by Brisa Starr
Either way, I don’t want to seem too eager. I leave my hair down but clip back the pieces around my face, so they won’t tempt me to touch them. I don’t want to fidget around him, and I know I’ll be nervous enough as it is.
I go down to the living room and stand in my I Spy Luke spot. I see his car in his driveway, and he should be here to pick me up in a few minutes. With nothing better to do while I wait, I grab my book and start reading. Five seconds later, I close the book as my nerves flare on and off like a flashing neon sign. I cannot read a book right now. I set it down and get up to pace by the door.
A minute later, the doorbell rings, and I’m right next to it.
I jump and yank the door open.
10
Ash
“Hi,” he says, and a ripple charges through my core. God, he’s too gorgeous. “That was fast... Were you standing there waiting for me?” he teases, his eyes sparkling like green emeralds.
I’m overwhelmed by the handsome god before me, and I stutter, “N-no... of course not.” Then, I look at him like he has four heads to convince him.
“I... um, I just happened to be on the other side of the door, when you rang the doorbell.” I shrug, covering my tracks. God, that sounded dumb. I suck at lying.
I open the door to let him in while I grab my purse. He’s wearing navy blue shorts that make the sexy blond hairs on his tan legs take on a warm glow, and a heather gray T-shirt stretching over his cement-hard chest. Does he buy shirts that are too small?
I’m tempted to touch his tanned forearms, corded with muscle. But I resist.
“Um, OK... well, let’s go,” I say and usher him out, just as he is stepping inside.
I walk past him, and as I close my eyes, inhaling his intoxicating manliness, I almost lose my footing on the porch steps. Almost. Please, Ash, no tripping today.
Then I wonder if it’s OK to imagine him naked, on a regular basis, now that his groin is healed. I wonder how big his c...
He catches up to me and interrupts my naughty thought. We walk across the street to his house to get into his Range Rover. I’m wondering if he’ll get my door. I mean, I don’t expect it or anything — it’s the 21st century, women can vote now, too. Plus? Key fobs — beep beep. They make it so ambiguous what’s going to happen. Oh, here he com… oh, no he doesn’t. He’s getting in on his side. Guess I’ll open my own door. That’s OK. He’s still a gentleman. Maybe it’s not really a date after all. Poop.
As I slide in, the smells of leather and Luke hit my nose, and a lazy grin of appreciation spreads across my face.
“Is your car new?” I ask?
“A few months old now, why?”
“It still has that new car, leather smell,” I reply and take another inhale. “My car hasn’t had that smell in almost a decade, but I love her, so I keep resisting my dad when he tells me it’s time to upgrade.”
He gives me a wolfish smile, and it sends sparks skittering across my already nervous body. He turns back, his face straight ahead, and starts the engine.
“It was my first car,” I continue. “Dad bought me a Volvo because it’s ‘safe,’” I laugh.
“He’s right. It’s a good car. Though you could just get a new Volvo.”
“Nah, I like Cherry Berry.”
“Cherry Berry?” He chuckles and pulls out of the driveway.
“That’s her name,” I smile with pride. “I’ve put a lot of miles on her driving back and forth to Flagstaff when I went to college. But these days, I only drive about seven miles a day, so she’s in good shape.”
He nods in agreement, and we’re off on our lunch da… thing. I’m still unsure of what to make of all this, but I’m taking it one minute at a time.
We’re driving into town when he says, “You look great, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I blush, and a shy smile tugs at my lips. So do you.
He pulls into a parking spot. “With your health-conscious ways, I opted for Green Box instead of fried food at the diner.”
“Wonderful man,” I say, with a tone of approval. Then I look away from him before I drool.
We go inside and walk up to the line at the long counter.
“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” I say, and my breath gets shallow as he steps right up behind me. He’s not even touching me, but I can sense his closeness. I try to keep my attention focused on the whiteboard menu. “I love that you can choose the vegetables you want, and the different proteins, to create your perfect bowl.”
