by Lexi Scott
Our dinner arrives before I can say anything, and we sit in comfortable quiet for a few minutes while we ingest the most amazing food that’s ever hit my mouth. Damn, Lydia was right for once. In a big way.
“This is amazing,” Maren moans, wrapping her lips around a forkful of Gai Pad King. I never imagined watching a girl take a bite out of her dinner could feel like foreplay, but I’m ready to push my plate away and take her home right now.
“I’m so glad you like it. I was hoping you’d be happy with everything tonight.” I start to eat, but stop when I notice she’s laid her fork down and is just staring at her food like she has no idea what it is. “Maren? Are you okay?”
She pushes her plate and the candle and wine to the side, leans over the table, then grabs my collar and yanks me close to her. I’m half out of my chair, her hands coming up soft on either side of my face.
“Maybe I’m not ready for you, yet,” she whispers, her lips sometimes brushing mine. “I want to be. You have no idea how much I want to be.”
I would worry over that cryptic message, but I don’t have time to think. Because her mouth presses against mine, hard and hot, sweet and soft, her tongue licking the seam of my lips and dipping into my mouth with possessive flicks that drive me fucking crazy.
I’m about to rip the tablecloth off and throw her on the tabletop without giving a damn who’s watching or what they’re thinking, but she pulls back, her cheeks pink and her lips so gorgeous, puffy, and a deep red. She leans back against her chair and presses a hand to the place where her blue dress dips low, just over her heart, and tries to catch her breath.
I sit back, too, not bothering to right anything because I like the fact that she roughed me up. That she wants me as much as I want her.
“I just…” She rights the tablecloth with a dainty tug, rearranges her place setting, and shoots a sheepish smile at the other couples gawking from the surrounding tables. When she looks at me, there’s this complete satisfaction that, I swear, changes the color of her eyes and the shape of her mouth. “I just wanted to thank you. For an amazing date. For being so amazing. For being you.”
She takes a long, thirsty sip of her wine, and I try to collect my thoughts, but I’m so rock-hard and turned on, I don’t know what the hell to do. She gestures for me to eat, so I do that, breathing slow and focused to try to get my body back under control. The problem is, every time I look at her, I start to feel wild again.
I mean, I guess it’s a problem. Or maybe it’s just a problem I don’t want to find a solution to anytime soon.
I’ve never experienced anything like this. I’m overwhelmed by incredible food, but I don’t want another bite. I want her. I love that there’s this elegant atmosphere here, the good music underlying all the chattering conversation, the smiling people making everything feel at ease, because this is what she deserves on her birthday. But I don’t want elegant or reserved— I want to be wild. I want her.
She’s all I want, and I want her now.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, breaking through my thoughts.
Part of me wants to tell her. Why the hell not?
Because I’m not a complete dick.
“Just thinking about what you said, about going away with Deo. About life changing so fast, I feel like I can’t even keep up.” It’s an improvised answer, but it’s not all that far from the truth.
“It must be hard.” She scoops up every last scrumptious bite of food on her bone white plate. “Since you and Deo were so tight for so long, it must be hard to suddenly have to get used to someone else in his life.”
Her eyes are heavy-lidded and sad with that obvious remorse that comes from knowing how it feels to not be included. I hate that she spends so much of her life on the outside looking in. I hope I can start making that change.
“Not at all,” I correct her gently. “Deo and Whit… They make so much sense together. She loves him exactly the way he is, and it’s like, if I could have picked a girl from all the girls in the world to be Deo’s soul mate, I would have picked Whit.” And I admit the thing I’ve never really told anyone else, because it’s half embarrassing. “Plus, I kind of love being around her. When I broke up with Kensley, I had a pretty shitty opinion of girls in general, but being around Whit gave me hope I’d find someone amazing. Someone who I click with the way she clicks with Deo.”
Maren runs a fingertip over the scroll pattern on her fork. “Mmm. So you kind of had a crush on her?”
