fact, but I’m afraid if I go into details of just how fine you really look, you’re going to start blushing again and I’m going to start thinking things that I shouldn’t and we’re not going to have dinner at all. So let’s just leave it at fine for now.”
Okay, if his intention was to leave me speechless he’d just accomplished it. I didn’t know how to respond.
Nothing about the way Jackson was behaving fit into my image of him from all the things Ben had told me about his uncle. This man beside me now almost seemed, well, human.
The maître d apparently was an ‘old friend’ as well because he didn’t even bother with looking at his nice little reservation book, in spite of the fact that the place was still busy and there was a crowd waiting to get in.
“Right this way, Mr. Riley,” The maître d started toward the back of the restaurant to an area closest to a wall of windows that reflected the downtown area. It was then that I almost stopped dead in my tracks, which forced Jackson to stop as well. He looked down at me with questions I didn’t want to answer clear in his eyes.
Now why all of the sudden when I’d had sex with this man more times than either of us could ever actually remember was I so concerned about all the other women he’d brought to this place? What did it matter to me, Miss Saturday Night who would be following me up on Monday?
Of all the places in the world, why did I suddenly remember I had a conscience here in the middle of the restaurant? The answer was simple. This wasn’t Saturday night. It was Sunday and I didn’t know what to expect next. He’d thrown me for a loop. Nothing up to this moment in my life had equipped me to understand what a man like this really wanted from me besides, well, the obvious.
The friendly maître d seated us at a cozy table away from the crowd and just close enough to the small band that played those old-fashioned sappy love songs. But not too close so that conversation was strained to my regret. I really didn’t want to try to make polite conversation.
After the hovering waiter took our orders then left us alone, we sat in that uncomfortably awkward silence of two people that didn’t know what they should be saying to one another. What kind of relationship was this anyway? I’d seen him naked more times, than I’d seen him dressed, but the truth was we didn’t have a thing in common.
As my fingers played nervously with my napkin, I found myself wondering had we ever really even talked? I couldn’t remember anything even close to a conversation before. Mostly angry words, accusations and…well, best not to go there.
“Relax…” The object of my frustration told me in that soft seductive voice he’d been using on me since we’d met.
I tried to think of something to say to him, something that we might actually have in common with each other to spark something resembling a conversation and end this terrible awkward silence. I couldn’t look at him because I knew if I actually lifted my eyes and met his I would find him watching me.
“Have you talked to Ben yet?” Okay, so I probably should have tried a little harder to find a safer topic for conversation. Jackson’s frustrated sigh confirmed this.
“Look, Maggie, let’s set some ground rules, okay.” I was still trying to figure out what he saw in me beyond my Miss Saturday Night status when he reached across the table and took my restless hands in his, startling me so much that I forgot I wasn’t looking at him.
There was no anger in his eyes. No frustration. Just the look of someone who was just about as confused as I
Okay, if his intention was to leave me speechless he’d just accomplished it. I didn’t know how to respond.
Nothing about the way Jackson was behaving fit into my image of him from all the things Ben had told me about his uncle. This man beside me now almost seemed, well, human.
The maître d apparently was an ‘old friend’ as well because he didn’t even bother with looking at his nice little reservation book, in spite of the fact that the place was still busy and there was a crowd waiting to get in.
“Right this way, Mr. Riley,” The maître d started toward the back of the restaurant to an area closest to a wall of windows that reflected the downtown area. It was then that I almost stopped dead in my tracks, which forced Jackson to stop as well. He looked down at me with questions I didn’t want to answer clear in his eyes.
Now why all of the sudden when I’d had sex with this man more times than either of us could ever actually remember was I so concerned about all the other women he’d brought to this place? What did it matter to me, Miss Saturday Night who would be following me up on Monday?
Of all the places in the world, why did I suddenly remember I had a conscience here in the middle of the restaurant? The answer was simple. This wasn’t Saturday night. It was Sunday and I didn’t know what to expect next. He’d thrown me for a loop. Nothing up to this moment in my life had equipped me to understand what a man like this really wanted from me besides, well, the obvious.
The friendly maître d seated us at a cozy table away from the crowd and just close enough to the small band that played those old-fashioned sappy love songs. But not too close so that conversation was strained to my regret. I really didn’t want to try to make polite conversation.
After the hovering waiter took our orders then left us alone, we sat in that uncomfortably awkward silence of two people that didn’t know what they should be saying to one another. What kind of relationship was this anyway? I’d seen him naked more times, than I’d seen him dressed, but the truth was we didn’t have a thing in common.
As my fingers played nervously with my napkin, I found myself wondering had we ever really even talked? I couldn’t remember anything even close to a conversation before. Mostly angry words, accusations and…well, best not to go there.
“Relax…” The object of my frustration told me in that soft seductive voice he’d been using on me since we’d met.
I tried to think of something to say to him, something that we might actually have in common with each other to spark something resembling a conversation and end this terrible awkward silence. I couldn’t look at him because I knew if I actually lifted my eyes and met his I would find him watching me.
“Have you talked to Ben yet?” Okay, so I probably should have tried a little harder to find a safer topic for conversation. Jackson’s frustrated sigh confirmed this.
“Look, Maggie, let’s set some ground rules, okay.” I was still trying to figure out what he saw in me beyond my Miss Saturday Night status when he reached across the table and took my restless hands in his, startling me so much that I forgot I wasn’t looking at him.
There was no anger in his eyes. No frustration. Just the look of someone who was just about as confused as I
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