“Mm hmm,” he mumbles from behind, and I can feel his breath on my hair. My nervousness pushes more words out of my mouth, “And they have the best lemonade. Oh! And it’s sweetened with stevia, which means no sugar in it. It’s fantastic!”
He moves to my left and looks at me. “You’re pretty passionate about stevia.” He smirks. “What else are you passionate about?”
A nervous giggle bubbles in my throat, and I swallow it before it turns into insane laughter, as I face the fact that I’m here. On a date. Maybe. With Luke.
“Gosh, lots of stuff, I suppose,” I reply. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”
The trendy, fast-casual restaurant is hopping with people. I hum as we check out the menu board. I like seeing healthy-food restaurants busy like this, because it means more people are eating better.
“Well,” he says, “as this is one of your favorite places, and you are the expert, then you can order for me, since you’re my physical therapist, and you know best.” He smiles, and then corrects himself, “Ahem, I mean, you were my therapist. Now you’re my date.” He turns to face me, and I keep my face forward on the menu hanging above, but my eyes look over to him. He’s smiling like he just caught his prey.
Oh my god, this is a date!
My nerves go into high alert, and my eyes dart around the place. I swallow and say, “Yes, it is good I’m not your therapist anymore. I’m pleased that you’ve almost fully recovered.”
He steps closer to me and whispers, “I’m feeling much better. Because of you.” And there’s promise in his words that seem to go beyond physical therapy, but I don’t know what he means.
I can feel things escalating… there’s an energy between us, and now I know it’s not my imagination. My belly starts to tingle, and my heart feels like it’s doing somersaults in my chest.
But I push the pause button on my nerves, and they comply long enough for me to order us each a Caesar Kale Salad with sliced, grass-fed steak on top — they say that two people eating garlic can’t smell it on the other person. Or so I hope. And two lemonades. Luke pays, and thankfully carries our trays to the table, or I might have been wearing our food by now. If I was clumsy in his maybe-friends presence before, I’m sensing a whole new world of clumsiness I’m about to enter. Romance-level clumsiness!
Romance?
Don’t be silly Ash, he’s leaving. Just because it’s a legit date doesn’t mean it’s anything serious. My enthusiasm dials down a notch. But I’m still delighted to be here with him.
We find a table in the corner of the crowded restaurant, by the front window. It’s a great place to people-watch, as our window faces the main drag across from the town square.
But right now? All I want to do is people-watch Luke.
We sit down and put our green plastic trays on the stainless-steel, bistro-style table. I smile and force myself to relax.
“I love all the restaurants and cafés on Main Street,” I say, taking my eyes off him to look out the window. When I turn back, he’s staring at me. I add, “The town square is one of my favorite parts of Prescott. It’s so quaint.” I smile and take a sip of my lemonade.
Then, I continue, a chatterbox from my nerves. “I think it’s also cool that Prescott was the first capital of Arizona, and is home to the world’s oldest rodeo.”
“I didn’t know that about the rodeo,” he says, leaning forward. “So, what else do you like?” His eyes are bright and laser-focused on me. It’s unnerving, but sex
y as hell. I want to pinch myself… there was a time when I’d have given my right hip to be in this exact spot, and now that I’m here, I’m a basket of nerves.
I take a bite of my salad and chew for a moment. A long moment, because it’s strip steak and raw kale. Wow, still chewing. My jaw gets a workout from the gnawing. Note to self, order something mushy on future dates.
Future dates? Easy there, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
I finally swallow and say, “Oh, the usual. I love the hikes here, and the lakes, and the beautiful untouched nature. I love exercising outdoors. It’s my favorite way to relieve stress.”
“I’m the same way,” he says, “though you might say some of my exercises are a bit on the more intense side.” He cocks his head at me and raises an eyebrow.