I laugh and rub my neck. “Wow, way to make it awkward, Maren.” She looks up, surprised, but I wave off her shock. “I’m joking. But maybe not totally joking. Because I guess I did kind of have a crush on her. Or maybe not her exactly. It was more like I had a crush on what she and Deo had together. And… I know this sounds stupid, but it made me embarrassed to be with Kensley when I saw how right they were together. Like I was the world’s biggest fraud.”
Maren leans forward so far I can see all the lace edging the top of her bra, her eyes big with excitement, her lips parted to spill her eager agreement.
“Not stupid at all. I used to watch other couples who were so nice to each other, so in love, and I’d wonder if that was possible. With my situation, I kind of gravitated toward hookups and no-strings-attached relationships because I thought ‘fun’ would be enough. But that kind of connection isn’t real. And I was too scared to risk anything more.” She clamps her mouth shut and blinks too fast.
I consider how lonely she must have felt, how many completely normal aspects of her life she was forced to give up so she could take care of her father, and it makes me so damn frustrated I want to break something.
“It must have been hard to be that isolated when things were so rough.”
When she looks up at me, the sadness in her eyes knifes me directly through my heart.
“I’ve been so incredibly lonely. My dad isn’t exactly the best company, and I dropped out of college, so I had no friends after I moved into this new apartment. Every once in a while I’d meet up with someone who was basically a good time and a warm body, because sometimes you just need that. I mean, I’m human. I can’t go without other humans, even kind of shitty ones.”
I push back from my nearly empty plate and wish we’d never started down this path. But fuck it. Maybe first dates don’t have to be all schmooze and romance. Maybe it’s better if they get real fast, because then you can see if the person you think you might want to make forever happen with will even be able to handle your shitty past and present.
“Deo hated Kensley,” I admit. I’ve never told anyone that, though anyone who knew the both of them would have guessed it in a second. “He thought she was shallow and a user. He thought she had no sense of humor. That’s pretty much the kiss of death, right? No sense of humor? What could possibly be worse?” Maren opens her mouth, all sweet pink lips and eager eyes, but I don’t give her a chance to answer. “You know the craziest part? If Deo gave me his opinion about a taco stand or a wave or a shirt or a band, I’d listen to him no question, because he’s pretty much the best person I’ve ever met in my entire life. But I never listened to him about Kensley, the girl I planned to marry and spend my life with, and he wound up being totally right.”
She reaches across the table, but there’re too many plates and glasses in the way, and she never quite connects her fingers with mine.
“I get that. I lost a lot of friends because I didn’t listen when they told me I’d be better off with my mom and Rowan. And worse than all that?” She takes a deep breath and lets it leak out in a wobbly whoosh, staring down at the candle flickering on the table. “I knew for myself, in my own gut, that I was in way over my head. So why the hell did I let myself sink into all that? When did I become the kind of girl who just stayed in a bad situation because it was too hard to walk away?”
Her face has so much self-hatred plastered on it; it makes me pissed.
“Hey. Hey. Look at me.” When she looks up, I don’t let her look
away again. “You don’t have a fucking thing to be embarrassed about. He’s your father. His addiction is complicated. You’ve kept things going as long as you could, and you should be proud of that. Damn proud. You’re an amazing woman, Maren.”
She doesn’t seem like she takes my rousing speech to heart, and I follow her eyes when they get wide and take on a forlorn look, all orphan-like.
“Speak of the devil.” She puts a hand to her throat and gulps the last few sips of her wine quickly. “Wait. What the hell is Murdock doing here?”
An older man with a messy beard and ill-fitting clothes is moving across the room, listing to one side like a ship with a hole blown in it. I recognize the dead-eyed guy at his side in an instant. Murdock. They’re with a guy in a suit who’s shaking hands with the manager.
Shit. Probably the PR guy Rocko mentioned. I guess they passed on going out of town after all.
