I laugh at her serious tone, like she’s educating me on something I don’t know. “Yeah, Tiff. Legs, pits, girly bits clean and smooth. Lotioned and perfumed and ready for whatever the night might bring. What are you planning?” I ask, looking at her sweats and messy bun and the box of donuts sitting on the table.
“A muck bang. Not mine, but online . . .”
“Do I want to know what a muck bang is?” I ask, confusion on my face. “Never mind. Knowing you, I know I don’t.”
Tiffany sits up, turning her screen toward me anyway. All I see is a guy sitting at a table looking like he’s about to die. “It’s a broadcast where people eat a ton of food and interact with their audience. This idiot just put down three bags of tortilla chips in four minutes.”
“People actually watch that?” I ask, confused.
“Uh, yeah, it’s a popular thing,” Tiff says as if I’m that far behind the times. “It makes me feel better about polishing off my third donut. If I ever get tired of working at Stella’s, I might do it. Get residuals from the videos online and everything.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Tiff laughs. “Okay, maybe I am. Seriously, though, this dude eats all this stuff and is skinny as a rail. I’m so damn jealous. It’s addicting to watch. Don’t knock it until you try it. And it’s hella better than watching pimple popping videos.” Her body shudders at the disgusting thought, or maybe at the overload of sugar, I’m not sure which.
“No thanks, I’ll pass. You can watch for the both of us.”
“Okay, you’re off the hook. For now. But I’m making you watch some with me one day,” she says, pointing at me like she means business while grinning. “But back to the business of the night. Ooh, that sounds sordid.” She fakes a vampire-ish accent, repeating, “Business . . . of the night . . . I vant to suck your caaahhck.” I giggle and she goes back to her real voice. “I’m so excited for you, honey! You’re finally doing it!”
Tiff leans over, wrapping her arms around me in a big hug. I lean in, a little relief filling me. “Thank you. I’ve gotta admit, I’m really nervous.”
Tiffany laughs. “Don’t be. That man wants you so damn bad. You’re the one in control, honey!”
Yeah, I’m in control all right. Up until I see him face to face, then I’ll melt into a puddle.
She’s on a roll and continues. “And don’t you ever forget it again. Just because Rich treated you like shit doesn’t mean another man won’t treasure you the way you deserve. Not saying Mr. Danger is Mr. Right, but don’t start the date with doubts and baggage. Just enjoy the moment for what it is, whether that’s crazy-hot sex or a lovely dinner. Or if you play your cards right, maybe both.”
I realize that Tiff said Rich’s name and I didn’t even flinch. I really am getting better, stronger every day. It’s about damn time. Enjoy the moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, and honestly, I’m not sure I really remember how. It seems like I lived in a world full of perpetual worry, stress, and anxiety for so long, and then when I left Rich, I stayed in that place emotionally. But recently, I have felt brighter, less stagnant, and ready to move on and be happy. It’s a good feeling.
I smile at Tiff. “You’re the best. I’m hoping for option three, playing my cards right for dinner and a hot night.” Even saying it makes it feel real, possible . . . exciting.
There’s a knock on the door, and Tiff jumps up, giving me a little happy dance wiggle. “Show time, babe. Do what feels right, and getcha some.”
She looks through the peephole, then turns back to me, smiling goofily and fanning herself. “Girl, you’d better get some of that, or I’m gonna.” I laugh, knowing she’s solidly in the chicks-before-dicks camp with me. But when she opens the door, I can see her point. Scott looks fantastic, dark jeans hugging his thighs and a slim-fit T-shirt that shows off his biceps, topped with his All-American blond and blue-eyed goodness.
Tiffany adopts yet another accent, this one more appropriate for a James Bond movie. “Come on in, Mister Danger.” She emphasizes the Mister to mess with him.
“Ugh,” Scott says with a chuckle. “My dad is Mr. Danger. Please, call me Scott. Tiffany, right? Where’s—”
Scott’s words stop as he comes further into the apartment and sees me. He looks even sexier than before somehow, his freshly shaven jaw dropping as he stares at me.