OK, I’m intrigued. “Oh yeah, like what?” I stuff another forkful of steak and kale into my mouth, and before he can answer, he laughs. It was too big of a bite, and I have to use my fork to help shovel it in. Welp, there’s no turning back now. The kale leaves are cut like long ribbons, and they drag creamy Caesar salad dressing all over the outside of my lips and chin as I try to shove it all into my mouth.
I flush at my unfeminine attempts to eat my salad and dab my mouth, while still chewing like a horse, as I grind my teeth and chomp. Kale? Jesus, what was I thinking?
I manage to swallow the enormous mouthful without dying and say, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very ladylike.” I reach for my lemonade and take a big swig, thinking at least liquids should be safe around me. But he’s still laughing, and the twinkle in his sexy eyes makes my heart flutter.
I swallow my lemonade while taking a breath of air, because my lungs suddenly demand enormous amounts of precious oxygen, and the lemonade shoots to the back of my throat.
Fuck my life, it goes down the wrong tube.
I cough horrible, wracking coughs like I’m choking. Actually, I am choking. My face flushes a vivid crimson from the intensity of my hacks, my eyes water, veins bulge on my neck, and a dribble of liquid comes out of my mouth, down onto my shirt. He rushes over and pats my back. Mortified, I hold my hand up like I’m OK, and he sits back down.
After my humiliating coughing stops — including a few raspy stragglers, just for good measure — and I regain control of myself, I say, “You’d think I’d never eaten in front of somebody of the opposite sex.” I dab the corner of my eyes with my napkin. “God, I hope nobody else saw that.”
“Oh, they all saw,” he says, smiling, and I can’t help but laugh at myself. I’d have sunk into the ground with sweaty embarrassment, but his smile prevented that.
He takes a bite of his salad and studies me while he’s chewing. How is it he looks sexy gnawing on salad, and I look like a horse?
Because he’s a wolf!
He smiles flirtatiously, and everything in my world stops. Everything is on pause. I look at him, thinking I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be sitting here having lunch with Luke. A tingle of desire arises, and I’m glad I’m sitting down.
These emotions are all new to me, and they confuse the hell out of me. I remind myself again that he’s only here for a few more days, but you only live once, so I will enjoy the hell out of him. Even if it is just lunch.
So, I take another bite of my salad and pretend that mortifying moment never happened. We settle into our bowls of steak salad with more ease, and I take smaller bites.
We talk more, and I’m relaxed. The topic veers to his work, and he says, “I like wealth management enough. It’s challenging, which keeps it interesting, but the best part is that it’s allowed me to make good connections. Which has allowed me to do what I’m really passionate about, and that’s investing in a startup called LyfeSense.”
His face brightens like the sun, and I can’t help but smile right back. “Really? What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s an amazing company on the leading edge of sensor technology. They’re designing a sensor to detect a range of things just using a smartwatch or phone. Things from cancer, to allergies, to blood sugar, to blood alcohol content, if a person has been drinking.” He leans forward, his sharp concentration sexy as hell.
“That’s impressive. I never imagined anything like that could happen.” I shake my head in amazement. “I mean, like — WOW — when will it be available?”
“Two years at the most, but maybe as early as next year, if things go smoothly with their manufacturing partner in Taiwan. It’s a brand-new technology, so it’s hard to say. But I’m so excited that people will have the ability to check their blood alcohol level on the spot, so they know if they’re OK to drive. And if they blow into the sensor and they’re over the legal limit, there’s a setting that can prevent them from starting their car’s ignition until they pass the test. The app also connects them to Uber or a cab.”
He leans back in his chair and takes a bite of his salad, and I share in his excitement about this. “I can imagine the number of lives it could save. I love it!”
“Yeah, I wish something like this had been available… he trails off, and a shadow casts in his eyes, and he looks out the window. My heart goes out to him, and I wish I could touch him, or hug him. Something to console him. But then his eyes meet mine, and a cheerful brightness crowds out the darkness.
He changes the subject and takes a sip of his lemonade, giving me thumbs up approval as he swallows it. “So, what made you stay in Prescott all these years?”
