I manage to slip my credit card to the server while Carrie is in the restroom and am signing the receipt when she slides back into the booth. I ignore her mumbles under her breath while I place the card back in my wallet. Glancing up at her, I smirk at her stance. Sitting back with her arms across her chest, she’s trying to look angry. And failing miserably.
Instead, she looks sexy as hell. Her long hair is curled tonight, the locks brushing the tops of her breasts. The fitted black long-sleeved top she’s wearing has a cut out right at her cleavage, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve settled my gaze on that spot a few times tonight. Neither of those points compete with what her jeans do for her ass. Again, not ashamed to have lingered on that as she walked in the restaurant ahead of me.
“I said I wanted to buy dinner, Matthew.”
“Too bad, so sad. Say thank you and let’s go. You don’t want to miss a minute of the show.”
Rolling her eyes, she slips on her jacket and grabs her purse before moving out of the booth. I gently guide her through the restaurant, my hand on her lower back. When we get to the door, a couple is entering but the man stands outside holding it open as we step through and out onto the street. He smiles at me as his wife mumbles something like “young love” before stepping through the door. I don’t bother to correct him.
It’s a short walk to the concert so we fall in line with the masses and quietly make our way to the Convention Center, enjoying the evening. Until we arrive and Carrie groans at the long lines.
“Have no fear,” I say as I grab her hand and tug her away from the crowd and to a door marked “VIP.”
Pulling the tickets from my back pocket, I hand them to the woman standing at the door with a scanner. The sound of the beeps confirming our VIP status is music to my ears as we are ushered through the door.
“Umm… how much were these tickets?” Carrie asks, still letting me hold her hand as I walk us through the masses and toward the concession stand.
“Not too much. Okay, what are you drinking? The hard stuff is only served at the main bar and you can’t take it out to the seats. So beer, one of those spiked teas, or wine?”
She looks from the concession stand to the sign with directions to the bar. As much as I’d love one more whiskey before I switch to water, I also don’t want to miss any of the show. Beer it is.
Carrie, on the other hand, is still deciding. “Not a beer and wine fan?” I ask, squeezing her hand.
Looking down at our linked fingers, she lets out a gasp and snatches her hand back. I’ll ignore how much that sucks. For now.
“I hate beer and no way I’m drinking fake spiked tea in a can. That’s just wrong on so many levels. I guess wine it is. But be warned. It goes straight to my head. I cannot be held responsible for the extreme giggling that may occur.”
“Giggling is never a bad thing.”
“You say that now. I’m not exactly a quiet person.”
“Eh, I think I can handle whatever you throw my way,” I say before stepping up to the counter to order our drinks.
Then, I almost crash into the kids next to me when Carrie pushes me out of the way to pay. When I start to protest, she places her hand on my mouth to shut me up. On instinct, I stick my tongue out and lick her hand. It’s the same move I do to Calypso when she tries to keep me quiet. I’m happy to report it has the same effect on Carrie as it does my sprite.
“You are disgusting,” she groans, wiping her hand on my shirt.
“And you are making it hard for me to be a gentleman.”
“It’s a beer, Matthew. Relax. Now, take me to the seats so I can get my concert on.”
Laughing, I shake my head and motion for her to follow me. Again, afraid I’ll lose her in the crowd, I take her hand in mine. It’s only because she’s small and could easily be lost. I don’t care if her little hand feels pretty damn good in my hand.
We make it to our seats just as the house lights dim. The crowd roars and Carrie stops in her tracks. Turning to look at her, the darkness doesn’t stop me seeing her stand with her mouth open. I guess she’s finally figured out just where our seats are.
Leaning down, I whisper in her ear. “Get ready to have your mind blown. Seeing them this close is the only way to go.”
Without another word, I tug her along and down the aisle toward our floor seats. I wasn’t kidding when I said up close is the only way to see Blind Fury. The three hundred bucks I owe Kevin for his ticket are worth it as the guys take the stage and Carrie’s face breaks out into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. With the first strum of the guitar and beat of the drums, she starts swaying her hips, taking a sip from her wine. I stand next to her, watching her in my peripheral as she sings along to every song. Her cup is empty and I take it from her, waving it to see if she wants another. Nodding, she smiles and turns her attention back to the band.
I make quick work of going back to the concession stand to get her another wine. While I’m there, I grab us both a bottle of water and myself a bag of candy. So much for my shoot in a few weeks. I’ll just have to work extra hard tomorrow with my workout. As I return to our row, Carrie is now in full dance party mode. Her arms are over her head and her hips are moving in a circular motion. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was using an imaginary hoola hoop.
Standing next to her, I hand her the wine. Before she takes the cup from me, she wraps her arms around my neck and jumps up and down, pulling my neck with her.
“Thank you for this! I’m having so much fun!” Her voice is extra loud in my ear, but it’s the warm breath skirting across my skin that I notice most of all.
I don’t bother answering, nothing can be heard. Instead, I give Carrie her wine and unscrew the top of my water just as she shifts so she’s standing in front of me. Her hips are swaying and her ass bumps into my crotch more than once. To save myself and any future children that I may father, I rest my hand on her hip and slow down her moves.
