humble guy too.”
I shrug. “Like I said, I have my moments.”
“Let's put that keen insight to work then,” she says. “What have you discerned about me?”
I eye her over my glass as I take a sip of my wine. Setting the glass back down, I rest my forearms on the table and lean forward, looking deeply into her eyes.
“Well, I don't want to give away all of my secrets just yet, but the first thing I notice is that you're in very good shape. I'd guess that you were an athlete in high school and probably college. Could be soccer,” I say. “And I can see that you have some trust issues when it comes to men. Somebody has hurt you in your past and you don't let yourself get close to anybody as a result. Haven't for a while now.”
Holly takes a drink of her wine and looks at me for a long moment. Her expression is inscrutable, and I find that I'm having trouble reading her. She has an uncanny ability to make her face entirely neutral. Though, there is an amused glint in her eyes and a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Field hockey,” she finally says. “That was my sport.”
I nod. “Field hockey,” I say. “Not soccer.”
“Still, a bit impressive,” she says. “I’ll give you some credit.”
“And how did I do with the other?”
She shrugs. “Pretty generic,” she says. “Haven't we all had somebody in our past who's hurt us? No points for that.”
I can see in her eyes that there's more to the story than she's saying. I know that my words hit the mark more than she's willing to admit. But, she's not yet comfortable enough with me to talk about it. Which is fine. I'm not going to press her at this point.
“What else you got?” she asks, almost too flippantly, as if she's trying to distract me from my previous observation.
“Well,” I say, “the fact that you played field hockey tells me that you probably went to private school. Which tells me that you come from some money.”
“And what makes you think that?” she asks.
“Not a lot of public schools have field hockey teams. Most public schools don't have the money for the extra non-revenue generating sports,” I say and laugh. “Seems to be more in the realm of private schools.”
She laughs. “Touché,” she says. “Yes, I am a product of a private school. And yes, I did grow up in a family that was fairly affluent.”
As she says those words though, I see a shadow cross her face like a cloud slipping across the moon. Her eyes grow pinched and her expression looks almost tormented. Which tells me that something in her family isn't quite right. But again, that isn’t a topic I think I should raise right now.
“Not bad,” she says. “You're right, I suppose. You're pretty perceptive.”
“And intuitive,” I reply. “Let's also not forget ruggedly handsome.”
She laughs, seeming to be genuinely amused. “Right, how could I forget?”
“Don't worry, I'm not afraid to remind you.”
Holly takes a sip of her wine. “You're wrong about one thing though.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“You're too much of a pretty boy to be ruggedly handsome.”
Now, it's my turn to laugh. “A pretty boy?”
She nods, a twinkle in her eye. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“How do you figure that?”
She shrugs. “Those baby soft cheeks of yours? Those cute dimples you get when you smile, maybe?” she teases me. “I mean, you don't even have a hint of the stylish scruff on your chin the more ruggedly handsome types do. You're just all smooth skin.”
I laugh harder than I have in quite some time. Yeah, she might be a bit socially awkward at first, but when you get her going, Holly is a sharp, witty, damn funny woman.
“So, you think my dimples are cute, huh?” I ask, teasing her right back.
“Yeah, don't let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
She rolls her eyes and groans. “Great.”
The waitress drops off our food and disappears again without a word. As I watch her dart back into the kitchen, I can't help but laugh again. Holly just grins and shakes her head. She takes a bite of her pasta and her eyes roll into the back of her head as she makes a noise more suited to a porn than a restaurant.
“I take it the food is good?” I ask.
“This is amazing,” she says. “Better than the cheesy Capone statue would lead me to believe.”
I take a bite of my dish and have to agree – it's damn good. Far from being the pre-packaged, highly-processed crap most restaurants in Vegas serve to the tourists, this stuff tastes homemade.
“I have to try yours,” she says.
I slide my plate over and she takes a big forkful of it. Holly pops it into her mouth and lets out a groan of sheer delight.
“That is incredible,” she says.
I nod. “I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with the food here.”