by Nicky James
What if after our date—non-date—he decided I wasn’t worth it? What if he never came back to the club?
I peeked a subtle glance in his direction, wondering again, what exactly his intentions were. Not able to stand the expanding array of questions inside my head, or the silence surrounding us, I hit the power button on his radio and tuned it into a station playing some decent new-age dance music.
Twice I sensed his dark eyes penetrate me, but when I looked at Remy again, expecting to see him irritated with what I’d done, he smiled.
“This okay?” I asked. “It’s kinda quiet.”
“Of course.”
I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes, listening to the music. My body wanted to move, but I was trapped in a seatbelt and sitting, so I could only manage to sway a little along with the beat. When the car came to a stop, I opened my eyes. We’d arrived. Instead of killing the engine, Remy half-turned in his seat and just watched me. His eyes were intense, but not in a bad way like Donny’s. It was more of a warming intense, an encompassing, soul-drawing, mind-stuttering intense. One that caused heat to rise to my cheeks when I realized he was so fixated on me.
The music continued to play, the engine ran, and he just watched me. So, I watched him back, trying for the same intense look. But I couldn’t do it and burst out laughing. “What? Why are you staring at me?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I enjoy watching you.” He paused, seeming to consider his next words. “But I unnerve you, don’t I?”
“No.” I brushed hair from my face. That wasn’t it at all. “I… I just don’t really understand what a guy like you sees in me. I’m not exactly your type. I mean…” I lowered my head, rendered meek by my own inner thoughts. “I mean, you know what I do for a living. And I don’t mean serve drinks and dance. I mean… Well you know what I mean. Yet… you still want to have dinner.”
He turned off the engine and the deafening silence smothered us once again. I couldn’t take my eyes off the middle console, a mixture of embarrassment and shame burning my face. “You’re nothing but a fucking whore.” Abel had told me that enough times, I could hear him loud and clear, like he was sitting beside me, reminding me.
When Remy didn’t speak and his gaze burned hot enough I couldn’t take it any longer, I peeked up. So many unasked questions shadowed his eyes and I feared him bringing voice to any of them because I wasn’t sure I had answers.
Without a word, he reached out and gently put two fingers under my chin, raising my head to look him straight in the eyes. “Don’t presume to know my type, and I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like to be in your shoes. I asked you to dinner weeks ago because I found your personality endearing. That hasn’t changed. In fact, as I’ve come to know you, it’s only amplified.”
“Oh. Umm… okay,” I breathed, unsure what else to say.
Remy removed his fingers from my chin and when I expected a mini bottle of sanitizer to miraculously appear, it didn’t. Instead, he got out of the car, so I followed suit.
The restaurant was as I expected; classy and way outside my comfort zone. It was a far cry from when Ash and I decided to go out for dinner. When that happened, it was generally always fast food.
Lavender’s had fabric tablecloths and cushioned seating. Cloth napkins, silverware that shone and sparkled in the low lighting that came off the crystal chandeliers, and the dishes people ate from were off-white porcelain with floral edging. The glasses were… well… glass, maybe even crystal. No fancy paper cups with straws there or carboard containers or plastic cutlery. I’d be shocked if I could even order a hamburger.
The meals being delivered to tables consisted of foods I’d only ever seen on TV or ones I could never afford; T-bone steaks, lobster tails, fish. At one table, there was a tray of tiny appetizers whose variety of items I didn’t even recognize.
There was no way the amount of money I’d shoved into my wallet would be enough for a salad, let alone a meal. I placed a hand on Remy’s arm to catch his attention before the waitress came to seat us. When he looked over, I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sure this place is great, it’s just…” I dashed a look around the intimate setting and at the men and women dressed for a night out as I stood in skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a faded leather jacket. “I’m sorry.”
I spun and skipped around another couple as they entered before racing out the door. As I made my way toward the main road and the bus stop on the corner, Remy called my name.
“Soren!”
