“Yo! Yo! Ms. Roman, you want to see what I can do with these flaming hot Cheetos?” Justin asks.
“No, you idiot, Ms. Roman doesn’t want to see that shit!” Danny, another student, shouts.
“Put the Cheetos away, morons,” Zoey says as she scowls. She’s much more mature than the boys in her class. She stops in her tracks before taking her assigned seat. “Wait a second, who sent you flowers?” Her eyes go wide.
Before they can speculate, I lie, “I bought the flowers for myself.”
“Yeah okay, we aren’t buying it,” Justin says, trying to balance a cheeto on his nose.
“That would be so sad if that were true. Almost as sad as Justin’s cheeto tricks,” Zoey teases.
I change the topic, but they keep their eyes glued on the flowers the entire lesson. They aren’t buying my lies.
Friday rolls around quicker than I hoped for. I would much rather soak in the tub alone while sipping champagne than primp for a date with a guy I’m not sure I even want to see.
Clark’s smug face pops up in my memory.
His strikingly handsome face.
I want to smack it because he’s a jerk that has no problem calling me out on my bullshit. That makes me uncomfortable.
When my look is as good as it’s going to get, I throw my phone in my black leather clutch. Our date doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, and I’m not going to be early. Not for this guy.
Looking around the apartment, I see nothing to keep me entertained. Everything is organized, the laundry is done, and the bathroom is clean. I even peek into the dishwasher to see if there’s anything to put away. Nope. Already empty.
As I sit here staring around the room, it’s silent. Not even the peep of a mouse.
How sad. I should get a dog.
I’ve never realized how alone I was until now. I’ve never been the girl who worried whatsoever about boyfriends. Since I was in high school, I’ve been in three relationships. They didn’t end dramatically or with any tears—we weren’t the right matches, and we went our separate ways. It was all kind of easy actually.
Since then I’ve been focused on getting my master’s in education and pouring my heart and soul into my students.
As I look down at my watch, I see only five minutes have passed. I don’t want to sit in silence any longer.
To Jackie’s I go! I went with an edgy look tonight—studded stilettos, ripped jeans, and a tight camo graphic tee with a black leather jacket on top. Eat your heart out, Clark.
Even though I walk as slowly as possible, I’m still at Jackie’s with ten minutes to spare. Clark is already there. He’s sitting at the table I originally met him at. Our table.
“Good to see you’re early. Being late is not a good trait,” I say as I slide into my seat.
He smirks, putting down his cellphone. “Nice to see you are sitting with the right man this time.”
“I don’t know if I’d say the right man but …” I let my thoughts trail off as the flirty waitress from our last visit walks up to our table.
“Can I get you two anything?” She doesn’t seem as flirtatious tonight. The bar is insanely packed with people.
Clark orders us both drinks and an appetizer without even consulting me. A man has never ordered for me before. How come everything he does turns me on and irritates me?
“How was your day?” He leans in toward the table. His full attention is on me. I get the impression that he’s judging everything I’m saying very carefully.
“My day was insane, but it’s what I live for,” I say as a different waitress drops off our drinks and food. I dig a chip into the spinach and artichoke dip before asking, “How was your day? Actually … what do you do?” This is the first guy I haven’t done an extensive Google search on. I usually know everything the good ol’ Internet will tell me—including a search of the sex offenders’ registry. You never know nowadays.
“What do you think I do?” Clark asks, taking a sip of his signature whiskey.
Leaning back in my chair, I take a good, hard long look at him. Clark is wearing a pair of dark dress pants, a button-up shirt, and a relaxed blazer. He’s a handsome son of a bitch, and I know he knows it.
Reaching across the table, I grab his big hands and flip them over to examine for calluses. They aren’t the kind of hands that signify he does manual labor; however, they confirm that he is still lifting weights.
“Let me guess … gynecologist.” I tease.
“I do love pussy,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.
I choke on my cocktail. I definitely set him up for that one without realizing.
“Sorry that went down the wrong pipe.” My choking settles down but I know my face must be red. My temperature must be escalating.
“You want me to check your pipes?” Clark pushes a glass of ice water toward me. “Let the good doctor take a peek.”
Sipping the water, I gather my nerves. He’s pushing my buttons on purpose to get a reaction out of me.