“Hey, sweetheart,” her dad slurs as he beelines to Maren, placing a sloppy kiss on her temple. “Cool place, right? Murdock got us a meeting with this PR guy who said this is the place all the artists hang out at. Have you noticed a waiter around? What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink, right?”
Her father pats Maren’s shoulder absently and totters off, while Murdock shakes hands and laughs loudly with the PR guy.
Fuck! I should have known if Lydia recommended a place, it would wind up being douchebag central. But why did it have to be this particular douchebag on tonight of all nights?
Much as I hate his damn guts and would love to let him know it, I’m hoping he just moves on to his table and leaves us the hell alone. I want tonight to be special for Maren, and having her father and his druggie friend crash isn’t what I had in mind at all.
But it’s like Murdock’s bleary eyes have searched out their target, and when they scan the trendy crowd and come to rest on Maren, there’s a little gleam of glee in them.
Despite my Jedi command for him to back the hell off, he says something to the PR guy and heads to our table, bumping a few people in their chairs on the way over. By the time he gets close to us, his heavy breath gives away what his uneven steps had me guessing: he’s drunk—or high—as hell.
Shit. I should have dealt with this instead of trusting he’d stay away today.
“Maren,” he says, drawing her name out like a forbidden word. “Fancy meeting you here. I always thought you were more an obscure taco stand type girl. I actually remember inviting you here and you said, and I quote, ‘It’s just not my type of place.’ So I guess I’m a little shocked to see you. Care to explain?”
Maren’s eyes meet mine, and she begs me to forgive her as she flicks her gaze to her father, who’s across the way trying to grab at a busboy’s arm and beg for a drink. I hate that she thinks she’s somehow to blame for the way her father and his asshole friend are acting.
I’m trying so damn hard to keep calm, to be cool, to get my temper under control. I nod quickly, letting her know I’m here if she needs me— What I really want to do is throw her over my shoulder and get her the hell out of here and away from this scumbag.
“Murdock, I never took you up on your offer because you’re a fucking creep who’s using my father’s name to bolster your own shitty career,” she says, her voice so cold it could frost the wine in the glasses.
That’s my girl!
Murdock sways a little on his feet and grips the back of her chair with white-knuckled fingers, his hand almost touching her back.
“Well, whatever the fuck the reason was, you’re gonna regret it. Since the day your old man brought me around you treated me like I was dog shit on the bottom of your shoe. You turn me down every time I ask you somewhere, even somewhere nice, and I’m not good enough, but this asshole is? Here’s something for you to think about. I’m here with a PR guy from a major record label, and you’re here with—who? Someone’s gardener?”
She gasps and bites her lip, and he seems excited to see her uncomfortable.
I only have so much patience.
“That’s fucking it,” I lash out, my voice low. “You need to leave, now, before I call the cops.”
“Cohen, it’s okay. He’s just a washed-up loser who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut,” Maren says. I can tell her words are all bluster by the way her lip is shaking.
“Aw, did I hit a nerve? You know what’s funny? That’s half the reason I was so into you. I had a feeling you liked to slum. You pretend to be some goody goody, but you’re just a nasty little—”
They both startle when I topple my chair back, jumping to my feet, my rage fully unleashed.
It’s probably not fair that Murdock is as drunk or high as he is, but any sympathy I may have had for his incapacity went out a smashed window when I heard what he said to Maren.
“Shut your fucking mouth and leave this table right now,” I warn him.
I know he’s not going to back down, so I cuff my sleeves up as he opens his mouth to say something I just know is going to give me good reason to land a punch on his pretty boy face.
“I can talk to Maren anywhere, anytime I please, asshole. This is a free goddamn country. Why don’t you fuck off and find some nice Mexi—”
He wasn’t about to stop. He was going to disrespect Maren, it was going to get racial, and I wasn’t standing for a single second of it.