“I see you took my advice to heart,” I finally say as Scott gathers his wits. “You look great.”
“Yeah, well I wanted to show you that I can do as I’m told . . . on occasion,” Scott says jokingly, sticking a hand in his pocket and making the veins on his biceps swell by the simple gesture. “Figured the tux would be too much.”
In this moment, I wouldn’t care if he were wearing a tux because it doesn’t matter. I feel like Cinderella standing in front of Prince Charming, but not the scene with the glam fairy godmother dress. I feel like I’m wearing rags, even if this is one of my best casual looks. Scott just wears everything with this confident ease that I would kill to have. But as he looks me over, slowly absorbing every detail from my pink-painted toes to my honey-blonde curls, I suddenly don’t feel so schlumpy. I can see the effect I’m having on him . . . the way his eyes darken, the pace of his breathing picking up, and the tension thickening between us. I feel sexy, powerful. Seen. It’s a heady combination.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice deeper than usual. “Just . . . beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, realizing a moment too late that my voice is breathy too.
I clear my throat, and Tiffany saves me, jumping into the conversation. “So, on that note, beautiful people, I’m out. Excuse me while I spend my evening buried in donuts and weird internet videos. Maddie, I won’t wait up.” She grabs her box of treats and her phone and disappears down the hall with a holler, “Have fun tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
I keep my groan inside. Oh, my God. I swear I’m going to kill this girl.
But her antics seem to break the ice as we both chuckle. “Yeah, so that’s Tiff, my roommate and co-worker. And this is our place.”
Scott looks around the apartment, politely nodding. I feel embarrassed. I know he’s probably got a closet bigger than my living room, and I bite my lip as I look around, trying to see it through his eyes. “Not what you’re used to, I’m sure.”
Scott looks back at me and shrugs. “I had a similar place in college. Small and cozy. This place suits you, though. It looks warm and inviting.”
His words are sweet, more congenial than I’d expected from someone as privileged as he is, and I realize with a flinch that as much as I feared him judging me harshly, perhaps I’m doing the same thing to him. Wanting to let any preconceived notions go, I laugh good-naturedly. “I think your opinion of me might be a bit biased, but I like it.”
He shrugs and I grab my purse. “Ready?”
Scott leads me down the stairs and outside. I blink, too shocked to even gasp as I see his car. It’s . . . “What the fuck is that thing? It looks like it should be moonlighting in Star Trek.”
Scott grins and leads me over. “It’s a Lamborghini. Don’t worry, I won’t push the limits. I’m a safe driver. Promise.” He winks.
Scott opens the door, his hand taking mine as he helps me inside. It’s a nice gesture and reminds me that despite some of my misgivings, none of my old boyfriends ever held the door for me, whether it was our first date or our fiftieth. This is a sweet change of pace. “Thanks.”
I take the few seconds to admire the interior as Scott closes the door and goes around to the driver side. It’s just as Sci-Fi futuristic as the outer shell of the car.
With leather seats that feel buttery smooth, both firm but somehow molded to my body, and a nearly silent interior, I feel like an idiot as I caress the dash in front of me.
Scott pushes a button, turning over the ignition. The engine settles into a sexy purr that rumbles through the entire vehicle. I’m dumbstruck, not only by
the fact that Scott has a car like this and that I’m riding in it . . . but that he’d bring it to my neighborhood. People are probably watching out of their windows from every direction. I remind myself that I’m not focusing on what he has that I don’t or how we live completely different lives. I’m enjoying the moment, taking the night as it comes.
“So, where are we going?” Scott asks as he pulls out and turns right, toward the main road. “You said casual.”
“Right. You know where Ice Land is?”
“Ice Land?” he asks, shaking his head. “Nope. Where is it?”
“Head over to the Interstate, and then get off at Highway 42,” I tell him, grinning. “You’ll see it as soon as we get there.”
Scott nods, and we cruise, his car seeming to float along the road as it handles like a dream. I feel even more like a princess, although maybe one who got dropped into a Fast & Furious movie instead of a horse-drawn carriage.
