Pitching for Amalie

by Hayley Faiman

  “Stalking?” he asks, looking up at me, his dark blue eyes ablaze.

  Shit, he’s hot.

  “My number. I don’t recall giving it to you last weekend.”

  “Oh, that.” He smiles. “Got your address from the car that took you home from the club and called your place earlier. Talked to Jo, and she gave it to me.” He smiles almost sheepishly.

  “She knows no bounds. So, what’s the occupation?” I take a drink from my water. It tastes slightly like chlorine. Gross.

  “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” He is being evasive, and it is creepy.

  But I don’t prod. Who the hell am I to make him tell me about his occupation?

  “An international man of mystery?” I ask, smiling at him.

  He turns his lips up into a small smirk, and unfortunately, I melt a little. This guy is trouble with a capital T. No good can come from being around him, but I can’t help myself.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” he quips. He throws some money down on the table before standing. He reaches for my hand.

  I stand, too, and notice his hand has once again engulfed mine. I have never been around someone who is so large compared to me. I never knew I wanted that.

  “Do you have a car here?” His dark blue eyes narrow at me.

  “No, I don’t have a car.”

  I live in a big city. I usually take the bus, a cab, or walk. It isn’t important to me, and although I sometimes feel trapped, I enjoy not having the responsibility that comes with a car.

  We are outside, and he just stops, so I run into his hard back.

  Damn, that feels nice.

  “How were you planning on getting home tonight?”

  “Cab probably.”

  I squint, looking up into his chiseled face. It is hard, and his jaw is tight.

  “That’s unsafe.”

  “I’ve survived this long.” I smile up at him and start to walk farther down the street.

  His hand lightly grasps my arm and pulls me into his chest.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Amalie,” his voice says, almost a growling whisper.

  “I wasn’t. I’m just truthful.”

  His lips press together in a thin line, and he looks as though he might be thinking. He doesn’t look very thrilled with whatever is going through his pretty mind.

  “Let me give you a ride home?” he asks softly.

  I really, really want to say yes. I want him to take me on a ride all right and not just home. My vision clouds with thoughts of his rough hands sliding across my smooth body, and I shiver, trying to break myself from the thoughts.

  “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know you, and well—”

  He presses his finger to my lips, and I can feel the warmth linger as his face draws near mine. Ever so softly, his lips capture mine. It’s not hard. It’s not fast. It’s sweet and tempting, and I feel myself melt a little more in that moment.

  “Smuk,” I whisper. Yes, sometimes, when I am overcome, my Danish slips past my lips, and I have just told this man that essentially that was beautiful. Oh, hell.

  “Excuse me?” His dark blue eyes questionably stare down at me. A small smile is on his lips.

  “It’s Danish. Sometimes, it just slips out.” I am hoping that will satisfy his curiosity.

  “What does it mean?” he asks me. His fingers start to stroke my low curled ponytail.

  Wow, that feels really nice. I want to close my eyes and just relish in the touch of a man. The simple touch isn’t sexual or overbearing. It’s just plain…nice.

  “Something silly. It’s nothing. I really should be going.”

  I start to walk away from him, and again, his hand lightly clutches my arm.

  “Amalie, let me take you out tomorrow night,” he semi-pleads.

  “A date?”

  “Yes, gorgeous, a date.”

  My eyes flick to his. Yes, a date with this sexy tall man would be nice.

  “All right. You know where I live?” I question him, my eyebrows shooting up.

  I don’t know why I think it is all right for him to pick me up tomorrow and not take me home tonight, but maybe it is a test, a silent test, to see if he will actually show up, to see how serious he is, and to give my mind a moment to think.

  “I do. I will see you at seven,” his eyes dance as his lips tip in a small smile.

  A cab pulls up for me.

  I wave and slide inside before rolling down the window. “Seven it is.”

  The next morning, I awake in a state of euphoria. I am going on a date, a real date with a god-like man. Holy shit.

