Ten Dates

by Emily James

  There’s a tall mahogany carved desk to my left that sits on a raised platform. Three staff members look down on arriving guests and take turns greeting and escorting them to their destinations. I smile at the handsome young gentleman who has met my eye; his name badge is almost in view when someone gently cups my elbow.

  I turn with a smile to greet my escort.

  “Six?”

  “Ah, Four. What might you be doing here?”

  I look back to the young gentleman whose name badge I cannot see. Six ushers him away, leaving me at his mercy. I signal to him to come back, that I do in fact require his assistance. He skirts just out of arms reach, waiting for Six’s approval.

  “It’s okay, this is my good friend, Four. I can do the honours, Jim.” He gives the man a curt nod, silently sending him on his way. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “Six, are you stalking me? Should I file a restraining order?”

  “No, Four. This is my place. I could have driven you here had you mentioned you were coming. Reservation?”

  “Oh.” Electric shocks creep up my spine and heat my neck as Six takes my shrug from around my shoulders. He puts two fingers on the small of my back to guide me through the entrance hall. “So, you work here?” I check.

  “No Four, this is my place. I own it. I am the boss. You are officially worshiping at my alter, how does it feel?” he asks.

  I gulp and follow his lead.

  “It makes sense, great big ostentatious building, for great big-headed bastard. Did they raise the ceilings especially?”

  I grin, pleased with myself. I managed some kind of retort, given how impressed I am with his business.

  Six holds my arm to pause me when we arrive at another desk by the doors to the restaurant. “Now then, Four, what name is the reservation? Will I finally learn your name?”

  I smile smugly. No he will not.

  “The reservation is in the name of Brett Tomlin.”

  Six skims the sheet of paper in front of him, his face unreadable. “Ah, Mr. Tomlin. Oh.” Six scratches the scruff on his chin. “Could you describe him, please? You see we have two guests with that name.”

  I try to breathe steadily despite having no clue of the answer. The heat of panic creeps up my spine. In just a moment, he’s going to know for sure that I’m on a blind date if I don’t find something convincing to say.

  “It’s okay, Four. Just kidding, only one Mr. Tomlin’s here tonight.”

  Steam blows from my ears, and I flick Six’s hand away and walk ahead when he tries to guide me through the doors. If I was nervous before, I’m terrified now. What if my date is some heinous looking monster with a square head and round body? What if he is sixty years old and has hairy hands?

  I turn to look back at the exit and wonder if I can make an escape.

  “Don’t be nervous, Four. You look beautiful.”

  I stumble but am able to right myself before Six catches my arm. What did he say that for? Is he trying to put me on edge, make my heart jump out of my chest?

  Six leads me through the restaurant towards huge windows that overlook the dimly lit lawn that I know leads down to the cliff edge and sea beyond.

  Above the volume of the piano music, the clouds growl as they continue their angry torment of the sea. The contrast is strangely ambient as the other diners sit at candlelit tables, closely hugged to their partners.

  “Hello, you.” Brett Tomlin stands with a toothy grin and holds out a hand. It’s a polite if not slightly awkward gesture, perfect for a first meeting, but sadly confirming Six’s suspicions that we don’t know each other from Adam.

  I smile and nod a hello as Brett’s smooth hand takes mine and gives it a friendly squeeze. He has darkly tanned skin, bright white teeth and black hair that curls at the edges.

  In my peripheral vision, Six’s jaw hardens as he assesses Brett.

  “I’ll leave you both to it.” Six clears his throat and walks away.

  I sit opposite a sharp and suave looking Brett. He’s wearing a well-cut navy shirt that is turned up at the sleeves. The sheen of the material is pulled tight, alluding to the promise of heavy-set biceps.

  I begin the evening feeling nervous that Six can see us but soon feel more relaxed as I get talking to Brett. He pours me a large glass of red wine from the bottle he has already ordered, and I start the evening by asking if he had a good day.

  Brett is confident and well mannered. He apologises for the weather and we both admire our front row seats for the storm. Lightening crackles and pops as it looms closer.