“Can I ask you something?” I comment as we reach the Interstate. Scott nods, not taking his eyes off the road as we hit the onramp. He barely taps the gas pedal from what I can see, but we’re somehow zooming along in the fast lane. “Well, were you serious that you stayed in a place like mine in college? I just . . . can’t picture that.”
Scott nods, his eyes cutting over to me for a moment. “Despite my name and the expectations that go along with it, I didn’t have everything handed to me. My father believes in fostering competition between the siblings, making us work for rewards. So each semester, one of us got their education paid for depending on who’d done best with grades, internships, letters of recommendation, and whatever other factors Dad wanted to consider. Let’s just say I’m not the favorite child, so I learned how to survive on microwave ramen and canned chicken.”
I grimace, not at the crappy food, but that a dad could treat his own kids so poorly. “Wow, that sounds . . . shitty. I’m sorry. I always wanted a brother or sister, but in my head, it was so we could be a team against the world, not battle each other for the last piece of cake.”
Scott grins. “Oh, I didn’t even tell you about the fights for the best cookies. Those were epic.”
He says it jokingly, lightening the conversation, but it somehow reaffirms my thoughts about his dad’s treatment of the Danger children.
We get to Ice Land, and as we park, Scott looks on approvingly. “I hope you know . . . I do know how to skate.”
I chuckle and take his offered elbow. “I have a suspicion there are a lot of things you can do.”
“How’d you find this place?” Scott asks as we approach. “It’s pretty far from your apartment.”
“After-school job in high school,” I supply. “And here we are.”
The first time for anyone in Ice Land is a little unique. Part ice arena, part restaurant, part . . . well, lots of different things. Ice Land was opened fifteen years ago by a former NHL referee who just loved the game. It’s got its own character.
We sit down, and Scott looks around. “You find unique places to work.”
“You’re telling me. But then again, I don’t work in the tallest building in town. So, which floor do they have you on? The top?”
Scott shakes his head, a tight smile on his face. “Not yet, but soon. Real soon.”
There’s obviously a story there, and I remember how stressed he was that first night at the bar. “So . . . how’re things with work? You seemed caught up with something that first night.”
Scott waves it away, seemingly not wanting to open up. “Oh, I was blowing off steam. Robbie had a few drinks, and I was talking out of my ass because I was frustrated about a deal not going through the way I expected. Well, I was frustrated until I got distracted by something much more interesting.”
Scott looks me up and down, his gaze burning my skin everywhere it touches, and I can feel the flush rushing to spread across the expanse of my chest and up to my cheeks.
The attention feels good, making my brain scramble, and I forget the line of questions about his family and his work. The waitress comes over and we order dinner.
As she leaves, Scott refocuses on me. “So, that was a lot about my family, more than I’d usually share on a first date, for damn sure. How about you? Any juicy family secrets you want to spill?” he says teasingly.
But he has shared a lot, and I think he’s telling the truth about not usually doing that . . . with anyone, much less on a first date. I feel like I need to give him a bit too, even the playing field. I take a deep breath. “Not too juicy, but I was raised by my aunt. My mom abandoned me when I was a baby, so Aunt May is the only mother I’ve ever known.”
“Oh,” Scott says, his voice dropping as he grabs my hand, holding it gently in his. He seems to be searching for the right words. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
I smile, feeling the heartache behind his words. He really is sad for me. Before tonight, I probably would’ve thought he’d had a perfect life, with perfect parents and a perfect future. But even with just the little tidbits he’s given me, I think maybe I’m the lucky one here. He has both parents and loads of money, both things I’ve never had, but I had Aunt May’s unconditional love.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “I’m sure it’s shaped me in some ways, but I got lucky.”
“How’s that?” he asks curiously.