  I am also kind of freaking pissed at my roommate for giving my cell phone number to a strange man. How pissed can I really be though?

  Jarrod is hot and seems nice even though he still hasn’t told me what he does for a living. That is a huge red flag.

  The smell of coffee assaults my nose, so I slide out of bed and see Jo sitting at the breakfast table, sipping her coffee while reading the newspaper without a care in the world.

  How dare she.

  “Jo, you have some ’splainin’ to do.” I sound like an episode off of that old Lucille Ball show, but damn it if my Ethel didn’t piss me off.

  “About?” she asks with a big smile on her tiny little face.

  “Why did you give Jarrod my number? That was seriously uncool,” I murmur, pouring myself a cup of delicious brown nectar from the morning gods.

  “That man was beautiful. I remember him from the club. Plus, he already had our home number.” She shrugs and continues her Saturday morning like she didn’t betray a girl code.

  “Well, next time a gorgeous man asks for my cell phone number, just take a damn message,” I quip before walking into my bedroom.

  “What time is your date tonight?” she questions, giggling.

  That damn bitch knows me too well.

  “Seven,” I call out with a smile on my face.

  Moments like these with Jo are my favorite—when jealousies and pasts are pushed aside, when we are just two girls enjoying each other’s company and laughing. They haven’t happened as much lately, and I wonder if the past is beginning to rear its ugly head again. Jo and I have a past. It hasn’t always been pretty, but in the end, she has my back. I just hope she stays at my side.

  I spend the rest of the day in bed, catching up on reading and sleeping, alternating between the two. It’s Saturday, and that’s just what I do every Saturday. After five straight days of twelve to fourteen hours of work, I need the break. My ass doesn’t need it, but I couldn’t care about that.

  A soft knock lands on my door just as I finish my shower. In just an hour, the sexiest man I have ever seen will be knocking on my front door.

  “Come on in, Jo.”

  “Hey, you aren’t really mad, are you?”

  Crap, she is still worried about all that.

  “No. I wasn’t really mad to begin with. What’s up? You going out tonight?”

  “Yeah. If I need you, will you save me?” She sheepishly looks down.

  Oh, she likes this one.

  “Hell no. I’ve got my own issues with Jarrod,” I explain. It’s true. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my panties firmly in place all evening. I know they’ll try to slide down my legs as soon as my eyes meet his.

  “Oh, come on. I just met this guy, and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. I don’t think I can handle another disaster,” she pleads.

  It’s seriously unattractive on her.

  “Man up, girl,” I say, digging through my panty drawer. I’m looking for the black lace thongs to match my black lace bra.

  “You are useless sometimes.” She stomps out of the room, slamming my door behind her.

  I haven’t seen her act this way in years, not since I was with him—the man from my past, the man who hurt me more than any other human could. Briefly, I wonder if he’s back. Then, I shake my head. No way. We’ve never been jealous of each other, except when it came to him, and I
hope she would tell me if he were trying to weasel his way back here. After all, she knows everything he did to me. We are both so different. There isn’t really a reason for jealousy. Besides, she’s like a sister to me. She must just be really worried about her date.

  An hour later, I am all dressed and just applying my last bit of lipstick when I hear the knock on the front door. Looking down at my cell, I see it is seven on the dot. Shaking my head at his supreme punctuality, I snatch up my sequined silver clutch and shove my lipstick and phone inside before snapping it closed and walking out of my room to the front door.

  Jo is standing in the living room with her hand on her hip and her head thrown back, adoringly looking up into Jarrod’s eyes. The last time she looked this way was around him when she wanted him, and I had him. She would flirt unabashedly with him without regard or care if I even saw. Then, I see her take her opposite hand and trace it down her neck and in between her small but perky breasts. It’s her signature flirting move.

  Oh, hell no. What has gotten into my roommate’s freaking head?

