I watch her face as I say the words. “And it’ll be a step to you giving me a chance.” She is mid chew when I say it, and she just looks at me. I know I should go easy, but I finally have my chance to lay it out on the line. “Besides, all the other things I’ve tried to get your attention with have fallen flat.” I ignore my sweaty palms, trying to stay cool, calm, and collected, and I hope to fuck she can’t hear the pounding of my heart.
“By getting my attention,” she says now, cutting her steak roughly. I can tell by her tone that nothing good is going to come from this. “Was it flirting with me and leaving with a different woman each time?” She looks up at me. “I mean, that first time I met you. I left you, and by the time I finished peeing, you were dry humping someone by the bathroom door.”
My mouth hangs open now. “I’m not just about the women,” I tell her and cut my own steak. “Do you want me to grab a paper, or do you want to go first?”
“Did you actually write the questions?” she asks before she takes another bite.
“I did,” I tell her. “This morning when I was having coffee.”
Her eyes go back to looking at her plate and coming up. She puts down her fork and knife and puts her hand in the bowl to grab a piece of paper. “So I ask you this question, and then do I have to answer it?”
“If you want to,” I tell her. “What’s the first question?”
“What do you like to do on your day off?” she asks.
“Is it off-season or during the season?” I counter her, and she sits back in the chair. “Off-season just chill at home and watch a couple of movies. During the season, same,” I say, chewing a piece of steak. “What about you?”
“On my day off, I usually go for a run, depending on how hot it is, and then I hit up a market, and then”—she looks down—“I like to bake.”
“Really?” I say, shocked. “Baking like Grandma Nancy’s brownies or baking like banana bread?”
She laughs now. “My favorite is key lime pie with a graham cracker crust.”
“Will you marry me?” I ask, laughing, and she shakes her head, putting down the piece of paper on the table. “My turn.” I pick a paper out of the bowl and open it. “Name a moment that changed your life.”
“My parents dying,” she says right away. “Even though I was too young to understand it or even realize it, it changed my life.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, putting the paper down and placing my hand on hers. “I didn’t know.”
“I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if they were still alive,” she says. “Now don’t get me wrong, Grandma Nancy was the best, and I wouldn’t change her for the world. But I sometimes wonder if I would even still be in Dallas if they were alive.” I watch her eyes blink away tears.
“You’re a strong, strong woman,” I say, and she doesn’t say anything.
“So what is yours?” I can see her trying to take the focus off herself.
“That’s easy.”
“I swear.” She grabs the glass of wine. “If you say this date, I’m going to drown you in the pool.”
I slap my hand on the table and laugh. “For the record, that wasn’t what I was going to say.” I smile when she glares at me. “Seventeen years old. Second overtime period, game-winning goal in the playoffs.” I think back to that moment. “There was a scout in the stands, and I didn’t even know.”
“That must have been the best night,” she says, and I love that she gets it. “I can’t imagine.”
“It was a good one,” I say. “Your turn.” I point at the bowl. She sits up and mixes the papers around.
“Watch it, I put the dirty ones on the bottom,” I say when she picks the last one on the bottom. She looks at me and then looks at the paper. “I’m just kidding.” She opens it. “Or am I?”
She reads the question and just looks at me. “It’s not a dirty one.”
I snap my fingers. “Shucks. I really wanted to know what color of panties you were wearing.”
She shakes her head, ignoring what I just said. “What is one thing that you can’t stand in a relationship?”
“That’s an easy one,” I say, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long sip. “Untruthfulness. Lying. Secrets. All of it. I can’t do it.” I look at her. “No matter what you say about me or what you think about me, I will never lie or keep anything from you. Ever. Even when I would meet girls, they knew going in that even one lie was a game changer for me. I won’t do it to you, so you don’t do it to me.”
“That’s a big, big declaration,” she says, looking down as she sets the paper on the table.
“It is what it is. If there is no trust, there is no relationship,” I say. She just nods, not adding anything else. I reach into the bowl. “Favorite season.”
“That’s easy, winter,” she says, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Me, too,” I reply. “Is it because of hockey?”
“That, and we live in Dallas. There are only so many one hundred degree days I can take.”
She leans over and grabs a paper. “What was your longest relationship?” She folds the paper and looks at me expectantly.
“Seven months,” I answer her. “Five years ago.”
“What?” she gasps. “That is your longest relationship?”
I nod my head. “It was.”
“Seven months?” she repeats. “Seven?” She holds up her fingers.
I nod my head, chewing. “She wasn’t the one. So I wasn’t going to waste her time or mine,” I say, and look at her. “I was also twenty-five, but still.”
“How do you know that after only seven months?” she asks.
“It was just a feeling I got. I wasn’t head over heels for her.” I try to find the words to explain. “My parents have been married for forty-six years,” I say. “They were both eighteen when they got married. From the first day my dad laid eyes on my mother, he knew. She says the same thing. It’s actually really cute when she tells the story. Her eyes light up like it was yesterday. It was a chance meeting, and back then, there were no cell phones and social media to stalk each other.” I smile, and she just laughs. “It was a knock on the door, and can I take you out for ice cream kind of times.”
