Trust Me
Page 10
As he’s putting on his shoes, he says, “You know, it’s not really our second date.”
“How do you figure?” It’s rather cut and dry, unless he’s counting the first night we had dinner at Anna’s.
Still seated on the grass, he looks up at me and counts his fingers. “Anna and Jackson’s.” So, yeah, he’s counting that. He continues. “McKittrick’s, lunch today, this afternoon hanging out, and then dinner tonight.” He’s clicked off five fingers, and he’s biting his bottom lip as he smirks, popping out that delectable right dimple. I tug off my sweatshirt because even though it’s in the low sixties I am quite warm.
I wrap the sweatshirt sleeves around my waist, and he stands in front of me, watching my every move with his incredibly sexy smirk as he awaits my response. I roll my eyes. “Noted.”
We’re seated at an outdoor table right near the water. There are a few boats going across, and almost all consist of a pair, with one person rowing and one person sitting back and enjoying the ride. One white wooden boat holds two guys, another holds one girl and two guys, and another a guy and girl. At the table nearest to us, a girl with pink spiked hair and a couple of nose rings sits with a girl who looks completely conventional in a navy cardigan and braided hair. They’re holding hands. It feels like we’re on a movie set for a film titled Love Is in the Air.
Sam places his hand on mine and pulls my attention back to us. “Would you like to take a boat out after lunch?”
“Yeah, I definitely would. I’ll row you.”
“We’ll see.” He wrinkles his nose and gives me his boyish grin. “So, how was Halloween?”
I grimace. “Let’s just say I don’t remember all of it.”
He lets go of my hand and leans back in his chair. He’s still kind of smiling, but his demeanor has definitely shifted. “Come again? You were wearing a sexy as hell outfit, and you don’t remember the whole night?”
I continue my dramatic grimace. There’s no good response to that question.
“Do you know how many times I’ve looked at your text? That outfit is now your photo in your contact info on my phone. I’ve considered adding it as my screensaver, but I don’t want any randoms to walk by and see you dressed like that.”
His arguments are intensifying as he speaks. Oh, dear. I’m mortified by my behavior, so I struggle with how to explain. Sloppy drunk isn’t my normal. “I know. I’m not proud. We were drinking these drinks called Long Island iced teas, and I was drinking out of a straw.”
He bites his lip and kind of half-frowns, half-smiles. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “I’m familiar with Long Island iced teas. Is that your drink of choice?”
“No. No,” I say quickly. “Never had them before. One of my friends ordered them.”
“How’d you get home?” His expression is pensive. The waitress starts to come by, and he waves her away.
“My friend Delilah. I don’t think you’ve met her yet?” He shakes his head. “She apparently switched to beer. She got me home safe.”
This seems to appease him, because he calls the waitress over and we order.
After we order, he taps his fingers on the table. I think he’s amused, but again, it’s a little hard to be certain. “How many men hit on you? That you remember?”
I think back to the photo I sent him of my outfit. Yeah, I can see why he hasn’t let this drop. I went out to a singles party in Manhattan and got so wasted I blacked out. But nothing bad happened. Flashes of being pressed against a wall, groping Lindsey, come to mind. Delilah coming to my side then pulling me out to the dance floor.
He’s waiting for my answer. “I didn’t hook up with any men. I danced with several.” We aren’t exclusive. It’s our second date. No matter how he chooses to count, it’s our second date. This kind of does put a damper on that feeling of finding perfection in a coffee shop, though. Successful relationships don’t begin with one of the partners in a dark hallway with a stranger. I squirm a bit in my seat. As if on cue, my phone, which is on the table facing upward, lights up. A text comes through.
Lindsey: Please don’t feel weird. Still friends?
After reading the text, I glance up at Sam. I’m pretty sure he just read that text. Crap. This isn’t the way to start a relationship. But fuck. I’m not going to lie. Lying is worse. I sigh. At first my arms are by my sides, but I cross them over me, a hand on each elbow to give myself a little comfort as I spill.