“Well, my dad is here, and I want to be near him,” I say and push my food around with my fork. “As I mentioned, it looks like he has early stages of dementia, so I’m doing everything I can to stave it off. Some things have helped a lot, and he has more good days than bad.” I take a small bite and chew my food thoroughly to prevent any more near-death choking attacks.
“What kinds of things are you doing?”
“I’ve read so much about dementia in the past couple of years, hundreds of studies, and I’ve implemented a whole range of interventions. For example, he has about 20 vitamins and supplements he’s now taking for his brain. Things like gingko, ginseng, turmeric, bacopa monnieri, et cetera. I keep him on a fairly strict diet, too, though he complains about that sometimes. Thankfully, he’s a fan of anchovies and liver! But he’s tired of all the coconut oil I make him eat.”
“Have you ever tried that Bulletproof Coffee stuff?” he asks. “Coffee and butter… I think?... It’s supposed to be good for brain fog.”
“Yes! Coffee, butter, and MCT oil. It’s tasty. I make him one for breakfast most mornings. Well, my version of it, depending on the season. Iced in the summer, with whipping cream, and hot in the colder months with unsalted butter. Plus, I add a hefty dose of ground turmeric powder for his brain.”
“That’s cool! I figured it was all hype, but that Bulletproof dude has a café in Santa Monica, and I checked it out. It’s damn good. Super popular with the surfers.”
“I’m also working on getting my dad to exercise more. Brain health has as much to do with socializing, community, and exercise, as it does diet.”
“So, he never remarried?”
I sigh. This topic is a little too personal, so I just say, “No, but I wish he had. After my mom left, he made me the focus of his life, and I think he felt guilty going on dates.”
He nods. “I see.”
We’re both done with our lunches, but I don’t want this to end, and I don’t think he does either... But we see other customers vying for a place to sit.
“I guess we should leave and let someone else have our table,” I say and meet his eyes.
“Hm. Yeah,” he says, but neither of us moves. We want to stretch our time together.
He shakes his head like he’s clearing it and inhales a deep breath. Then he stands up and grabs our trays. I stand up too, and he waits for me to pass him. We walk toward the exit, and we set our bowls on top of the trash bins and throw away our napkins and cups.
He holds the door open for me, and we walk outside into the
bright, warm sunshine, a pleasant contrast to the restaurant’s chilly air conditioning.
He places his hand on my lower back, like he’s gently guiding me. He is definitely making his intentions clearer now, and I love it. My body goes from tense to desire as those yellow butterflies start pounding around my stomach. I’m usually the one touching him during therapy, which frankly, was hard to handle despite my veneer of professionalism. But him touching me, because he wants to… it’s more than I can handle, and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Are you OK?” he asks, a spark of some indefinable emotion behind his eyes.
“Um. Yes. It’s just that you... make me nervous,” I admit.
“Nervous?” he asks, concern etched around his eyes.
Eager to dispel any bad thoughts, I pipe up, “Yes, but not necessarily in a bad way. It’s just that you make me shy, I guess.” If he only knew my history of obsessing over him.
He laughs, “You have no reason to be shy or nervous around me,” he says, and he’s so close to me, I think I might faint. Just in time, we get to his car. Oh, what’s this… he gets my door for me. Did something change?
I don’t care.
It’s official.
We drive home, and I relax more. We talk about our favorite music, movies, things like that. Turns out, he hasn’t been to the movies in almost a decade. I think I know why. He hasn’t been in the mood. He hasn’t done much of anything, really, except work. And his “intense” exercise, whatever that means. I tell him about my passion for reading, and after hearing about my exercise habits, work, and taking care of my dad, he asks if I ever go out for fun. I tell him no, unless Reese is in town. From this, he probably gathers that I don’t date much. Or ever. If that’s what he was wondering about.
We pull onto our street, and he parks his car in front of my house, and I chuckle, “You could’ve parked in your driveway, you know.”
“Yeah, but I’m a gentleman.”