“Oh my God,” she says, leaning forward with her arms crossed on the table. “That is so fucking cute. Tell me everything.”
I chuckle, taking a sip of my water. “There really isn’t much to tell. They dated for six months before he saved enough money to buy her a ring. It was a tiny thing, and even though he has money now and wants to replace it, she refuses to have it replaced.”
“Do you have a picture of them?” she asks, and her eyes light up. I take out my phone and open my photos and find the one I took of them at Christmas in front of the Christmas tree. Mom’s hugging his waist while his arm is around her shoulders.
“Here they are at Christmas. We had it here since it was easier with my schedule.” I hand her the phone, and she just smiles and looks up at me.
“You look like your dad.” I nod my head. “Can I swipe, or will there be surprise pictures?”
I shake my head and chuckle at her ridiculousness but then nod my head for her to continue. She keeps swiping, looking at all the pictures.
“The two of them have been inseparable since they got married,” I say as she looks at the pictures. “The minute she is sad or upset, he can feel it. If he’s having a bad day, she knows it even before he comes home. They laugh together, and they celebrate together. There were times that she would be cooking, and he would walk up to her just so he could kiss her. I want that.”
“Forgive me for saying this,” she says, putting my phone down, “but you aren’t exactly seeking the kind of woman who wants the white picket fence.”
I chuckle and lean back in my chair. “You got me there.” She takes a drink of her wine. “But that was then, and this is now. I’m thirty years old. It’s time for me to grow up, as my father and mother say. Besides, I want that. I want to have the w
hite fence and to love someone so much that I feel lost without them.”
She laughs. “It’s cute that you are still scared of your parents.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not scared of my parents. I just don’t want to let them down.” I watch her when I say the next sentence. “It’s why I will only get married once. When I say the vows, it’s going to be forever, and it’s going to be to someone who is as head over heels for me as I am for her.” She swallows and avoids making eye contact with me.
“Things change,” she says, looking at me. “People can change over time. Sometimes divorce is better than staying in a marriage that is empty.” She shrugs and smiles. “I’m going to start cleaning up,” she says, pushing away from the table.
“But we still have more questions,” I say. I’m tempted to ask her about her last relationship, but something tells me it’s not what she wants to discuss. I lean in now and take the top paper. “What is the most romantic thing that someone has done for you?”
As I watch her, I wonder if she’ll sit down and answer or just ignore it. I’m holding my breath, hoping she just goes with it. “I don’t want to answer that,” she says, sitting down and pouring herself another glass of wine. I can see that she’s nervous.
“Why not?” I ask, tapping the paper on the table. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask you another question.”
I put the paper down and take out another question. “A movie you can watch over and over again.”
“Notting Hill.” She answers this one without thinking twice. “I’m just a girl in front of a boy asking him to love her.” Her eyes shine. “What about you?”
“Mighty Ducks. The Flying V gets me every time,” I say, and she just throws her head back and laughs. I can watch her every night, I think to myself. I can sit down with her every night and ask her questions. The feeling scares me just a bit, and I grab my water just to keep my hands busy.
She finally stops laughing and looks at me. “Ask me the question again,” she says, her voice going low. I don’t move. I just look at her. “The last one.”
I sit up again and grab the paper, opening it. “What is the most romantic thing that someone has done for you?”
She looks up at me and then looks down at her hands. Her hair falls in front of her face, and she tucks in a piece behind her ear. Her eyes are so light as a shy smile curls her lips. “I don’t want you to make too much of this,” she says and finishes her wine for the liquid courage. “This,” she says softly. “This, right here, is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me.”
Chapter 15
Layla
My heart hammers in my chest almost as if it’s trying to get out, and my mouth is as dry as the desert. “This, right here, is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me,” I admit, and just from his smile, I know it was the right thing to say. This whole dinner has knocked me on my ass.
“Is it really?” he asks. His brown eyes turn a soft amber color, and I wonder if his cheeks hurt from smiling.
“It really is,” I admit. “It’s also the most thoughtful.”
“Does this mean you might say yes to a second date?” He winks, and I throw my head back and laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much on a date before. It’s so carefree.
“Relax there, Romeo,” I say and finally get up and start clearing the plates. “Why don’t we see how the rest of the date goes first?” Standing, he places his hands on mine to take the plates from my hands and puts them back on the table.
“You are not cleaning the table,” he says. “I’ll clean it up later.”
“I think there is a universal rule that the cook doesn’t clean.”
“There is also a universal rule that says when a gorgeous woman agrees to have dinner with you, you don’t make her waste her time cleaning up.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.
I shake my head. “Okay, fine.” I sit down. “Let’s finish these questions.”
He slaps his hands together. “Please pick the what color is your panties one.”