“I kissed a girl.” Damn, I sound like a Katy Perry song. His eyes light up. “Actually, I’m fairly certain we made out. I only remember bits and pieces.” I toy with my napkin and wish for a change in subject.
He cocks his head, and for the first time since we veered into this topic, I am positive he’s fighting a smile. “A girl, you say?” I nod. He fingers his hair, and then both dimples appear. “That’s fucking hot.”
I don’t move from my position with my arms crossed. I relax a bit, since it seems he’s taking this well, but deep down, guilt wracks me. Not that it should. We aren’t exclusive. I didn’t do anything wrong. Stupid, yes. Stupid because I put myself in a dangerous situation.
Our food arrives, and we don’t talk about it again for a bit. While we’re waiting for the check, he bites his lip again and does that half-smile. It’s a look I’m beginning to equate with him being amused by a question he’s about to ask. “Are you bisexual?”
Oh, Jesus. I roll my eyes and huff. “No. Was I turned on? Yes. I think. But am I going to stop seeing you so I can hunt down a woman? No.” I crumble my napkin and drop it onto my plate. “It was the first time I’ve done anything like that. It’s a bit mortifying. I don’t even remember how it started.”
“I’ve been there.” He rocks his head back and forth as if he’s weighing his thoughts. “A long time ago, but I’ve been there. Meaning I’ve been that drunk. I’m from Texas,” he adds while raising his eyebrows for emphasis.
He draws me to him so our knees touch as we sit facing each other. “I don’t want to scare you with what I’m about to say. But I have to tell you that I like you. A lot. And I know we’ve only been out on a handful of dates. You may say two, I may say three or four.” He grins. “But I don’t share. If you and I are doing this, if we’re dating, I don’t want you to date anyone else.”
The tips of his fingers along my wrist send tingling sensations all along my arms, and I have to fight the urge to crawl into his lap and play with his hair. “I don’t want to see anyone else either. I wasn’t looking for anyone on Halloween. I had planned to be Delilah’s wingman.” That plan didn’t work out so well, given my inability to walk on my own probably served as a cockblock.
“And that’s another thing. I know that’s not you.” I smile, loving that he’s just getting to know me but sees me as a good person. That he expects I am a good person. He continues. “But, please, don’t do that again. If you are going to drink cocktails loaded with multiple forms of alcohol in them—with a straw—then please do that with me so I can keep you safe.”
Swoon. The idea that he wants to keep me safe, that he cares, it’s like an aphrodisiac. We are in a public restaurant, and I don’t care. I lean across the table and kiss him. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a tourist with her iPhone snapping pictures. The Boat House in Central Park in fall. It’s hard to get more picturesque or ideal than this.
We walk outside hand in hand as we meander over to the boat rentals. There’s a wait, so we decide to just head back to his place.
As we’re adjusting our bikes and he’s snapping his shoes onto his pedals, he turns his head to me. “Now, just so we’re clear, if you decide you’re curious about women, I’m very open to a ménage à trois.” His shit-eating grin has me rolling my eyes and fighting my own grin.
We bike down to the High Line, lock our bikes, and he swings my backpack over his shoulder as we climb the stairs to the walkway. Once a rail track, it fell out of use in 1980. In 2009, the strip transformed into what is now considered by many to be one of th
e most unique parks in Manhattan, if not the world. The path is lined with wildflowers, small trees, and tons of sculptures.
“So, you made out with a girl. Is that, like, kissing?”
I grin. “You’re not going to let this drop.”
“Hey, I’m a guy. Can’t help but keep thinking about it. And, you know, be a little curious about your definition of making out.”
I bite my lip. “We were in a hallway. Made out, in this case, is a bit more than kissing.” My face heats.
“A bit more. What are we talking here? Boob action?”
I don’t say anything.
He stops and stares at me and leans forward, a smirk plastered on his face. “Did you go down on her?”
“No!”
We continue walking. “Then what—”
“Do you really want to know?” I ask, interrupting him.
