by M. E. Carter
The door to the outside opens and a stunning redhead walks into the restaurant. She’s wearing a tight green dress that shows off her ample cleavage. The dress is scrunched on the side showing off her hourglass shape and stops mid-thigh to reveal long, tone legs topped off with black strappy stilettos.
She’s no Rian, but those heels will still look fabulous wrapped around my waist tonight. Although I’m not sure why Rian just popped into my head. I’ve only met the woman once, and while I enjoyed talking to her, she’s not my type at all.
Focus, Carlos. Your date is here and she’s a knockout.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the wanker on the other side of the bar straighten up, hoping this is who he’s waiting for. Fortunately for me, I know she’s my date for the evening. Nick showed me her picture when he set me up.
Marley moved into Nick’s building a few months ago. She’s apparently been to his apartment a few times to hang out, whatever that means, and he says she’s exactly the kind of woman I need in my life. So far, he’s right.
She looks around the room for a few seconds until she spots me, and then a wide grin crosses her perfect face. She is quite possibly the woman of my dreams. My very shallow, very vain dreams.
I stand as she steps gracefully down the stairs and crosses the room to where I’m waiting. It doesn’t go unnoticed that my single buddy, whom I’ve never met, visibly deflates when he realizes he’s not the man she’s looking for.
It’s better this way for them both. He could never keep a woman like her happy, and she… well, I have a hard time believing she’s ready to sacrifice her obviously impeccable taste to make sure his kids can continue in gymnastics lessons.
“Carlos?” she asks, her voice as stunning as the rest of her, as she approaches.
“You must be Marley.”
If it’s possible, her smile grows even bigger. The things I could do with that mouth…
“I’m sorry I’m a little late.” I gesture to the stool next to mine and we sit. “I got caught up at work, and that of course made me miss my train.”
“Those trains always have a way of closing their doors right as you come running up to the platform.”
She laughs deeply and the sound makes my cock twitch. “That’s exactly what happened. I swear it does it to me on purpose. But the silver lining is I’m getting really good at running in heels.”
“You definitely have the calves to prove it,” I add seductively, glancing down at her legs.
She doesn’t react with a giggle or a wink like I’m expecting based on Nick’s recommendation. Instead she grabs a drink menu and glances over it muttering, “What should I drink?”
Hmm. Interesting. I expected a little more flirting to start the evening, but it’s only been a few seconds since she got here. I must be reading her wrong. Despite his very busy schedule recently, Nick’s been my wingman regularly for a few years now, so he knows the kind of woman I’m after.
Beautiful.
Ready to scratch an itch and that’s it.
Ditzy is not a deal breaker.
I flag down the bartender so Marley can order a drink. She chooses rum and Coke, which tells me she likes a good spirit as much as I do. Another interesting tidbit. Usually women like her order something like a cosmo or strawberry daiquiri. That tells me she’s not like the usual women I date. I can’t help but wonder if Nick pegged her all wrong or if I’m missing something.
While we wait for our reservation, which I scheduled for a short time after we arrived, we chat about the chances of a World Series bid for the Cubs and a funny article about a series of pranks pulled on the artist who designed the Bean. I had no idea he despises the nickname for his artwork, but after hearing about what an egomaniac he supposedly is, I’m not sure I care what he thinks of it.
The conversation puts me at ease and confirms that Marley is, in fact, everything I go for in a short-term relationship. And by short-term, I mean one night. Maybe two on a long weekend. But never more than that. What would be the point? If we’re both here for mutual pleasure and a bit of companionship, there’s no reason to ruin that.
“So, Carlos, Nick tells me you work in security.” She takes another sip of her drink, then licks her red lips suggestively.
I watch the movement closely before answering. “He’s partially right. I work at a security company, but I’m the Chief Operations Officer, so I’m over the back end of the business.”
“So, you’re the boss. Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is. But I love what I do. I get to make sure all parts of the company are working like a well-oiled machine. From HR to training, accounting and payroll, it all falls under me. I’ve got my hand in a lot of pots, but I like it that way.”
“Doesn’t sound like that leaves a lot of room for the people in your life.”
I barely catch myself before furrowing my brow. Why is she worried about how much time I have for other people? Usually my dates are impressed by the fact that I’m the boss and probably make lots of money. Quickly, I brush off my initial reaction. I’m sure this is just her way of having small talk. I’ll just need to be careful that she’s not the overly sensitive type. If so, she only gets one night. Two would cause her too much heartache.
“It just takes some balance,” I finally reply. “But isn’t that what life is all about? Balancing work with pleasure?” I know I’m being suggestive, but from the way her cheeks redden ever so slightly and her breathing hitches, I think she’s got the same ideas as I do. Still, there’s no reason to rush. We haven’t even made it to our table yet.
“And what, pray tell, does Carlos Davies do for pleasure? Besides eating at authentic French restaurants.” She looks around the room as she speaks. “Speaking of which, thanks for suggesting this place. I love the feel in here.”
“I’m glad you like it. And we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. Just wait until they call us to the back. It’s been one of my favorite hidden gems for a while.”