“My pipes are just fine. Thank you. I don’t need anyone to check them.” I give him the most serious expression I can muster. It’s the look I give my students when they’ve messed up big time. It’s rare I give it, but when the wrath comes out, everyone knows to quiet down.
I want Clark to know I don’t need him for sex. I have a vibrator, and I know how to use it.
But it would be nice to have a man.
A real man to touch, kiss, lick, and … as I fan my face with my hand, Clark glares at me.
“What are you thinking about? Something hot?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.
I’m not going to tell him the fantasy I’m having where he’s kneeling beneath this table. Not a chance.
“Stop avoiding the subject. If you aren’t a lady parts doctor, what do you do?” I ask.
“I’m the CEO of a consulting firm.”
“Which firm?”
“You know a thing or two about consulting?”
“I don’t know anything about consulting, but I figured it was kind to ask you a question,” I shrug my shoulders. “What does a consulting firm do?”
This gets a chuckle out of Clark. “Your honesty is refreshing. My firm specializes in marketing and branding. We are contacted by companies, generally Fortune 100. We come in and have access to their entire business to look for ways to make them the best they can be in our areas of expertise.”
“Did you always want to do this?” Another chip goes into the warm spinach and artichoke dip.
“Not at all. My grandfather started the firm years ago. My dad also ran it. He was never home, he missed everything that had to do with my life, and I resented the hell out of him. I swore I’d never have anything to do with consulting.”
“That sounds awful,” I say before realizing I should have bit my tongue. “I just meant it’s sad when you build a career but can’t build a life with your family.” And my foot goes into my mouth yet again.
Putting my head into my hands on top of the table, I wish I wasn’t so comfortable around him to say whatever I wanted.
Clark finishes eating his chip before saying, “You’re right. That’s why I’m doing all this now.”
“Doing all what now?” Since when did I become a detective? I’ve never asked a man this many questions.
“I’m busting my ass in my career now because when I do have kids, I’m not going to miss anything,” Clark says with such conviction that I believe him. He wants to be there for his kids, and I find that endearing. It’s also nice to see he wants to be a father. You can never be too sure when to mention kids because it can scare men off.
“I want the same thing.”
If I’m not mistaken, he looks at me with a sparkle in his eye before the busty brunette comes back to our table asking if we’d like to order dinner. Gone is the seriousness of our previous conversation.
After Clark places our order, we continue to chat but keep it lighthearted.
Our chat is interrupted when a ma
n approaches our table. “Juliette?”
Is this déjà vu?
“Wes?” My former date stares between the two of us. “It’s nice to see you again.” I lie. He wasn’t a terrible date, just nothing worth repeating.
“You really did have two dates scheduled for the same night?” Wes asks, looking utterly confused. I don’t blame him; catching me with Clark again does look bad.
“No,” I spit out quickly. “I didn’t. Honest. I sat down at the wrong table. I didn’t know Clark before that night.”
Clark reaches his hand across the table and places it on mine. And under the table, his foot brushes against my leg. Sparks course through my veins as if I’ve just been electrocuted.
“Juliette, dear, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Clark says, sending a loving look over to me. Then he turns to face Wes. “We were looking for a potential person to have a threesome with; however, we’re going in the opposite direction. We’re now interviewing women.”
Wes’ eyes bulge out of his head.
“What the hell?” He tries reading my face to see if there’s any truth to what Clark just said.
“Sorry,” I shrug my shoulders. “If you know any nice ladies, send them our way.”
Clark’s foot inches higher up my leg. How far does he plan to drag that thing?
“You two are freaks!” Wes exclaims, a vein nearly popping out of his neck. “You didn’t even kiss me on the first date. You prude. Screw you guys.”
After his blow up, Wes storms out of the bar, slamming the door behind him.
When he’s out of sight, both Clark and I bust out laughing.
“Can you believe that? He was pissed we didn’t want him for our fake threesome.” I can’t control my fit of laughter.
“I’d be pissed too. Have you seen us? We are fucking sexy,” Clark says. He isn’t laughing anymore.
I mumble a half-ass response and fake laugh too loudly.
He is sexy, that’s for sure. No one has ever called me that before. Cute, nice, kind and a go-getter. Yes. But sexy? No. However, online dating trolls have called me … whore, slut, and cunt. You know, all the sweet terms of endearment that every woman wants to hear.
“Do you go on dates often?” Clark asks, waking me up from my brain fog.