I slap the table, laughing. “White,” I tell him, and he laughs. For the rest of the night, we go through the questions, and none of them are about my panties. They are actually all thoughtful, and we get to know each other better.
“I have to get going,” I say, getting up. “I have a show to prepare for.”
“I’ll go and get my keys,” he says and walks into the house.
“I can take an Uber,” I tell him.
He looks back over his shoulder at me. “For twenty-five K, you best believe I will deliver you to your front door,” he says. I watch his ass as he walks away. “I know you’re watching me,” he says, not turning around.
“How do you know that?” I shout.
“Because if you walked away from me,” he says, stopping and looking at me, “you can bet your sweet ass that I’d be looking at you. Now let’s go.” He motions with his head. I start walking toward him, and he puts his hands on his hips. “See, I’m totally checking you out.”
“Smooth,” I say, and we walk through his house together toward the front door. The car is parked right out front. He opens the car door for me, and when we get to my house, I look over at him as my hand comes out to grab the door handle. “Thank you.”
He puts his back to the car door, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “The pleasure was all mine.” He looks at my house and then back at me. “I know that you’re expecting me to kiss you right now.”
“Oh my God,” I say, opening the door and putting one foot out. His hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me from getting out of the car.
“I want to kiss you,” he says softly. “But I don’t want you to kiss me because you think you have to. I want you to kiss me because you just can’t help yourself.” He lets go of my hand. “One of these days, gorgeous, you are going to beg me to kiss you.”
“Always so sure of yourself.” I get out of the car but then lean back in. “And just for the record, I would have let you kiss me.” His mouth opens wide in shock, and I close the door.
Walking up to my front door, I feel his eyes on me as I put my code into the front door. As soon as I get into the house, I slam the door without looking back to see if he was watching. I lock the door, and only when I hear his car drive away do I drop my head against the door and let myself relax.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, expecting someone to answer me. Pushing away from the door, I walk farther into the house without bothering to turn on any lights. Hearing my phone ding in my purse puts a smile across my face.
Miller: I had the most amazing time with you. Thank you for making today MY most romantic date ever.
I sit on the bed looking at the text but don’t respond. I’m not sure what to say when another text comes through.
Miller: Also I totally checked you out when you were walking away.
With a laugh, I put the phone down and slip off my shoes. Heading into the bathroom, I turn on the dim lights as I walk to the shower. The whole day plays over in my head as I lean back under the stream and let the warm water flow over me. His words play over and over in my mind. Marriage is a one-time thing for him. I can honestly say that he shocked the shit out of me with that one because I had him pegged as a bachelor for life—a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am kind of guy—and nothing like the man who had dinner with me.
He was compassionate, he was kind, he was genuine, and he was attentive. He wasn’t the cocky, arrogant guy I had built up in my head over these years, and for that, I felt horrible. I turn the water off and step out of the shower. Grabbing the white plush towel, I wrap it around me. I slip into bed naked and close my eyes, and all I can see is his smile. My night is filled with dreams of the kiss he never gave me.
The next morning when my alarm goes off, I stretch to grab my phone, then scroll up to see what I missed while I was asleep. A couple of emails, an Instagram alert, and then finally a text from Miller about an hour ago.
Miller: Have a
great day, gorgeous.
I think about answering him, but instead, I open my emails, and I get sucked into Instagram. I scroll my feed and then my notifications when I see that Candace commented on Miller’s latest post. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I click the picture.
It’s the picture of the dishes on the table, and the caption is:
When you’d rather look into her eyes and hear her laughter than clean up.
I click on the comments and see several hundred women begging to have dinner with him. Candace leaves one, calling him a smooth operator. By the time I reach the end of the thread, I’m rolling my eyes, irritated that it bothers me. I make my coffee and go back to my bedroom to dress for work.
After grabbing a pair of blue jeans and a white spaghetti strap shirt that I tuck into the front, I slip my beige cashmere long sweater over it. My open-toed boots complete the look. I toss my phone into my bag without looking at it again and then grab my coffee and make my way over to the studio.
I see Brian when I walk into the studio, and he holds up his hand to wave to me. I put my coffee and my water down on the desk and grab the earphones. “Testing,” I say, and he nods.
The show begins, and I start off. “Hello, everyone, and welcome to the show. I’m your host Layla Paterson with my trusted producer, Brian.”
“Happy Monday, everyone,” Brian says. “How was your weekend?”
“Uneventful.” I look at him, and he just smiles at me like he knows something.
“Well, I heard that you won a certain auction over the weekend,” he says, and I nod my head.
“I did, and I’m so excited to say that one lucky listener is going to be attending the winter classic game right here in Dallas.” He shakes his head. “With a meet and greet with five of the Dallas players.”
“Wow,” Brian says. “Nice giveaway.”
“It is. Why don’t we take a caller and see what they thought of the game on Saturday,” I say, and I click on the first flashing button. “Welcome to the show.”
“Hey, Layla,” the male caller says. “Hey, Brian. I have a beef to pick with the team.”
Only One Chance Page 9