“Well, I had Aunt May and she had me. Back when I was little, she wasn’t on the best path, and she says I saved her from that lifestyle. She was a great role model for me, raised me up right and helped me become the woman I am today. She was the best stand-in mother I could’ve ever wished for, and now I have Stella. She’s my boss, but she’s like a second mother to me too. And of course I have Tiffany. . . she’s my rock and always brightens my days. I might not have grown up with much, might not even have much now in terms of tangible things, but I do have three women who love me and have helped me through some shitty days. And that makes everything else less important somehow.”
“You might be right. You do sound lucky. Everyone should have someone who loves them like that,” Scott says, but the way he says it, I wonder if he’s got anyone like that. I don’t want to push anymore though. I can tell he’s sensitive about his family situation, and we just dropped some pretty major bombs considering we’ve barely started our first date.
I decide to redirect us to safer ground, something almost every man can talk about forever. “Okay, stupid question,” I say, grinning. “Your car . . . what’s the deal?”
Scott laughs. “It’s a limited edition and I loved it, so I bought it. I don’t drive it too often, but it seemed warranted tonight.”
I whistle. I don’t know a lot about cars, but I know it’s a big deal that he wanted to show off a bit for me. I would’ve been just as happy if he’d picked me up in an Uber, but I’ll admit, there’s something extra sexy about seeing him control all that car. “Well, it is gorgeous. Insurance must be a pain though.”
Scott laughs. “Yeah, I guess.” He gives me an odd look, and I’m wondering what he’s about to say, thinking it’ll be about his Lambo . . . because guys, cars, and hours of chatter are a sure thing. But he surprises me. “So, are you going to tell me? Why’d you freak out about my tattoo? I mean, things were going great, at least from my perspective, and you just flipped on a dime.”
I blush furiously, surprised he went there, but I do need to explain, so I guess sooner is better than later. Although never would’ve been the best choice. I shake my head, looking skyward for strength to say this with a straight face. “You’re not going to believe me.”
Scott leans back, giving me a sardonic look. “Try me.”
“Well, I had a pretty bad breakup a while back, and since then, I’ve been a bit gun-shy. So Tiff took me to a psychic . . .”
It doesn’t take long to tell him the story about Marie’s cryptic prediction, even with pauses to sip at the soda the waitress brings. Still, Scott listens intently through the whole story. “So, in the end, we left with Tiff yel
ling and me confused and maybe a little scared that she’d put a voodoo curse on us. And then just a few nights later, there you are . . . with a big ass scorpion on your chest.”
I taper off, shrugging. “So yeah, it scared the shit out of me and I freaked. I’m sorry.”
Scott nods his head, pursing his lips. “That’s a helluva coincidence, so I can see why you’d freak. Hell, I’m a little weirded out myself hearing that story. Can I just promise not to burn you or something? Cold pizza and cereal from here on out. Deal?” he says with a smirk.
“You think I’m batshit crazy, don’t you?” I say with a laugh. “And don’t even pretend like you had plans to cook me dinner or breakfast.” Nope, I didn’t miss that little nugget of information. If he’s thinking dinner and breakfast, I’m thinking we’re gonna be up all night. Especially since he’s not running after my explanation.
Scott sips his own soda, shaking his head. “I can’t blame you, and I don’t think you’re crazy. I probably would’ve reacted crazily too. I think I’d be more worried if you actually believed in it. I mean, everyone’s got little habits and quirks, even some full-out superstitions, but living your life by someone else’s words . . . no, thank you. I’m in charge of my destiny, thank you very much, and I’ll direct it with hard work and focused concentration.”
I smile. “That sounds like you. Making fate your bitch and telling her what you want and how soon to make it happen.”
Scott does a little snap of his fingers, looking at the air beside him. “Yes, Fate . . . make it snappy, please. I do hate to be kept waiting.” His voice is full of entitlement and disdain, sounding nothing like his usual crisp self.
I giggle and he laughs with me. Fuck, I’m glad to address the elephant in the room, and that went way better than I’d ever hoped. Now, we can leave my freak-out in the past and see what happens with the rest of our night.
Our food comes, and as we’re digging into our burgers, Dolly comes on over the speaker system. Sure, Whitney Houston may have made I Will Always Love You more famous, but I still know it as a Dolly song.
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