  This is my date, and he’s almost two feet taller than her. She knows extremely tall men are my dating pool.

  Why is she acting like such a freaking bitch?

  I clear my throat and see Jarrod’s dark blue eyes meet mine.

  He smiles at me. “Amalie, you look smuk,” he says with a wink.

  Oh shit, he looked it up.

  “Smuk?” Jo remarks slightly twitching her nose up in question.

  In disgust maybe?

  “It means beautiful, Jo. Doesn’t Amalie look beautiful tonight?”

  Oh hell, this guy is good. He totally caught on to Jo’s flirting, and I smile a little too brightly at the thought of him clearly shooting her down.

  “Yes, I suppose. But, Lee, you’re already so tall. I don’t know why you wear such high heels,” she sneers.

  I make my way toward Jarrod. Her words sting. She knows why I wear high heels on dates, and she is purposely trying to sabotage this by putting doubt in my mind.

  What the hell is her problem tonight?

  “I like them,” I affirm my eyes not leaving hers.

  Jarrod turns to open the door for me.

  As we walk out, I give a little wave and call out, “Good evening,” to my extremely jealous friend.

  “Your roommate is—”

  “Acting rather strange this evening,” I interrupt as we reach the elevator. “She usually compliments me on my brave choice of footwear. She knows how self-conscious I am about my height.”

  “I personally love your shoes, and it’s nice to be able to put my arm around you without bending over.” He smirks and places his hand on the small of my back as we walk out to his red Ferrari parked at the curb.

  I just smile over at him. What am I going to say really? I do love the fact that our heights complement each other. This is the first man I have ever been out with whom I don’t tower over in heels. I’m immensely enjoying it.

  “I hope you like steak?” Jarrod asks as we ease into traffic.

  “I do. Do you not remember me massacring that burger last night?”

  “I do.” He chuckles, and the rest of our ride to the restaurant is spent in comfortable silence.

  Jarrod turns on some country music, and I giggle a little. Country is so not my thing, but for some reason, with Jarrod’s all-around preppy American good looks, he does seem like a country kind of guy.

  The valet opens my door for me and holds out a hand to let me out of the car. We have arrived at Flame, one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. I’m suddenly extremely nervous. I knew Jarrod had money. I mean, the car kind of alludes to the fact, but bringing me here on our first date screams it.

  “Reservation for two under Harrison,” Jarrod tells the hostess as soon as we walk into the restaurant.

  The restaurant is entirely sapphire. I have a feeling it’s just the lighting, but I’m mesmerized by it just the same. It’s cool and refreshing. The entire place is dimly lit, modern, and romantic. Jarrod takes my hand in his as we follow the hostess to our booth. I cautiously look around myself and note that every single person is looking up at him as we walk by. Males and females shamelessly check him out, and as much as I think it should bother me, it truly does not because he is a sight. Just his height alone commands attention, and couple that with his fantastic looks, he is truly the most gorgeous man I have personally ever seen, so I know these people are thinking the exact same thing.

  “What can I bring you to drink, Mr. Harrison?” the hostess purrs, completely ignoring me.

  “A domestic bottled beer is fine for me. What would you like, Amalie?” he asks.

  “A glass of pinot noir is fine. Thank you,” I say, looking in my lap.

  The hostess shakes her size-two ass as she walks away to give the bartender our order. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the girl.

  “So, you know where I’m from. Where are you from?” I ask, trying to get the conversation ball rolling.

  “Born in Kentucky, but I live in New York now,” he declares as our waitress arrives to take our orders. “Can I order for you? They make the best filets in the city,” Jarrod asks excitedly.

  I nod because it honestly doesn’t matter what the hell he orders. I am too damn nervous to eat as it is.

  “Can we get two filets, medium, with roasted potatoes, grilled asparagus with no sauce, and two waters?”

  The waitress nods and scurries off to place the order.

  “Do you have any siblings?” I take a sip of my wine.

