No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (7 page)

“I haven’t looked at the menu.” I scramble to find it and realize it was left on our old table.

“No problem,” the waiter says and looks to Aaron. “Would you like a moment or do you want served what we discussed?”

My eyes dart from Aaron to the waiter and back. Aaron replies, “Why don’t you give us a few more minutes?”

I open my mouth to ask what he had discussed with the waiter, but Aaron cuts me off and asks the question again. “Do you still work for your ex-boyfriend’s father’s company?” He reminds me of a bird dog—when he wants answers, he doesn’t like being distracted.

“Yup. And I have the honor and privilege of also seeing him and his wife and their three darling kids every Sunday at mass.” That deserves a big swig of wine.

“Do you still love him?” The brim of his fedora shades his eyes, but his voice betrays a hint of unease, as if the answer to this question is important.

I want to see him better. “Will you remove your hat?”

“Why?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I feel like if you’re asking that personal of a question, and you expect me to respond honestly, I should be able to see your eyes.”

The stony expression on his face melts into a gentle smile. He removes his hat and places it on the seat of the chair at the table next to us. He shakes his head back and forth and then uses his hand to tussle his locks.

His hair is long—just a bit past his chin—and the color of gold. It’s gorgeous by any measure, but for a guy it’s particularly pretty. It’s messy and he would probably think that he needed a brush, but I had never known until this moment that long, pretty hair on a guy could make me feel so flushed.

“Your hair is beautiful.” I sound dreamy, and quickly take a sip of wine to hide my embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he replies. He leans forward in his seat and takes my hand. “Do you still love him?” Each word is pronounced.

I don’t hesitate. After many years of exploring this on my blog, I know what the answer is. “I love the idea of him.” Aaron nods and looks pleased with my answer. “He’s smart, successful, and has a family. Not to scare you off on the first date”—I hold up my glass in a mock toast—“but I want what he has. I want to be married and have children. To answer your question though, no, I don’t think I ever really loved him as a person. He was a means to achieving my goal.”

“Ouch.” Aaron drops my hand, leaning away from me. An ugly scowl mars his features. “So you used him?”

“No,” I quickly reply and shake my hands in defense. “I thought I loved him. Hell, I was crazy about him. I doodled his last name paired with mine. He played football for LSU, and I wore his number and went to every game. But did I love him like I couldn’t live without him? Well, obviously no. Here I am, eight years after he broke up with me, and I’m living just fine.”

This conversation is getting way too deep for a first date. I want to know more about Aaron. So far, it’s been all about me. “Give me a sec to look over the menu. What did you discuss with the waiter?”

With a devilish glint, he says, “I’m not telling you. You can either play it safe and order exactly what you want or you can take a chance.” He shifts in his seat, resting his arms on the table. “Roll the dice, MK. Are you willing to gamble?”

I have a feeling he’s talking about more than just dinner. Cocking one brow, I say, “When you were background-checking me, did you pay extra to find out my dietary preferences?”

A pleased look crosses his face, and he tilts his head to the left, causing his hair to cover one eye. I’m so tempted to lean forward and tuck it behind his ears, but really I just want to touch it to see if it’s as soft as it looks. “No need. I watched every video on your YouTube channel.”

My mouth must be hanging open, because he adds, “Apparently you can learn a lot about someone from social media.”

The waiter steps up to our table, and without breaking our eye contact, Aaron says, “Let’s go with what we talked about.”

The waiter nods and disappears down a hall.

There’s a part of me that feels very offended—almost as if I caught him rummaging through my panty drawer. The other part of me is flattered he was interested enough in my passion to give the countless hours of videos a watch. The guy must not have slept. I feel so off-balance. This evening is anything but predictable in a good and bad way.

Leaning back in my chair, my finger touches my chin. “What exactly did you learn?”

His cocky grin grows wide enough to reveal his cosmetically altered white teeth as his cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. “You’re creative. I learned that from the different tutorials on restoring and repurposing furniture. My favorite video was when you turned a trashed copper fire pit into a planter with red, yellow, and orange flowers.”

Nodding, I add, “It’s right outside of the carriage house, and my neighbors sometimes join me for a glass of wine around it in the spring and fall.”