“Do you eat out a lot?”
“Not a lot. I’m a health nut, so I usually stick to clean eating. But being a single, childless man, I don’t have a lot of responsibility outside the office. That affords me the opportunity to indulge myself every once in a while.” Leaning in, I add, “Especially if I’m entertaining a beautiful woman.”
She blushes again but doesn’t make any other moves. No hands on the chest. No twirling of the hair. Nothing. Another odd reaction.
When Nick suggested I go out with Marley, he said she was new to the area and exactly the kind of woman I needed. I have no idea if that meant he wasn’t interested himself or any relationship they had had already run its course. But I wasn’t about to ask. The information would have been irrelevant anyway. He knows I like slim build, large breasts, tone legs, and no commitment. And I don’t stray from my type. Why mess with a tried-and-true standard?
Before she has a chance to respond to my flirtation, the host, who presents himself more like a maitrê d’, approaches.
“Pardon me, sir, ma’am.” He nods politely at both of us. “Your table is ready if you would like to follow me this way.”
We finish our drinks and I leave a generous tip on the counter before following him to a back room that is the restaurant portion of the building. If you didn’t know this was both a restaurant and a bar, you would assume the front room is the only part, but it’s not. Through a single door in the back is a narrow hallway that leads to an entirely separate room. It’s reserved for the more high-end customers, and if you don’t make a reservation, you aren’t getting in. But I’ve lived here long enough and know the right people to be privy to this kind of intel.
As we tuck into our chairs and the host leaves us, Marley’s excitement seems to build. “I guess tourists won’t find this on any ‘must visit’ list or a Big Bus Tour, will they?”
“No, this place is known only to locals and only by word of mouth.”
“I can see why. You wouldn’t want to ruin
the ambiance by having a rush of travelers in here.”
Our waiter approaches and we put in drink orders—another Old Fashioned for me, a glass of lemon water for her. It takes him just a few more seconds to hand us menus, recite the specials for the day, and leave us to decide on our meal.
“Everything looks so good here,” Marley remarks after a few seconds of silence. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to decide. I’m already torn between the Bœuf bourguignon or the Jambon persillé.”
The words roll off her tongue like she’s a native French speaker. “You must have taken some French in school to be able to pronounce things so fluidly.”
Her eyes glance up at me from over her menu and she smiles. “I majored in French actually, and studied abroad for two semesters before getting a job at the French consulate office in Houston. I’ve always wanted to live in Chicago, though, so when the opportunity came up, I jumped on it.”
Suddenly, I have a sinking feeling Marley isn’t the kind of woman I date. Intellectual typically means expectations, which would explain her lack of reaction at certain suggestive conversations. What is Nick up to?
“So, you’re bilingual?”
“Trilingual. I minored in Spanish. It’s practically a national language in the US, so I know I’ll use it at some point.”
I have a bad feeling I’m not getting laid tonight. This is not how my evening was supposed to go. Yes, Marley is built like a Barbie doll, but she has goals and aspirations. She has drive and motivation. She speaks three languages for Christ’s sake. That means she likely has higher standards than just a one-night stand.
“But you use your French regularly? Are you a translator?”
Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes….
Marley’s eyes light up as she lowers her menu, and I know she’s about to gush about her job. This isn’t good at all. The women I date hate their jobs and have daddy issues. Self-confidence and morally sound are not conducive for a little extra kink in my night.
“I’m an economics officer. I help identify economic opportunities for the US, specifically to the regions in and around France. And I help a little with bilateral trade negotiations.”
“I’m guessing you have a business degree as well.”
She smiles again. “Economics. It was my second major.”
And there goes my opportunity to get laid. I have no interest in dating smart, motivated women. There is nothing wrong with any of those things. Hell, I’m friends with plenty of dynamic women. But friendship is where this must stay.
Dammit. I’ve been friend-zoned by my own convictions.
Which is why I don’t know what angle Nick is playing at. All I know is he and I are going to have words about this on the next leg day. Maybe I’ll add a few more reps just to be a dick. Lord knows he deserves it.
Chapter Nine
RIAN
“Ow.”
Step.
“Ow.”
Step.
“Ow.”
Step.
Every time my foot touches the floor it feels like my entire body catches fire. I should have known when I threw the medicine ball so hard it bounced behind me and knocked Dee over like a bowling pin, it was time to stop. But did I? No. No, I did not. Stubborn Rian came out to play and decided weightlifting is her niche.
Stubborn Rian will now be going by the name Idiotic Rian.
Ignoring Francesca, who is staring at me, I try to gently lower myself into the chair at her table in the break room. Unfortunately, my arms are having nothing to do with this and they give out, so I end up plopping down instead, which doesn’t do my glutes any favors. I have no idea how I’m going to get back up later.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“My new trainer was the headmaster of a torture chamber in a previous life.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I just worked out too hard yesterday. What’s for lunch?”
She opens the lid of the Tupperware and lets me peek inside. “Taco soup. Lots of shredded chicken and beans and vegetables. Low on carbs.”