  The flavor bursts in my mouth, and the sweet oak combination leaves my mouth watering. This is going to taste awesome with my steak.

  “I do. I have two older brothers and one younger sister, and they all live in Kentucky. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

  “I have a twin brother who is a police officer in Florida. My parents are still married and reside in Florida as well, near my brother,” I find myself opening up to him to tell him how we are the only people in our family who left Denmark. I have several aunts, uncles, and cousins who still live there, but I haven’t spoken to or seen them since we left when I was seven.

  “Are you close with your parents and twin?” he inquires taking a sip of his beer. Unfortunately, I have to tell him that we are not close anymore.

  “I haven’t seen them since I moved here when I was eighteen,” I admit and fortunately he doesn’t press me for more, but I have a feeling when he does, I won’t even hesitate in opening up to him.

  “My oldest brother is a doctor. My other brother manages a stable for racehorses, and my sister is forever the student, working on becoming a lawyer.”

  Everyone in his family is so smart and educated. There would be no way I could ever fit into that perfect picture. My mother made it perfectly clear to me that I would never fit into a brilliant family. I still don’t know what he actually does for a living. I don’t fit in my own family for the simple fact that I am not educated enough, I didn’t want to be extremely successful and decided not to spend countless hours on my education, school just wasn’t for me. I want to work a decent job but still have time to spend with my children, if I ever have them. My mother was hardly around, and I craved love and attention, but she either was too busy to give it or just didn’t feel like giving it. I think that’s the main reason I fell for the wrong boy, a boy who I think ruined me for a normal relationship, but at this moment with Jarrod, maybe I am not so ruined.

  “Do you see them often?”

  “Every holiday and as often as I can get away during the year. I usually spend a few weeks there when I have a break from work. Family is very important to me. I hope to have one of my own someday.”

  He’s talking about the wife and kids, the whole nine yards. I would be lying if I said that wasn’t a complete turn-on.

  “I wish my family and I were closer, but we aren’t. My mother was highly disappointed in my career path, and we fought a lot, so it was just eas
ier to separate myself.”

  I’ve never really talked with a man about my parents. My mother expected much more from me than what she would call a meager education. Here I am, opening up to him without any prompting. It is just that easy.

  “Why would she be disappointed? You went to college and have a good career, right?” He takes a swig of his beer and leans back as if preparing for some long drawn-out story.

  “Danish women are typically highly educated, and my mother is as well. She didn’t approve of me becoming just an ultrasound technician. She wanted me to at least become a nurse practitioner or a doctor. We fought a lot. The fact was, my grades in science weren’t good enough to even get into medical school, but beyond that, I never wanted to be a doctor. I enjoy the technology and the flexibility of what I do. I enjoy seeing women smile when they see their babies for the first time. I also enjoy being able to tell confused people about why they are hurting and what is actually wrong with them, so the doctors can fix them.” I sigh before finishing off my wine.

  The waitress sets our bill down. Jarrod quickly shoves his credit card into the carrier and hands it back to her.

  “Well, I think your career is great. What does your mother do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “She is a rocket scientist,” I deadpan. I know what’s coming—the shock, the awe, the questions.

  “That’s amazing, but that doesn’t mean you have to be one, too. Everyone has different interests and talents. My siblings and I are all completely different. I finished college but just with bachelor’s. I wanted to get right into my field as soon as possible. My brothers and sister have all had higher educations, and that works for them but not so much for me. I think you are smart, intelligent, and sexy as fuck.”

  The rest of the conversation is light and flirty. I really like him. He’s sweet and charming, and I’m wondering why he’s spending time with me when he should clearly be with someone much more interesting.

  We stand, and he grasps my hand again. I see a couple of flashes of light, and for a split second, I think someone is taking photos of us, but that’s pretty ridiculous. Why would someone want a picture of us? Maybe it’s just because we’re the tallest people they have seen together.