by B. B. Hamel
My heart beats fast as I get lost in my fantasy. I almost don’t notice it when Sadie appears at the door to her building, frowning out at the car.
I quickly get out and walk toward her. She looks at me, her eyes widening slightly, but she doesn’t look surprised.
Good. I want her to know about me. I’m betting her family has told her some unflattering things.
Sadie stands there and extends her hand, maybe a little stiffly. She’s wearing a relatively conservative outfit, tight dark jeans and a dark blue cardigan, but her hair is down and her eyes look excited. I take her hand, shaking it, and smirk at her.
“I’m your date,” I say.
“Sadie,” she answers.
“I know. And I think you know my name.”
She bites her lip. “Gavin.”
“That’s right.” I smile larger. I really like the sound of her voice and the feeling of her palm against mine. I let her hand drop. “It’s good to meet you. Ready?”
She nods once. “Ready.”
“Where’s the chaperone?” I ask her as we head to the car. That was one stipulation her parents put on this date.
“He’ll follow in his car,” she says.
“I’m surprised. I expected him to be in my lap the whole night.”
“My mother would have loved that,” she says, smiling a little mischievously. “But I convinced her otherwise.”
I smile and open the car door for her, shutting it once she gets in. That’s very, very interesting. She convinced her mother to let us have a little alone time, at least during the car rides. I wonder why she would do that.
I walk quickly and purposefully around the car then get in on the other side. Once I’m in, the driver heads off, the divider up between him and us.
“So Gavin,” Sadie says. “Where are you taking me tonight?”
I smile at her, leaning toward her. She’s so fucking gorgeous, and even being this close to her makes my heart hammer. “Somewhere special,” I say. “At least, special to me.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“It is,” I say. “You know, I’m not from all of this.” I gesture at the big buildings all around me.
“Not from the city?” she asks with a little smile.
I grin at her. She clearly understood me, but is giving me a hard time. “I’m from the city, but not this part. We’re going to a place that I grew up with.”
She perks up a little bit. “Really? I’d really like that.”
“It’s called Luberto’s. It’s a little Italian place on the west side of the city.”
“Seriously?” she asks, laughing. “I’ve never been to the west side before.”
It’s my turn to laugh, surprised. “You’ve never been to an entire part of the city?”
“I know. It’s stupid, right?”
“Not stupid. Just a shame. You’re missing out.”
“I know,” she says, and there’s something more behind her words.
“I’m glad your first time can be with me.”
She blushes suddenly and looks out the window. “Right. Of course.”
I cock my head at her, a little confused about her reaction, but I decide not to press it.
As we drive to Luberto’s, I ask her little questions about her life, where she grew up, the schools she attended. I keep it light and easy, not wanting to dive into the hard stuff yet. She’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and tells me all about her life as an upper crust rich girl.
None of it is surprising. She has the same life as a million other girls like her. That’s not really what interests me about her, if I’m being honest.
It’s the way that she talks about her life that fascinates me. Most rich girls seem to think that the sun shines out their ass, but not Sadie. She plays down the schools she went to, the things she did, like it isn’t the most elite of the elite possible. She doesn’t brag about her family, which most rich girls do, and she doesn’t press me about my own.
And she doesn’t ask me about my business. I actually like that about her. Most rich girls immediately want to know how much money I make, although they’re too polite to actually come out and say it. Sadie doesn’t seem at all interested in that. In fact, she mostly asks about hobbies and interests, and spends a lot of time talking about how much she likes to paint, although she says she’s awful at it.
By the end of the ride, I’m totally fucking charmed by her. I had a feeling that she was different, but I couldn’t have known how right I was. Sadie is the first girl from rich parents that I haven’t actually despised after ten minutes of talking to her.
Pretty soon we reach Luberto’s. The ten-minute car ride passes in the blink of an eye, which surprises me. We step out and I open her door.
“It’s cute,” she says, smiling broadly.
“It’s like home to me,” I say. “I grew up around here, you know.”
“Really?” she asks.
“Really. The place we’ll go after this, it’s where I had my first beer.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Impressive.”
“Not really. It’s a dump.”
“I’m going to love it.”
I laugh a little and we step into the restaurant.
Luberto’s is a little Italian place, maybe seats for forty people or so, but it has the best food in the whole damn city. I rented out the private back room, and the hostess ushers us back there. It has a single table with a white tablecloth, a single white candle, and a single red rose. I get Sadie seated, sit across from her, and the waitress takes our drink orders right away. I ask for a whisky, and Sadie asks for some white wine.
“This is nice,” she says.
“Normally it’s more crowded,” I answer. “But for tonight, I thought I’d give us a little privacy.”
She laughs lightly and shrugs. “I don’t mind crowded. Although I’m sure Reginald won’t love that.”
I cock my head at her. “Reginald?”