My shoulders fell as I slowed my pace, unsure how to proceed. Who ever the guy was, he’d saved me from hell for weeks. He’d been kind and never once had he crossed, or made attempts to cross any lines. All he’d asked for was dinner. And there I was, running away.
I came to a full stop and turned. He crossed the parking lot, a look of hurt and confusion on his face.
“I’m sorry. This,” I nodded my head to the restaurant, “this isn’t just dinner. It’s a date and I can’t do that. Dating just doesn’t work for me, I told you. No offence.”
Remy shoved hands in his pockets and stopped a good five feet from where I’d stopped. “Soren, it’s just food. Not a date. I respect that.”
“Not here it isn’t. Look at this place. I’m not fancy like this. This is date stuff and—”
“Then we’ll go elsewhere.”
I stared. His persistence didn’t surprise me, I knew he’d wanted this dinner for a while. “I’m not sure you and I have common ground when it comes to eating out. Call it a hunch.”
His lips spread into a warm smile. “Perhaps. So, how about this, let me cook for you. Come back to my place and I’ll make us something we both agree on.”
Narrowing my eyes, I smirked. “Still edging into that dating zone.”
“Just food. I promise. I won’t even light candles.”
I peered down the dark road and considered. It was past seven-thirty and I’d only eaten a couple of waffles that morning. I was starving.
“All right.” My voice lacked conviction and I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was indebted to him. Even if his intentions weren’t good, I owed him. Numerous times he could have taken his opportunity at what I offered but he hadn’t. He’d made it clear enough, I’d even stopped offering. If he changed his mind when we arrived at his apartment, I would probably feel obligated to give him what he wanted. My stomach sank envisioning being drawn down that road. The bliss of the previous weeks drained away.
Fingers under my chin brought me back from my thoughts and he turned my face to his again, like he’d done in the car. It was the second time he’d touched me.
“Wherever your thoughts are straying, rein them in.” I stared into the warmth of his gaze and my body calmed under his light touch. I didn’t even know I’d become so tightly wound. “Listen to me, Soren, I will never cross lines you don’t want to cross. I will respect your wishes and you. I’m not like those other men you see at the club. Please don’t put me in that same category. Let me make us something to eat. Just dinner. We can talk and get to know one another better in a less strained environment, with no pressure on you. Okay? No strings attached.”
Relief flooded my body and all I could do was nod. His fingers left my chin, but instead of retracting them, he moved a piece of my fallen hair off to the side. There was a tentativeness behind his action, like he feared I may not want him to, but I didn’t move and allowed for it.
After a quiet drive through some winding streets, we eventually pulled in to an underground parking garage of an old high rise. It wasn’t an area of the city I hung out in. The buildings there were older, but unlike mine, they were well kept.
Remy parked in what appeared to be designated spots for tenants, and we walked together to an elevator a few spaces down. We rode up in silence, the whine of the gears and rattle of the lift the only noise.
His apartment was at the far end of the hallway and when he unlocked it and ushered me ins
ide I was struck dumb. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to envision what I was getting into until that moment. What awaited beyond the front door stalled me in place. One, his apartment was easily ten times the size of my own and two, it was immaculate. Not just the high-quality suede furniture, area rugs, and solid wood cabinets and tables, but there wasn’t a thing out of place or spec of dust to be seen. It looked like one of those showcase rooms you would see in a catalogue.
Remy removed his shoes, lined them up on a mat by the door beside another pair, and entered the room to switch on a lamp on the side table. The furniture gleamed under the sudden onset of light and I waited for Mr. Clean to pop out from somewhere to give me his thumbs up and sparkling smile.
My gaze danced from one surface to the next, perplexed how anyone could live under such pristine conditions. I’d barely stepped past the threshold and feared breathing.
“Come on in.” Remy didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “I’m going to scour the fridge and see what I can come up with.” He disappeared through a swinging door and left me standing in awe.