It smells so good and it’s not even warmed up yet. I think I’ve officially hit starvation mode after this much exercise. “Good. I read somewhere that protein is supposed to help your muscles recover.”
“Have you tried yoga?”
I give her an incredulous look. “You mean bending myself into a pretzel? No. No one wants to see that.”
I try to push myself to a standing position so I can satisfy my growling stomach, but suddenly starving sounds like a better option than moving. Next time, I’m making someone roll me around on my office chair.
Better yet, next time I’ll throw the medicine ball at Abel’s smug little happy face.
“Give me that.” Francesca snatches the bowl I had the foresight to bring with me out of my hands. “I’ll heat it up for you.”
I sigh in relief. “You’re an angel. A beautiful, food-bringing angel.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. Which I may have. Suspicious behavior number one is that I keep going back to the gym. “Seriously, though. Yoga will help you stretch out your muscles, so you aren’t as sore.”
“I’m not sticking my ass in the air in a roomful of people. Especially with all the Mexican food we’ve been eating lately.”
She rolls her eyes. “So, find some bland recipes. I’m sure baked chicken and broccoli is on the list.”
I gasp at the suggestion. Now she’s just being mean for fun.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.”
“The whole point of sharing cooking duties is so we don’t always eat bland poultry and… and little trees.”
The microwave beeps and she pulls the bowl out, stirring it before putting it back in. I don’t know what it is about someone else making your lunch, but even the way she stirs makes it look more appetizing than anything I could make.
And I’ve officially sunk to a new low.
Turning to lean against the counter, she crosses her arms over her chest. “So then look up some clean eating recipes. There are a ton out there that don’t take much effort. I’m going to try this crock pot beef and broccoli I found on my next cook day.”
“Ohmygod, I love Chinese food.” I lick my lips, praying I don’t drool on the table. “I’ll even suffer through eating more little trees if you bring me that beef.”
“That’s all it takes to get you to eat veggies? Some beef?”
“I’m not ashamed!”
She holds her hands up defensively. “Down, girl. I know you’re hungry, but we only have,” she turns to look at the clock on the microwave, “thirty-four more seconds until lunch is ready.”
I sigh and try to lay my forehead on the table. The shooting pain in my shoulders tells me I can’t stretch that way today. Really, I can’t stretch any which way. Or sit. Or stand. Or walk. Basically, anything beyond being in a coma is painful at this point.
“I’m sorry for being snappy. But you don’t need to worry. I can’t stand up anyway so you’re safe from my wrath.”
“That’s because you don’t do yoga,” she singsongs.
“Ugh, you aren’t going to let that go, are you?”
“It’s literally the only exercise I’ll do.”
The microwave dings and she turns to pull out our soup. The smell wafts my direction making my mouth water again. For as much as I want that beef, today’s lunch is going to hit the spot. I already know it.
Francesca brings over the Tupperware and uses a random ladle she found in the drawer, probably left over from the last office potluck, to dish out servings for each of us. I know I’m staring way too intently at the food, but I can’t help it. There’s chicken and corn and beans in it. And chopped tomatoes! And when she sprinkles shredded cheese on top, I want to cry for joy. This is a taco lover’s dream meal in a bowl.
“You know how creepy it is that you’re staring at our lunch like you want to kiss it, right?”
“Yep. I am fully awa
re of that.”
“Ok, just checking.”
She places a bowl of steaming soup in front of me, a little bit spilling over the side. Quickly licking her thumb, she makes her own bowl before continuing our conversation. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she took care of me first before taking care of herself. I have a newfound love for my friend and her understanding of how hangry I can get.
“So anyway, yoga.”
I groan in response, and then immediately moan in appreciation when the taco goodness hits my tongue. This might be the best meal I’ve ever had in my entire life. Except for National Donut Day when I had a chocolate-covered, custard-filled donut for lunch. That was probably better. But this is damn good.
“This is really good, Francesca.”
“Stop avoiding the topic.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t know why she’s pushing this. “Not everyone is bendy, Fran.”
“Francesca.”
“I know. But if you’re going to annoy me, I’m going to annoy you.”
She sticks her tongue out at me playfully before taking another bite. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want. I just know the stretching helps your muscles recover faster and you get to lie down during part of it. I always fall asleep.”
This is news to me. “You get nap time during yoga?” Maybe she’s onto something. Napping is my kind of workout.
“That’s not what it’s called. It has a different name, but I don’t remember what.” She wipes her hands on her napkin and chews for a second. “I’m sure there’s some actual benefit, too, but all I know is I doze off, which definitely centers me.”
Taking another big bite, I take a moment to enjoy the spicy goodness in my mouth. For someone who says she hates to cook, Francesca really does have a knack for it. I’m going to need to step up my cooking game if she’s going to make me a real cuisine several times a week.
I bet I can find a few recipes this afternoon. The phones have been relatively quiet today and I’m caught up on all my paperwork. I probably shouldn’t even be thinking that. The universe seems to be able to hear my thoughts and I have jinxed myself into having terrible afternoons more than once. But if she’s too busy wreaking havoc on other people today, maybe I can find something interesting to make.