“You’re a great cook. The comments on your cooking videos are positive.” With a tilt of his head, he says, “Should I rattle off the different dishes you prepared?”

“No need. I actually believe you watched them.”

He reaches over and grabs the edge of the seat of my chair and yanks it hard enough that I slide next to him. Aaron turns me so we’re facing each other almost nose to nose. I can smell the cinnamon of his breath mints, and my mouth waters for a sample. He places a thumb under my chin and raises my head so I meet his eyes. Softly, he says, “You also don’t give yourself enough credit. You settle for guys who want you to fit into a mold that’s not you. You’re smart, funny, self-deprecating, beautiful, and one of the most intriguing people I’ve ever met. Quit trying to be something you’re not. Just be you, because you’re fucking awesome.”

When he’s done with his speech, he releases my chin but drags the edge of his hand up the side of my cheek. His presence is larger than this room. Instinctively, I lean into his touch, wanting more of him. Our eyes meet. There’s a connection or understanding of something more. My ribcage expands. The only way I can describe it is what it must be like when a blind person experiences vision. Emotions that I’ve never felt ricochet from my heart to my stomach and then move lower. I’m not sure if I’m going to cry or throw up or explode, but whatever it is will not be good and I don’t want Aaron to see.

Wobbling on my high heels, I stand and race for the girls’ bathroom. Thank goodness I’ve used it before and remember where it is. It’s not occupied so I enter, slamming the door behind me. Floral wallpaper decorates the walls—flowers so bold and bright they’re garish. There’s a chaise lounge to my right. I stumble to it and all but collapse. My head goes between my knees, and the loud pants escaping my throat tell me that I’m having a panic attack. I haven’t had one since I started my blog. My phone is in my coat pocket at the hostess stand so I can’t call anyone for help. I take deep breaths in and exhale, trying to stop it in its tracks.

My concentration image enters my mind. It’s chocolate chip muffins coming out of the oven. I imagine how delicious they smell. Aaron’s standing next to me and eagerly wanting one.
No!
Don’t think about him. Muffins. Think about muffins which are now cooled off enough that I can pop them out of the pan. The chocolate is gooey, and I’m licking it off of Aaron’s taut stomach, and I crave him like I’ve never hungered for another man before.

I lean back. “What’s happening to me?” The huge flowers on the wall don’t provide me with any information.

I’ve had one-night stands before. They’re between two people who are both horny and mutually getting each other off. These aren’t those emotions. Crazy thoughts ping-pong around my brain.
The chemistry is real. Aaron is real. I’m falling for a guy, and I don’t know his last name.
His touch.
He wants me like I want him.

There’s a knock on the door.
Oh God. I’m not ready to go back to the table yet.
“Just a moment,” I call, attempting to sound as normal as possible.

“Open the door, MK,” Aaron orders in a deep, raspy voice.

He’s the last person I want to see right now. I’m not rational. I’m so confused. This level of crazy no one needs to witness. Is he feeling the same way? Is he as desperate for me as I am for him?

I don’t let myself go down that path.
He’s a guy who’s just looking for another short-term fling. Guards up, MK. Don’t let your heart get trampled on.

“I can’t. Please just give me a moment.” I sound like I sucked helium as I silently plead for him to please give me that moment I asked for.

“I’m counting to three and so help me God, I will kick the door in.”

Well, that’s not very rational.

“Why? Why would you do that?” I ask, leaning against the cool oak door and begging him for space.

“One . . . Two . . .”

I fling the door open wide while I pray I can keep myself appearing normal.

He looks wild. His hair is tussled, and his eyes are wide. He steps just inside the door and closes it behind him. “Why are you hiding from me?” he demands. “Did I say something wrong?”

About five different replies flow across my brain, but instead I go with honesty. “Because you scare me. You say stuff and touch me in a way that makes me feel things, and I don’t understand what I’m feeling.”

Reaching up, he drags a hand through his hair. His head turns to the side and his shoulders relax as he starts laughing.

And so do I. “Okay. That wasn’t very well thought out.” I’m so embarrassed, and I know I’m about as red as a lobster. “Can I have another try at articulation?”

He sits down on the chaise, leaning back and crosses his right leg over his knee. “Sure, MK, because right now I’m feeling a bit like this is the inappropriate touch lecture in third grade.”