Eventually, I kicked off my shoes, leaving them where they landed and called after him. “You sure you don’t wanna cover my feet with those little paper hospital slippers? I can’t promise these socks are lint-free. Well maybe the left one, it’s old, but the right may contain fuzzies. And it’s purple. Purple fuzzies would stand out on this dark carpet and it might make your brain explode.”
When I entered his equally immaculate kitchen, with black granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and brilliant white cabinets, my eyebrows shot up.
“You’ve got to be shitting me!”
Remy glanced over his shoulder from where he inspected the fridge’s contents and quirked a brow, again acting as though he didn’t hear my comment. “How about a creamy, Tuscan garlic chicken over fettuccini?”
I flinched, blinking a few times before answering, “You’re just gonna whip that together?”
He pulled a package of chicken breasts from inside the fridge and placed it on the counter. “Well it will take some time, but yes.”
He continued to withdraw items from the fridge; spinach, sundried tomatoes, and heavy cream. He glanced to a window above the double sink and nodded. “Can you grab me some garlic please?”
I slunk carefully to the window and found a few cloves of garlic sitting on the ledge and snapped them up, before bringing them over to the counter where he was setting up. He’d taken a wooden cutting board and a glass cutting board from a lower drawer and placed them side by side on the counter.
“One isn’t good enough?” I asked.
“One is for vegetables the other is for the raw meat.” He arranged the garlic on the top of the wooden one and paused before pulling a knife from a cutting block.
As he diced the garlic, then the spinach and sundried tomatoes, I watched in awe. He worked with swift skill that told me he cooked… a lot.
Leaving him to it, I wandered the kitchen, unsure where to put myself. I’d have offered to help, but my cooking skills didn’t extend beyond making boxed dinners and the occasional basic casserole. I risked looking stupid and I’d met my quota that day all ready.
As Remy worked, I took in all the little details about where he lived, making a game of sorts in my mind of trying to find something out of place or dirty. I lost the game. The man had some kind of serious OCD or something.
His grocery list on the fridge was organized according to sections of the grocery store. Not a single grain of salt or pepper surrounded the two grinders on the counter and even his kitchen garbage had the corner of the bag tied into a neat little knot so it couldn’t slip into the can unexpectedly and make a mess.
As Remy stirred a sauce he was making on the stove, I finished another lap and came up beside him. “That smells amazing.”
“Tastes even better.”
Without a second thought, I dunked my pinky into the sauce and brought it to my mouth. Before it could touch my lips, Remy caught my wrist. Realizing what I’d done, I looked to him in a panic, expecting him to be upset, but he was smirking. He didn’t release my wrist as he grabbed a small teaspoon from a drawer and drew it along the edge of the pan, through the sauce.
He held the spoon to my mouth. “Taste?”
I dashed a look from my saucy finger, still trapped in his hold, to the spoon hovering at my mouth. Narrowing my eyes, I smirked and didn’t break his gaze as I took the taste from the spoon and licked my lips clean.
“Holy shit, that’s amazing.” I licked my lips again, wanting to ensure I didn’t miss any.
Remy dropped the spoon in the sink and grabbed for a paper towel from the holder, his intention of cleaning my pinky finger obvious. Before he could snag a square, I spoke without thinking.
“I bet you a hundred bucks you can’t lick that off my finger.”
He paused, hand mid-way to the paper towels and seemed to consider my bet. His face was turned away, but when he slowly withdrew his hand from the towels and looked at me, his eyes radiated temptation and lust.
I didn’t expect that.
There was momentary indecision that fought with fascination and eagerness, but he pushed it away and slowly brought my hand and pinky toward his mouth. You’ve got to be kidding. Not breaking eye contact, he sucked my pinky into his warm mouth, trailed his tongue around it and popped it out again. The fine hairs on my skin all rose in unison as he too traced a tongue along his lips making my stomach flip with nerves.