“Oh, he’s the chaperone for tonight. I’m sure he’s in the other room right now, fuming that we’re in a private space.”
“What, does he think I’m going to corrupt you too easily?”
She blushes a little. “Probably.”
“Maybe he’s right.” I lean toward her with a wicked smile.
She blushes deeper and looks away. She pauses for a second. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
We’re interrupted briefly as the waitress returns with our drinks. I sip my whisky and Sadie fusses with her wine.
“I wanted to know why you spent so much money,” she says finally, blurting it out once the waitress is gone.
I grin huge at her. “Maybe I just like kids.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But you could just write a check instead of bidding on me. Or you could have bid on any other girl.”
“You interested me,” I say.
“Did you . . . know about my family?”
I sigh, leaning toward her. “That’s what this is about?”
She shrugs. “A lot of people do things just because of my family.”
“That’s not why I bought you. Actually, that’s a reason not to. I think your family hates me.”
She smiles a little. “Yeah. They do.”
I laugh. I like how honest she is. “Do you really want to know?”
She nods, getting into the conversation. “Yeah, I do.” I can see a little sparkle in her eye.
“It’s because I want you,” I say simply.
She looks surprised. “W-what?” she stutters.
I smirk at her again and sip my whisky casually. “As soon as I saw you on that stage, I knew you were different. And I wanted you then, and I still want you now. Do you even know the effect you have on men?”
She gapes at me, clearly shocked and at a loss for words. I can’t help but laugh softly at her reaction. I can tell nobody has ever talked to her like this before, and she doesn’t know what to do. Conflicting emotions play on her f
ace. She’s torn between disgust, surprise, anger, and pure desire.
“I see,” she finally says. “Are you always this forward?”
“No,” I admit. “Not always. But I wanted to see you blush again.”
That finally gets the reaction I want. She blushes slightly and looks down at the table. “So you bought me just because you want to sleep with me.”
“Not entirely, no,” I say. “That’s part of it. I want to undress you and make you experience things those rich little prep school assholes could never do.” She stares at me and bites her lip, and I know I’m right about that. “I also thought you’d be different from those other stuck-up rich girls up there. I didn’t plan on bidding at all, but as soon as you stepped out, I couldn’t help myself.”
She watches me quietly for a second. Her face sets into a mask of distant anger, but I like that about her. She looks a little defiant, and it wouldn’t be any fun if she didn’t put up a little fight.
But I saw it already. I saw that look on her face, while she was trying to decide how to respond. It was desire, clear and plain as day. She’s still an upper crust rich girl and she has to put up a front. She can’t just give in to what she wants.
Not at first, at least.
“What was it about me that interested you so much? Aside from your crude thoughts.”
I smirk and shrug. “You know how it can be. Girls like you have a certain way.”
“Girls like me?”
I sip my whisky. “Rich girls.”
“I see. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”
“How can it not? It’s what you are.”
“So that makes you a poor boy.” She arches an eyebrow.
“I guess so,” I say.
“You poor, poor boy.”
I laugh softly. “Not at all. I love where I come from.”
“So do I.” She crosses her arms a little.
I laugh again and watch her. I can tell that she’s annoyed by the assumptions I’ve made about her, and I can’t blame her. But the thing is, I know I’m right.
Fortunately, we don’t have to get too into it. The waitress comes and takes our orders, breaking the tension. I feel a little guilty, but I couldn’t help myself. She was practically begging for it, and the look on her face was priceless.
I’ll have to make it up to her, though.
“I kissed my first girl in this restaurant,” I say to her once the waitress leaves.
“Did you have to pay her half a million dollars?”
I grin at her. “Fair enough, I deserved that. Do you want to hear the story?”
“Fine.”
I can tell she’s annoyed, but this story always loosens people up. “I was thirteen years old, just a young man. Didn’t know a thing about girls.”
“You weren’t always this smooth talker?” she asks, smiling slightly.
“Believe it or not. Back then, there was this gorgeous girl, lived down the street from me, Becky Carmichael. God, I loved Becky so much I could barely breathe. You know how that can be, when you’re young. It’s the most intense feeling in the world.”
She smiles slightly and nods. “You’re almost stupid for it.”
“You think it’s the most important thing in the world.”
She laughs a little. “I felt that way for Robert Smith.”
I pause. “The guy from The Cure.”
She cocks her head. “The what?”
“Never mind.”
“He was a boy that went to my school. Couldn’t get enough of him. Long eyelashes.”
I grin at her. “Sounds like my Becky. Anyway, one night, my best friend Jimmy tells her that I have a crush on her, and dares her to kiss me. For whatever reason, she agrees, and we all meet in the back of this place, over by the bathrooms just out there.” I gesture toward the main room.
“Did you kiss her?” she asks.
“I did,” I say. “And it was the most incredible thing. Didn’t know what I was doing, but I was doing it. And as the kiss was ending, I heard a click and a laugh, and when I looked over, it was Jimmy, holding his father’s camera.”