Bad decision. She’s gone from her own dance party to a seductive slow bump and grind against me. I have a feeling giggles aren’t the only thing wine does to her. From the way she’s moving, I think a little hellcat lurks inside her and wine is its catnip.
Apparently I was wrong. I may not be able to handle everything she’s throwing my way.
Chapter 14
Carrie
The volume on the radio is low in Matthew’s truck. Or maybe it’s at normal volume and my eardrums haven’t normalized yet after a three-hour show plus two encores.
It. Was. Amazing.
Matthew wasn’t lying when he said up close and personal is the way to go when seeing Blind Fury in concert. I still question his truthfulness about what kind of a deal he got on those tickets, though. Not that I’m pushing it. I’m grateful he took me out on the town. It was one of the best night’s I can remember in a very long time. Unfortunately, it’s about to get super awkward.
Part of the reason I wanted to meet him close to the venue was to avoid the whole walking me to the door scenario. It’s always uncomfortable when you don’t know if there’s going to be a good night kiss or just a hug. Am I supposed to invite him in for drinks? If I do, does that mean I’m offering him sex?
It’s a whole anxiety filled process for me that I don’t enjoy.
Right now I’m trying not to think about it. I want to enjoy these last moments of the world’s best… date. Not a date. Just friends. Or is it a date?
“Tell me about your blog.”
Matthew’s surprising question breaks me from my nervous thoughts. I look over at him, the light from streetlamps making his face dodge in and out of shadows as we drive.
“Hmm?” I ask, not certain what he wants to know.
He smiles playfully at me and tries again. “Tell me about your blog. I know you review books, but how did you start? Why do you do it? Give me the skinny on Carrie Mibooks.”
I roll my eyes at his use of my blogger name. It’s less about anonymity and more about having an online
persona, something I’m sure he’s familiar with. I wouldn’t know since I don’t follow him on social media. Although maybe I should change that now that we’re dating. Or concert buddies. And co-parenting a squirrel. Whatever. Man, I’m a lightweight. Three glasses of wine and I already overthink everything.
“Well, I guess it’s pretty standard. We’ve been blogging for about five years and we’ve got a bit of a following.”
“We?” he asks, keeping his left hand on the wheel, leaning his right arm on the center console. “Who’s we?”
A wine giggle bursts out of me because that question is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard for no reason whatsoever.
“Have you even read my blog?”
Matthew bites back a shy smile, those damn dimples that sell thousands of books on full display. Busted. “No. But have you looked up my portfolio?”
“I don’t have to. Your picture was on my corkboard, remember?”
He doesn’t even try to hide his amusement this time. “Okay, okay. You win. As soon as I get home, I’ll pull up your blog and read the whole thing, start to finish.”
That’s a lofty goal for a man who hasn’t even read the book he’s on the cover of. “That will take hours, if not days. Maybe just read some of the most recent stuff. I think Celeste posted something new today. I can’t remember.”
“Who is Celeste?”
“She’s my blog partner. I review books and she does theater, musicals. Things like that.”
“So it’s not just a book blog? I’m confused.”
I think about how to answer his question. Originally, we started out only reviewing books, but realized quickly that Celeste’s passion was more in the performance arts than in the written word. It was just a tiny hobby back then. Not the explosion to include followers and advertising space like it is now. It doesn’t make enough to pay the bills or anything, but my Australia travel fund is growing steadily. I don’t tell Matthew all that, though.
“We’ve discovered that there are a couple different kinds of reader,” I explain. “The first loves books more than anything. They will choose a book over television, movies, a party, even dating.” Matthew’s eyes widen, clearly shocked by someone voluntarily missing out on the opposite sex for the written word. “It’s not uncommon for them to devour two to three hundred books a year.”
“A year?” he exclaims. “I don’t think I’ve read that many in my entire life!”
“Obviously you aren’t our demographic. Now I know why you haven’t looked at it yet,” I joke and catch his eye. For whatever reason, in this moment we end up holding gazes. I don’t know how it happened, but here we are.
This is exactly the kind of walking to the door moment I was afraid of.
Clearing my throat, I face forward quickly and continue babbling. “The other kind of reader is more about the story, whatever form that comes in. They love books, but they also love music, plays, and musical theater. They just love hearing a well-woven tale.”
Well-woven tale? Geez, Carrie. How much did you drink tonight?
“And which are you?”
“I am sort of in between,” I admit. “I can do some theater, but if my nose isn’t in a book, you’re more likely to find me binge watching Netflix originals.”
“I’m more of a Prime lover myself,” Matthew states and I can’t help but look over at him again. “That Jack Ryan is a pretty awesome guy.”
I raise one eyebrow in question. “Got a bit of a man crush, do you?”
Matthew just laughs as he pulls into my driveway. “There are worse people to crush on.” And then he turns serious when he throws it into park and looks over at me. “And way better people to crush on.”
Umm… is that his way of saying he has a crush on me? Way to throw me right back into my awkward anxieties as soon as we get back to my place.