  The menu is worded entirely in French and sensing my concern, Brett asks, “Shall we just order two steaks and some fries?” He puts his menu down at the side of his cutlery and leans forward on his hands, taking me in.

  I mirror him. “Actually, I think that’s exactly what I fancy tonight.”

  “You look pretty,” he says. His eyes look almost black in the candlelight. I flush as I feel them skim across my body, and I nibble my lip, not used to this kind of attention. My nerve endings are ablaze as Brett touches my hand, refilling my glass.

  Brett’s attention is directly on me when he asks about my job, my family and my friends. Even in the early days with Chris, I never fully had his undivided attention, there was always something distracting him. And so, with Brett’s encouragement, I talk.

  I gush about my job, my family, and my friends, which leaves me to explain, “So you see, Melinda set up these ten dates. I don’t know if I’ll go on all of them, ten is a little crazy after all, but she’s put in so much effort. I don’t know I... Maybe I feel like I need to validate her effort.” I stutter an embarrassed giggle, hoping he doesn’t think I’m a massive harlot. “I’m not having sex with any of them, though. I’d never put out on the first date, in case you were expecting... or wondering.” My skin catches on fire, and I’m tempted to face plant my head in my hands.

  God I sound ridiculous.

  “Joanie, I would never expect a woman to put out on the first date,” Brett replies. His eyes lit with fascination. “You should go on the dates. Three years is a long time in a relationship. Maybe she thinks you need to play the field, weigh up your options, and not settle for the first guy that comes around. Which date number am I, out of interest?”

  I’m surprised at how well he takes the details of my task.

  “You are number two. But, I have to say you are the best, so far.” I giggle.

  The grin on Brett’s already smiling face widens. “I do love a challenge.” He winks. “I already know I’d really like to see you again. Can I have your phone number?”

  I consider for a moment and then take my phone from my bag. Brett takes his out too and we exchange numbers.

  A glass shatters above the noise of the thunder, and I catch Six in the corner of my eye reprimanding a member of the waiting staff.

  When our meal is finished, Brett insists on paying the bill and then escorts me to the grand entrance. Out of the bubble that our table in the restaurant provided, I feel vulnerable and exposed. My eyes search of their own accord for Six. Other diners are leaving, either braving the heavy winds and icy sleet to go outside to their cars or awaiting taxi’s, and others use the opulent, curved staircases to head upstairs. I nosily peer after them wondering where they are going.

  I look at my new watch and sigh.

  I’m disappointed to notice it’s only ten p.m.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening.” Brett’s eye contact is intense and my stomach does a flip. It has been a lovely evening, and I decide to text Melinda to commend her good effort.

  Brett, having retrieved my shrug, wraps it around my shoulders. He’s quite a few inches taller than I am, and I have to angle my face up towards his to maintain eye contact.

  I’m about to respond, to agree that it was a lovely evening, when I’m almost bowled over by Six. As he nudges me, Six steadies me by holding my right arm. Brett isn’t as fortunate and he is forced to take a step back, or be bumped on
his backside by Six.

  “Good, you’re still here. Sorry Brad, I’m going to have to steal your date. Four, I’ll give you a lift home tonight. I forgot my keys.”

  Brett steps forward and loops my left arm. “Actually, I was going to offer to drive her home.”

  “Hmm.” Six strokes the scruff of his jaw as he eyes up Brett and then nods. “That could work. Give me a minute, I’ll get my jacket.”

  “Actually, we’re on a date, that wouldn’t be convenient,” Brett corrects Six and my mouth pops open. Brett’s got balls! My eyes widen at Six as I wait for his retort.

  “Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry, what was I thinking? So, Brody, was that two whole bottles of wine Four here drank to herself?”

  Six then turns to me as if to chastise. “Four, what have I told you about binge drinking?”

  My mouth hangs open, unable to formulate a retort, while Six continues his chatter, “It’s like when I found Four’s shoe in the hallway last week. I told her getting so wasted that you lose a shoe does not make you Cinderella, more like gives you liver failure.” Six tuts, and his hand holds his hip.