“He didn’t!” Sadie says, laughing.
“He did,” I confirm. “And he got it developed and gave it to me years later. And I still have that picture.”
“No way,” she says, laughing.
“I do, I swear it. I’ll show you one day.”
“Okay then,” she says, shaking her head and smiling. “That’s a good story.”
“Your turn now,” I say, leaning back and sipping my drink. “Tell me about your first kiss.”
She laughs a little. “No way. It’s embarrassing.”
“Can’t be more embarrassing than mine. Besides, I bet you were a little flirt back then.”
“Hardly.” She smiles and fingers her wine glass. “I didn’t kiss a boy until I was sixteen.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Hard sometimes, being in my family.” She gets a little quiet and doesn’t elaborate.
I don’t push her. I get a glimpse of those depths again. I know there’s more to her than what’s on the surface, and I want to get to know her, but I know I have to be a little more delicate.
Our meals come soon and we fall into more comfortable small talk about our lives. She tells me about growing up with her family and going to school, and I tell her about what this neighborhood was like when I was young. We laugh a lot and things are surprisingly comfortable. The tension is still there, lingering beneath the surface, but she quickly loosens up and I can tell she forgets all about being annoyed.
Soon, our meals are finished, and we’re leaning back, stuffed to the brim.
“What did you think?” I ask her. “Best food ever, right?”
She nods. “And enough to feed a horse.”
“Easily. Two horses, I bet.”
She grins. “I like it here.”
“I’m glad. I love this place.”
I’m about to ask her something else about her life when suddenly the door opens. I’m expecting the waitress, but instead it’s a man I don’t recognize, tall and thin, wearing a suit and an overcoat.
Sadie turns to look at him. “Reginald?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”
“Excuse me, Miss Sadie, but it’s time.” He nods at his watch.
She narrows her eyes. “We just finished. We’re having a nice time.”
I feel a thrill run through me.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sadie,” Reginald says. “But your parents expect you promptly at ten.”
She looks surprised. “It’s that late already?”
Reginald nods. I check my watch, and sure enough, two hours slipped past without us realizing.
“Well, then,” I say, knowing when it’s time to let things take their course. “We should say good night.”
She nods and stands up. I can tell she wants to say something, but I don’t give her the chance.
“I had fun,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says awkwardly. We’re both aware of Reginald watching, his disapproving stare making her squirm a little.
I just ignore him. “Call me sometime. I had a good time.”
“Okay,” she says, pausing. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She glances back at me as Reginald sweeps her away, taking her out of the room. I watch her leave and feel disappointed. It doesn’t occur to me until she’s gone that I never gave her my number.
I don’t know what I expected. That date went well, very well. I couldn’t have hoped for more, not on a first date, let alone one chaperoned by her family driver.
Still, I wanted more. I wanted to bend her over that table and fuck her goddamn brains out. She’s so uptight but I can see the freak underneath that fake classy exterior. I know she wants it as much as I do, but her breeding and the way she was raised is holding her back.
I’ll break that, though. I know she’ll call. She’s too fascinated by what I said earl
ier, even if it did make her a little mad. She’s never been talked to that way before, but she wants more.
I’m willing to give it to her. But I have to be patient. She’ll come to me, sooner or later. And if she doesn’t, I’ll find a way to get what I want.
4
Sadie
Breakfast in the Tillman household is practically a spiritual thing.
I wake up early, my mind still buzzing over my date the night before. I blink at the weak morning light filtering in through the gauzy white curtains and sit up. My bed is huge, a four-poster, probably an antique. I’ve been sleeping in it since I was a kid, and I suspect that my mother gave it to me as some kind of princess fantasy fulfillment for herself.
I love my little corner of our apartment. I have my big beautiful bed, my little desk with my laptop, my dresser, and a deep walk-in closet. I don’t have a television, because that stuff can rot my brain, according to my father, but that doesn’t matter. I spend most of my time in here, because there’s one more special thing that I love even more than everything else.
I get up and stretch, then head into my closet to throw some clothes on. I turn on the light and grab some sweats and a t-shirt before turning to the other side of the closet.
The wall is covered with shelves, and the shelves are full of books. It’s basically my own little library. My father converted my closet into half a bookshelf when I was younger and he realized that I loved reading. So half of my closet has all my clothes, and the other half has all my books, and it’s basically heaven. There’s a big, thick cushion on the floor in the back left corner and some candles sitting on the shelves. Sometimes, I come in here and light the candles and leave only a single weak lamp on as I curl up in my little nook and read.
I smile to myself as I head down toward the kitchen. Our apartment takes up two whole floors in a nice building right downtown, and it’s been in our family forever. The place looks like it was decorated in another century, because it really was. Old oil paintings hang on the walls and they sometimes clash with the more modern flourishes my father has put in place since he inherited the family home.