“Yeah, but I mean…”
I’m exasperated. This doesn’t feel sexy to me. “She fingered me. I sucked on her breasts. I think? It’s all really hazy. I’m not sure. Then Delilah arrived. That’s what I remember. Happy now?”
He stops again and pulls me to him, his arms wrapping around me. He bites his lip and smirks. “I’m a guy. I had to ask. My imagination.” He kisses me. He’s been kissing me at random times this whole afternoon.
“But, you’re not mad?”
“Oddly enough, no. If it was some guy you made out with, I’d be livid. Crazy jealous. I’d need some time to calm down. But, nah. Knowing it was a chick, I’m kinda turned on. That’s a little backwards, huh?”
The clouds have lifted, and now we couldn’t ask for a more gorgeous, blue sky, fall day. Where we are, we can see the Hudson. The boats are far enough away that they have the appearance of large toys passing by. There’s an empty bench facing the river, and Sam tugs me over to it then curls his arm around me, pulling me into his chest.
He kisses my forehead, and I sigh. Everything feels perfect. I can’t imagine any other place I would rather be at this moment. Normally, when I feel like that, I’m with friends hanging out. I can’t even remember the last time I felt like this with a guy—or, for that matter, if I ever felt this warmth and happiness when hanging out with someone. And to think I came close to possibly ruining this due to a drunken lapse in judgement.
I rest my head on his chest, and his arm wraps around my back, holding me tight. He shifts and angles my head up to him, and his brow wrinkles. “Everything all right?”
I lower my head back to his chest so I can feel the rhythm of his heart. “You know, if it had been you who hooked up on Halloween, I can’t say I’d be as understanding as you’re being. I think I’d be questioning your character. And yet, it doesn’t seem to faze you.”
He places a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Well, I’ve been there before. I’ve had drunken hook-ups. Lapses in judgement I’d give anything to undo. I’d be a hypocrite if I held it against you.” He squeezes me until I shift to look up at him again. “And we weren’t exclusive then. But we are now, right?”
I lick my lower lip and raise myself so I can kiss him. He holds me close and keeps our kisses socially acceptable. Kids are walking all along the boardwalk. Strollers are going by. This isn’t the place for a public make-out session. There’s a part of me that loves he’s mindful of his surroundings and seems to be working at taking it slow. At least, for what is our third or fourth date, according to his count.
He props his legs up to rest against the railing, settling in and getting more comfortable. “Okay, tell me something that lets me get to know you better.”
“What do you want to know?”
His brow wrinkles as he stares at a plane flying overhead. It looks like he’s deep in thought. He takes his finger and taps the end of my nose. “I want to know how I got so lucky to meet you when you were single. How is a gorgeous, smart girl like yourself, this accomplished world traveler, a girl who could be a model if you wanted, how on earth are you single?”
I close one eye and look up at him, squinting a bit from the sun, trying to decide what to address first. “First, I appreciate the compliment, but I couldn’t be a model. I’m unusual-looking, but that doesn’t mean I could be a model.”
“Are you kidding me? Those blue eyes and dark hair, olive skin? I can’t get those eyes out of my mind. They remind me of the Caribbean Sea. Striking. Gorgeous. Those are words that come to mind. But you aren’t a model because you love business. You’ve set about following the career path you’ve chosen, which makes you even sexier.”
“I appreciate the compliments. I do. And, yes, I’ve always considered myself to be intelligent. And I’ve found my own success, but nothing compares to what you’ve done. What you’ve achieved.” I absentmindedly trace the defined muscles of his chest as I mutter, “Compared to you, I’m basically a loser.”