  I glare to my left at Six. “I didn’t drink all the wine tonight.” I swing an apologetic glance to Brett and shake my head to reinforce my comments. “And I don’t binge drink.”

  Mostly, I silently add.

  “Oh, you didn’t drink all the wine this time? Good for you, Four. So how much did you drink, Barry?”

  I’m about to flip my lid and tell Six to get lost, when Brett says, “Only a couple of glasses. I’m fine to drive, and my name is Brett.”

  “Oh. Just a couple, huh?” Six nods his head.

  I count back. Brett had more than I did. I stopped him topping up my glass a few times and he ended up finishing the second bottle.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drive,” I tell Brett.

  Brett nod’s in reply. Now that I look at him, he does seem a bit red faced and a little less steady on his feet.

  Six may have just saved me from getting in a car with a drunk driver.

  “Go see Suzy at reception; she’ll organise you a taxi.” Six tells Brett with a wink and pulls me by my arm. “Come along Four, let’s try getting you home with both shoes intact this time.”

  I mouth the word sorry to Brett as I’m pulled along by Six. I’m unsure how Six has managed to untangle me from Brett, who stands mouth agape watching Six usher his date out of the heavy doors. Equally, I don’t know if I should be furious or thankful for his intervention. My mind is in shock, but the drive home is the perfect place to demand answers.

  Chapter 7

  SIX OPENS THE DOOR of his car and waits expectantly for me to clamber inside. The car is sporty and black; its seats are just a few inches above ground level. I assess the likelihood of getting in without exposing my backside to the world and to Six.

  “Come on Four, my balls are freezing off out here.”

  “I didn’t ask for your intervention. I could have gotten a taxi.”

  “Ah, but who could resist a gentleman such as me.” Six’s expression is jovial and his mouth turns up at the side, revealing just a hint of a dimple.

  I narrow my eyes at Six as I get in the car. I get in, not because of Six’s prompting, but because the bitter wind is whooshing my dress up and the silk of my knickers is starting to freeze against my ass.

  The door slams shut and Six jogs around to the driver’s side. The wind blasts his hair in all directions but instead of looking a mess, he has the look of a model in a commercial. I cross my arms in a huff.

  Trust Six to make storms look sexy.

  Six drops down into the seat beside me and pushes the key into the ignition. The car roars to life so loudly that the other users of the car park stop—even though the rain is turning to hail—and look at the car. I comb my hair across my face to obscure their view.

  Trust Six to have an attention-whore of a car.

  “You like my car, huh Four?” Six nibbles the corner of his plump lower lip as he waits for my answer.

  Sitting so close to the chassis is a new experience for me. The vibrations from the engine seep through my seat and into my bones. It’s strangely relaxing and a little erotic.

  “It’s ostentatious and smells of old leather, and you,” I respond.

  Six pushes on the accelerator and my stomach is left behind in the thrill. I grip the sides of the leather sports seat as Six manoeuvres the car down the winding private driveway down to the coastal road below. My ears pop and an electrical current runs up my body as Six navigates the car onto the empty road and picks up speed.

  “That’s better, Four. It’s good to see you smile. You’re always so uptight. You should relax more.”

  I throw him an angry glare.

  “I am not uptight. I was relaxed, Six, on my date. The one you sabotaged, by the way.”

  “I’m not apologising for that. You shouldn’t be getting into cars with men you don’t know, or drunk drivers, for that matter. You’re smarter than that.”

  A growl escapes my lips. He is infuriating.

  “I hadn’t even agreed that Brett could take me home. You barged in and interfered, and the next thing I know I’m stuck in a car with Sanctimonious Six!”

  “Why do you always say ‘Six’ like it’s a dirty word? Would you like to know my real name?”

  The number is not dirty, but the places he takes my thoughts to are one hundred percent filthy. I desperately want to know his name, but I would never ask. The fear of what it may do to my level of constraint around him is a risk I’m unwilling to take.

  “No, Six, I do not want to know your name.”

  “Fair enough, though frankly, Four, I’ve wondered quite a lot about your name. The beautiful woman with the cute glasses and freckles; I wonder if she is a Mabel or a Sue?" he teases. “Perhaps she is a Jane or a... no definitely not, too fiery to be a plain Jane.”