Pulling my arm back feels amazing. Maren’s shriek doesn’t feel quite as good.
But then my fist slams into Murdock’s mouth, and that feels beyond fucking incredible. I’m stoked that he isn’t so out of it that he can’t swing back, and swing he does. A nice wide arc of arm slashes my way, and his fist hammers under my jaw and detonates an explosion of sparks behind my eyes. Then his other fist wails up and whacks me square in the nose, giving me the perfect excuse to punch the bastard back.
His efforts throw him off balance, and he knocks over a chair at the table next to us and topples back. I yank him up by his collar, because I don’t hit an asshole when he’s down. When he sways back and forth on his feet, I slam into his nose twice, fast, and smash the side of his face.
For a single, spectacular second, there’s just the slow-motion twist of his body and the fine spray of blood as he drops to the floor. The entire scene has a dreamlike quiet.
Then the sound and action rushes back at hyper speed. Maren is beating on my back, screaming in my ear. The manager and several staff members are rushing forward. Maren’s father, a drink clutched tight in one hand, rushes over as best he can, smashing into waiters and customers as he does. He looks from Maren to me to Murdock on the floor, his brain too addled to process what he sees.
The manager is screaming and pointing at me, and it’s then that I realize I might be in deep shit. Luckily, Murdock sits up woozily.
“I’m fine,” he yells, holding his gushing nose. “He took a cheap shot. Just get this border jumper out of my face.”
“Hey now,” her father yells.
I lunge at Murdock again, but Maren yanks my arm back, and the manager sics two dark-skinned busboys on me. Luckily, their investment in causing me any harm only goes as far as getting me to the doors, where their boss can still see them.
“Good fight, man,” the younger one says in heavily accented English. Murdock picked a particularly stupid slur. If he stays at the restaurant, I’d wager he’ll ingest a pound or two of scorned busboys’ bodily fluids hidden in his food and drinks. “You beat the piss out of that asshole.”
The other claps me on the back. “That guy is such a pendejo. He can besa mi culo. He had it coming. Nice job.”
I gasp and nod, thanking the guys between wheezes. I’m glad when they walk back in, and I can try to catch my breath in private, until I realize I’m all alone with Maren. She looks totally disgusted by me.
Shit.
Some girls love a guy who fights. Kensley would orchestrate fucked-up scenarios for the thrill of it, because she knew, even if I was furious at her for starting crap, I’d never back down if I thought
she was in trouble—even if it was trouble she brought on herself, for the sheer drama. But Maren is obviously more dove than hawk.
I lean over, blood dripping out of my nose and onto the sidewalk. I glance up at her, my hair in my eyes. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” I argue, though she hasn’t said a single word.
Her mouth opens and shuts like she’s searching for something to say back to me, but she settles on just shaking her head. I want to pull her close, tell her that I’m sorry I messed things up on our first real date, but my nose is still spurting blood, and I feel a little bit like I might pass out any second.
“Give me a minute. I’ll take you home.” I tilt my head back and feel Maren’s cool hand on my neck.
“You stupid ass,” she mutters, bending my head forward with the gentle press of her fingers. “You’re just making the blood drip down your throat. Tilt forward.”
She leads me to the curb and we sit. She tightly clamps her fingers at the bridge of my nose.
“I’m sorry.” I try to look over at her, but her wrist blocks my view of her face. A few long seconds tick by. “Apology not accepted?”
Her sigh shifts her entire body. “That’s not it at all. I told you my life is complicated. I told you no matter how hard I try, there’s no easy fix. All I wanted was one nice date, and look how it turned out? My father is like a black hole right now. He sucks away everything good and just…ruins things. It’s bad enough he ruins things for me. I can’t have him… I can’t have him screwing up your life, too.”
“Nothing is ruined,” I protest.
“Are you serious?” She lifts a hand to my face. “You got kicked out of a nice restaurant. You’re bleeding—” She fumbles in her purse for a tissue.