“Hey. No.” He places his thumb below my chin and angles my head up once more, forcing me to look at him. “First, I’m almost ten years older than you. Second, I had a good idea and was in the right place at the right time. If I was your age, my idea would have already been done, and who knows if I’d even be in business. Chances are I’d be a programmer working for someone else.” He gazes out across the river. “So much in life is timing. I’m just one of the lucky sons of bitches in the absolute right place at the right time with a good idea. And the ability to code. But that brings me back to my question. What if when we met, you were dating someone? That would have been bad timing. Right?” His face contorts into a goofball expression as he emphasizes bad timing. I giggle. Damn. I’m so happy it’s almost like I’m giddy. And that’s so not me. “Tell me, beautiful, how did I get so lucky?”
I lean in for a soft kiss before answering. “I just got back from being overseas. You know, I went abroad after I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, so you said.” He plays with my hair, twisting a piece of it through his fingers.
“I wasn’t looking to meet someone when I was abroad. It was more about taking some time to be on my own. Explore the world. Prove myself capable. Make it on my own. I’ve dated a few losers. Time not dating anyone has been restorative.”
“One ex cheated. Others too?”
I watch a ferry pass on the river as I reflect on my dismal dating history. Damien was the only one I considered moving in with and my only post-college relationship. Even so, it’s disturbing that all three of my exes strayed. I turn to him, realizing I should be asking the same questions. “How are you single? When you walked into that coffee shop, I wasn’t the only one drooling.”
He grins. “Believe it or not, I don’t date a lot. I know my mad dating skills might make you think otherwise.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But the last ten years have been insanely busy for me. When we were in start-up mode, it was insanity. Then we went public, and that was possibly even more manic. Only in the last couple of months have things calmed down. It’s still busy as hell, mind you, but I have brilliant people working for me, and my role has evolved. Does that make sense?”
I think it all through, and then it hits me. “We really did both just have good timing, huh? One year earlier, or later, and it might not’ve been good timing.”
He stands and helps me up and pulls me against him. “You know, many times I’ve thought of myself as one lucky SOB. But you might be the jackpot.” He leans down and gives me another swoon-worthy deep kiss. It’s tender and possessive. Inside, I’m buzzing.
“Would you rather go have a drink at my place or at Hudson Yards?”
A woman skates by on inline blades, holding her phone out and taking pics as she goes. I can’t tell if she’s taking photos of the river or taking selfies as she passes. So many people are milling about, it feels like every single person living in Manhattan is outside enjoying this last burst of warmth. I’d be happy to do anything with Sam, but there’s a part of me that wants to have him all to myself, away from the world. “Let’s go back to your place. I want to get to know you better.”
He pulls me close to him and kisses my forehead. “Yeah. What do you say we stop by a deli to pick up some things to munch on? Grapes, cheese, and such? I have wine for us. And we’ll order dinner.”
I poke him in the ribs. “I thought you said you were cooking.”
He responds with a rolling Texan accent and a cocky grin, “Darlin’, that’s how I cook. I’m a master of menus.”
Sam lives in the XI building in West Chelsea. The building stands out as a feat in architecture, twisting upward on the west side of Manhattan. A glass and iron icon. I notice it every time I venture near the Hudson River. They advertised heavily for this building when it was under construction, promising unprecedented luxury. The lobby is a mixture of wood, marble, glass and refined metals. White marble lends an elegant ambience, not nearly as austere as I had imagined it would be. The towering ceilings and warm brass fixtures strike a balance between imposing and evocative.
Sam takes my hand, nodding a greeting at the doormen as we enter, and leads me to the elevator bank. He presses six on the panel and holds me close as others join us on the elevator. I had kind of expected he’d live in the penthouse.
In front of his door, Sam aligns his eyes in front of a slim black glass panel, and the door automatically opens.
“You have a retinal scanner to unlock your door?”
He holds the door open for me and answers, “I’m in tech.”
“Huh.”
“Technology’s kind of my thing. Hence my Teslas.” He grins. “I do love Tesla.” He pulls me down a long hall. The marble floors resemble the ones in the lobby, but these are a more muted marble color. The hall opens to a living room lined with large windows. The marble transitions to light wood flooring. Floor to ceiling sliding doors on one end open onto an expansive furnished terrace.