He leaned in, eyes never breaking focus and lowered his voice to barely a whisper, “Never stick your finger in my sauce again. Understand?”
I nodded, too shocked over what he’d just done to manage words. After an intense pause, he released my wrist and turned back to cooking as though nothing had happened.
What the hell did just happen?
Shit, I just lost a hundred bucks.
“And I don’t want your money.”
I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head. How did he do that? He seemed to have some kind of magical mind-reading power or something. I could have sworn I’d just seen an episode on “Ancient Aliens” about that. It would explain a lot. The obsessive tidiness, the self-control, the mental telepathy.
I’m onto you, E.T.
Once dinner was prepared, he plated our food onto dishes that mimicked the restaurant’s, and found silverware in a drawer. They weren’t Walmart brand either; the ones that bent easy and had sharp edges that would cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful. His were stainless steel and fancy.
We carried our plates into the dining room which was an attached extension to the living room. It was almost more intimate than Lavender’s because no one else was there. All the trouble I’d gone to avoiding a date-like setting and Remy’s apartment was ten-times worse.
I had to suppress a moan after every bite. The food was incredible.
I cut a piece off my chicken with the side of my fork and shoveled another heaping mouthful past my lips. “This is amazing,” I said around the bite. “The fanciest thing I can make is tuna casserole.”
When I’d crammed another over-filled forkful into my mouth I glanced up. Remy’s gaze was on me, a subtle lift in the corner of his mouth and gleam in his dark eyes as he slowly chewed. When he caught my eye, he tapped the side of his lip. “You have a little something here.”
Heat rose up my neck and my knee-jerk reaction was to tease him and tell him to lick it off, knowing how it must be driving him crazy. However, remembering my pinky and how that had backfired, I wiped my palm across my mouth, before cleaning it on my jeans. Recognizing what I’d done too late, I dropped my eyes to my food and squirmed in my seat, again wondering why I was there.
He chuckled and I brought my head up, confused by his reaction. He continued eating as though nothing had happened and I gaped, unsure what to think. That was a few times that he’d not been fazed when I was sure he should be and it was baffling.
I shimmied up in
my seat and continued to eat, a little more aware of what I was doing and ensuring I didn’t slop or wind up with another face-full of food.
After we finished, Remy collected the dishes and I followed him into the kitchen where he began cleaning up. In my world, dishes got done when the sink was overflowing or there just wasn’t anything left to eat on. His obsessive need to clean up immediately didn’t surprise me in the least.
“Can I help?”
He added a squirt of dish soap to the filling sink and glanced up. “Sure. You want to wash or dry?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Wash I guess.”
He opened a door to the cabinet under the sink and retrieved a pair of pink rubber gloves. He offered them to me and I snorted. “You wear gloves?”
He made attempts to cover a smile and tilted his head. “You don’t?”
I took the gloves and examined them. “I don’t do dishes enough to worry about dish-pan hands. I mean…” I dashed a panicked look up. “I do dishes. My dishes get cleaned. I just...” I sighed and pulled the gloves on. They felt weird and hot on my hands. “Never mind. So, do you have some kind of system I need to adhere to or do you do dishes like a normal person?”
His eyes gleamed as he watched me, the smile no longer hidden. In the creases of his cheeks were two dimples. “As long as there is no food left on them, we should be good.”
I returned his smile with my own smug one and batted him aside. “Move over Germ-o-nator. I can do this.”
Chuckling, he snagged a towel from a drawer and leaned on the counter beside the sink to watch me.
Using the clean cloth he’d already submersed in the water, I scrubbed a plate clean and held it up. The bubbles and water dripped down its surface and I grinned wide. “See, like a pro. Does this need to go through inspection or do I just hand it off to you?”
He leaned over and flipped the tap on so the water ran at a trickle.
“Rinse.”
I raised an eyebrow and cocked my hip out, resting my hand on it while holding up the sudsy plate. “Ohhhh, so there is a system.”