“Come on,” he continues without realizing the turmoil I’m feeling, “let’s get you inside.”
Matthew hops out of the truck, but it takes me a few seconds to pull together my nerves before I grab the door handle. Of course, he’s already there, opening the door for me, helping me down, holding my hand all the way to the front. Manners. Matthew has manners in spades. If I wasn’t so damn nervous, I’d be excited about all the physical contact. It’s nice being treated like a lady, not just the woman who smells like rodent.
“I had a really nice time, tonight,” I remark, trying hard to turn on some false bravado as we stroll up the front path.
“Really? With as many books as you’ve read, you use a cliché end of the date phrase like that?”
Just like that, the false bravado leaves so my sarcasm can rear its ugly head. “You’re right. How about this?” I turn to face him, stopping on the front stoop. “I had fun, man.” And I punch him on the shoulder. “Better?”
He chuckles lightly, dropping my hand to rub his shoulder. “Not even close.” Grabbing me, he pulls me to him, and I know what’s about to happen.
He’s about to kiss me. Ohgod, he’s about to kiss me. What do I do? I don’t want to kiss him!
But maybe I do. Do I? I don’t know anymore.
Relax, Carrie. Just go with it…
Quickly, I position myself for maximum kissage and we lean in, but at the last second I change my mind and turn the opposite direction so he kisses my ear. My ear!
Matthew immediately pulls me into a hug, his chuckles bouncing me against his body while my hands hang at my sides like noodles. No matter how I stand here or how amazing he smells, and dang he smells good, I can’t hide my own humiliation. He was going for a kiss and I turned.
This. This is why I don’t like the end of dates. I always end up doing something stupid that makes it awkward. Fortunately, my good friend Convention Center Pino Grigio is giving me a tiny bit of bravery to face this situation head on.
“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I really like you.” I pull away from our embrace to finish this conversation. “But I’m not interested in a physical relationship.”
He chuckles lightly again, but I can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or for some other reason I’m missing.
“You know I wasn’t trying to kiss you, right?”
And cue more humiliation. Apparently I read this entire situation wrong.
“Uh…” Think Carrie! Use your wine brain to turn this whole thing around! “Then it looks like we’re on the same page. See ya.”
I swivel to my door and quickly try to thrust my key in the lock, but Matthew grabs my arm first.
“What do you mean we’re on the same page?”
“We’re not getting physical. You. Me.” My hand flies around willy-nilly between us in my effort to emphasize who I’m speaking about. “You don’t wanna sleep with me. I don’t wanna sleep with you,” I ramble, fumbling with my keys as I try to get out of dodge. Unfortunately Wine Brain also comes with Wine Fingers and I can’t get anything to work right.
“Who says I don’t want to sleep with you?”
“You just said you didn’t.”
“No I didn’t.”
Frustrated at my lack of coordination, I huff. “It’s fine, Matthew. I’m celibate anyway.”
I did not. Just. Say that.
Yep. Yep, I did. And everything comes to a screeching halt with that one little sentence. Closing my eyes tight, I pray that when I open them again, I’ll have been dreaming.
No such luck. Instead, Matthew is tugging on my arm to turn me around.
“Wait. You’re celibate?”
Oh good. Just the kind of conversation I wanted to have after a first date/concert/meeting, whatever.
“I’m not judging,” he says, but no one actually means that when they say it. “I’m just curious… why?”
This is the conversation I don’t like having with people because it’s always awkward. One of two things usually happens—they assume I need to overcome some sort of trauma, or it’s laughed off like it’s a joke. But as I look up at Matthew, I realize he’s not asking for entert
ainment purposes. This isn’t about getting a good, personal story out of me. It’s like he can see that there’s something more there.
“I already told you I wasn’t interested in a physical relationship,” I say quietly, hoping that’ll be the end of it.
“That’s different than being celibate.”
“So?”
“So I know you’ve dated before, which tells me there is a reason for your celibacy. And as your friend and the father of your baby squirrel…” I smirk, because yeah. That was kind of clever. “I feel like it’s important.”
I distance myself from him and cross my arms over my chest. Normally, I wouldn’t be so likely to open myself up, but a couple things are running through my mind. One, he let me come over for dinner and I know he doesn’t usually bring women around his daughter. Or at least, I assume. Regardless, I know it took a certain amount of trust to do it. Two, he told me about Calypso’s mom which is a pretty personal story. And three, Pino Grigio.
Damn that Pino.
“I’m not a virgin so it’s not about keeping myself pure or anything like that.”
“So then what is it like?”
I peek up at him, his bright green eyes sincere and focused only on me, rapt attention on his face. I’m not getting out of this without spilling my guts so I might as well do it before I sober up too much.
“It’s a well thought out, personal choice.”
“I figured out that part already.”
I bite my lip and look to the sky momentarily. The concept itself is simple, but sometimes I feel like it’s hard to explain. I’ve come this far though. I might as well try.
“I just… I think relationships today are too sex focused. Especially in the beginning. I sort of expected it in college. That’s when you are exploring who you are and what you want out of your life. You know what I’m talking about.”
Model Behavior Page 11