I love how relaxed he looks. His jacket has been removed and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. His messy hair and playful smile tell me we’re back on an even playing field.

Standing in front of him, I sigh as he takes my hands. “This is hard for me.” Glancing at the ceiling for inspiration, I say “Here goes. So you see.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

He gives my hands a squeeze, and an amused smile plays across his lips. “Look, we’re in the ladies’ room of a locally popular restaurant. Whatever you need to say, spit it out so we can get back to what I thought was nice dinner conversation.”

“Never mind,” I say, dropping his hands in frustration with myself and turning to leave. I feel so stupid. I just want to go home, put on my comfy PJs, and eat a gallon of ice cream. I’m too socially unequipped to go on a date. Now it’s clear to me why Bella was so harsh. They were the words I needed to hear. Tripp appreciates my awkwardness—and he’s probably the only one. That should trump chemistry any day of the week.

Before I can process what’s happening, Aaron pushes me against the wall and takes my mouth in an all-consuming kiss. Our teeth bang into each other making a clanking noise. His tongue doesn’t ask for permission and forces its way into my all-too-eager mouth. My toes literally curl in my shoes. I reach up and wrap my right hand around his neck, pulling him tightly against me. He grabs my behind and pushes me against his very hard erection. Time stops. It’s as if we’ve entered our own world. It’s just the two of us alone on this planet, and all I can think about is him. His other hand grabs my behind as he hoists me up against the wall. My gorgeous dress bunches around my hips while my legs wrap around his waist. We consume each other’s mouths as I hump him fully clothed. My tiny panties and the rough denim of his jeans keep us apart, but there’s no doubt he’s just as turned on as I am.

“Ride me,” he instructs as I press my breasts against him. “I feel the same about you.” He nips at my pulse point on my neck. “Confused by the attraction.”

“I want to fuck you,” I tell him as my fingers tangle in his hair. It’s just as soft as I imagined. I berate myself for saying what I’m feeling out loud. I don’t want another one-night stand. I just want more of whatever this is that’s happening between us, and I don’t know how to ask for it.

“Oh God, MK, shut up,” he pants. “I love your dirty mouth.” He trails kisses along my jaw, and a moan escapes my lips which is so loud I’m embarrassed.

Deciding that I’ll never see him again after this, I reach down and fumble with the button on his jeans so ready to have a one-night stand in a fancy restaurant bathroom with this guy whose last name I don’t even know. I’ve already blown any chance of a second date with him. Why would he want a fumbling, awkward, girl when he could have his pick of women? He doesn’t need to settle for someone who sounds like a bumbling idiot.

“Stop. We can’t do this.” He pants as he gently releases my behind and grabs my waist steading me before letting go. Aaron turns his back to me, and I want to cry. God, I’m so hot and bothered. My vagina throbs. I can’t ever remember being this turned on. Why did he stop? I just threw myself at him. Inwardly, I die a little. Am I that unattractive that he turns down a sure thing?

Beyond embarrassed, I shimmy my dress over my hips and smooth it down.
Please God, send an earthquake to New Orleans. I’ll never ask for anything else again. Amen.

Aaron drags a hand through his luscious hair before he turns around to face me. His eyes are heavy with desire, and I can smell how much I want him. “You’re better than being fucked in a restaurant bathroom,” he says in a tight voice.

In my head, I scream,
No, I’m really not. I can do public bathrooms, back seats of cars, or really any place you are. We aren’t seeing each other again so at least I’ll have a taste of what chemistry is.

Apparently the expression on my face says it all because he walks to where I’m standing and rests his hand on my cheek. His expression is soft and angelic—his touch callused but tender. “Why do you doubt yourself, sweetheart?”

He takes my hand and leads me out of the restroom and back to our table. I self-consciously glance at the waiters. If they know what just happened, they do a great job of not revealing it.

Aaron looks unscathed. His appearance is sex-god gorgeous while I feel like a hot-wired bundle of nerves. A napkin drapes over his lap, shielding his erection while I wear wet panties. His face is relaxed, as if he’s watching a morning polo match. I feel like a cat on a burning hot roof. I want to go home so I can think about what just went down in the ladies’ room, but I don’t want to leave Aaron’s presence. I crave more time with him—more of his attention.