  Too soon, we turn the corner into our building’s driveway. Of course, there is a space right next to the front entrance for Six to slide into; Six is accustomed to strokes of luck.

  “Why do you tease me so much, Six?” I ask.

  “You grind my gears, too. I guess your responses are fascinating to me, Four.”

  I nod and stare at our building. I can’t work out if fascinating is good. Some people might use the word fascinating in reference to mould, fungus, or genital warts.

  Six opens my car door and helps me out by holding my hand. This low to the ground, a little help is essential or else I may be stuck here forever; his hand is smooth, his fingers long and firm.

  I follow him to the entrance where he keys the lock and pushes the door open. Trust Six to open the door with ease.

  As we meander towards our respective doors, we both stop beside mine and Six fishes his apartment key from his pocket in preparation. A smile caused by the knowledge that I caught him out graces my features and I say, “I see you found your keys, huh, Six?”

  “Would you look at that,” Six grins knowingly. “They were in my pocket the whole time.”

  I look up and study Six’s face. He didn’t need to intervene tonight, but I’m glad he did. It didn’t occur to me that Brett might be too drunk to drive.

  Really, I suppose, it was quite sweet.

  “Thanks, for the lift, Six,” I say and my hands rest up on Six’s shoulder as I tiptoe to plant a kiss on the side of his scruffy jaw, but Six’s face moves and I catch the soft, full part of his lips square-on. My weary lips are, for a second, torn against resting on the soft pillow his lips provide, or jumping inside of my mouth to take cover.

  Six’s eyes widen like saucers, and I leap out of his reach in shock that I, Four, just kissed Six, the sexy bastard!

  Six’s hands bunch in his pockets and he nods, acknowledging. A smile plays on his lips and I wait for his teasing.

  My words spew in a splutter, trying to salvage what remains of my dignity. “I didn’t mean to... You moved. That was your fault. I um... I just wanted to
say thanks for the ride, that’s all.”

  As I turn my key in the lock of my door, Six finds his voice. “You know if you wanted to kiss me you just had to ask, Four. My lips are at your disposal.”

  “In your dreams, Six.” I walk into my apartment and close the door behind me.

  In the back draft of the door I just catch him say, “Frequently, Four. Frequently.”

  AFTER WORK THE NEXT day, I’m staring into my empty fridge when the buzzer from the foyer door makes me jump.

  “Hello, who is it?” I sing.

  “Super Hot Guy.”

  “Super Hot Guy, who?” I ask, teasingly.

  “Super Hot Guy, who has ‘thrice baked’ lasagne, from scratch I might add, pasta and all. Let me in, Joanie, before the dish lasers off my fingerprints!”

  “Come-on in then Mikey, though I think Super Hot Guy is a stretch.”

  I giggle and buzz him in. I put my internal door on the latch and, while I wait for him to reach my apartment, I change out of my work clothes, opting for some yoga pants and a vest top for comfort, and switch the kettle on to boil.

  “Incredibly hot, available guy brings incredibly hot, fricking lasagne,” Mikey squeals as he dances through the hallway and into my apartment. He drops the container on the dining table and falls back on the adjacent sofa.

  “That was exhausting,” he says. “Why people don’t just eat at restaurants instead of putting themselves through all that I’ll never know.”

  “So you’re enjoying intense cookery one-oh-one then?” I chuckle; he’s red in the face and panting. Mikey hasn’t sweat this much since the rumour broke that One Direction were splitting up.

  “Joanie, it was awful,” Mikey whines. “Chef made us make ten different types of pasta. He’s all anal, and not in a good way, about the hand rolling of the dough and making it the right thickness. Is it a crime to prefer a long, thick noodle, Joanie, is it? Because I didn’t think so, but Chef, Chef likes them long and thin. He thinks I add too much salt. Me? I pride myself on just the right ratio of sodium to liquid, but Chef said he’s worried about my arteries. I told him, ‘my arteries are in the best shape of their life.’”