“I go on a few dates here and there. Nothing serious.”
“Are you not interested in anything serious?”
“I don’t know what I’m interested in.”
I wish I could take those words back. They aren’t the truth. I do know what I’m interested in. I want something serious: long-term leading toward marriage. But until then, I’d rather be single than do friends with benefits or even a one-night stand. All in or nothing–that’s how I want to live my life.
“What exactly does that mean?” Clark asks.
“Why exactly are you asking?” I try to buy time before he asks yet another question. I slowly sip on my drink as if savoring all the intricate flavors. I don’t know why I can’t tell him what I really want to say, but the words just won’t come out.
Clark folds his hands on top of the table. He looks all business.
“I want to fuck you.”
Choking on my drink yet again, I nearly spit it out on him.
“I’m sorry … what?” I ask in a blur of confusion. I’m a high school English teacher who hangs out with her married friends, binge watches Fuller House on Netflix, and has an obsession with jelly donuts. That does not scream sex appeal.
“You heard me. I want to fuck you. Do you need me to explain how that works?” Clark continues his pitch before I can interrupt with questions. “I don’t do serious relationships, talking about feelings, cuddles on the couch while watching television shows and all that nonsense. I’m not interested in that whatsoever. But sex with a beautiful woman … very interested in that.”
He doesn’t even smirk or cock an eyebrow. He’s dead serious.
Looking around the bar to see if anyone is listening, I notice they are all going about their nights as usual. No one is hearing this man ask me for sex. Does this happen every day and I just don’t notice? I’d love to overhear something like this because then I’d know how to respond. I’m flabbergasted.
“Now that I know all the things you don’t do. What exactly do you do then?” I ask.
Without missing a beat, he says, “I make you scream, your toes curl, your legs shake, and your body lose its mind.”
I find myself gasping for air. “I … I … I don’t know.”
Yet another lie, I do know. I want him to make my toes curl, my legs shake, and my body lose its mind. I want all of the above, and I want it right now.
Clark doesn’t say a word as he waits for my answer. He’s looking at me as if he knows I’m going to cave. He thinks he’s some prized possession. As if he’s already won the trophy.
You know what? No. This is entirely against what I stand for. And I barely know this guy. If I wasn’t so confused, I’d be offended.
“I don’t think so,” I answer with shaky confidence. “No.”
“No?” Clark looks utterly surprised. He says the word as if it’s foreign to his ears.
Who says no to a guy like him?
The bad boy.
Probably no one. Except this princess, I guess.
“You heard me … no.” This time I look him straight in the eyes, as if daring him to call me out.
“Why not?” He leans back in his chair as if to get comfortable, without a care in the world.
“All of the things you proposed sound lovely … toes curling, screaming, legs shaking. However, I don’t want those things … from you.”
This gets a chuckle out of him.
At the same time Denise is back with the four-cheese pizza and breadsticks he ordered. She does her best to bend just enough to give Clark a peak at her cleavage while setting down his slice of pizza.
Rolling my eyes, they suddenly lock with Clark’s, and instantly I’m embarrassed. While I was checking out the waitress’ rack, Clark was staring at me.
“If you need anything else, please wave me down,” Denise says before strutting away, again with those sexy hips. Who does she think she is, Shakira?
“Clearly, other women are interested in your proposal.” I nod my head in the direction of the waitress.
“Clearly that keeps bothering you.”
“Excuse me? Why would that bother me?”
This guy is so full of himself. Picking up my pizza, I bite into it and immediately drop it back on the plate and wave my hand in front of my mouth. I just gave myself a third degree burn.
“Too hot to handle?” Clark asks, biting into his steaming hot piece with no problem. “Maybe I should take my proposal back.”
“You’re showing off that you can eat hot food? Yeah, that’s the way to make me want to do naughty things with you.”
“Naughty things?” He mocks my words with a laugh. “I have a serious question for you. Don’t lie.”
Now I’m nervous about what kind of question could follow up asking me for sex. “What is it?”
“Are you a virgin?”
“A virgin? No. What kind of question is that?” My curiosity slips away and is replaced with annoyance. And more embarrassment.
“Wanted to make sure,” Clark says, eyeing me as if he doesn’t believe my truthful answer.
“Would that change your proposal? Just out of curiosity.”
“Yes,” he says as he grabs another slice and puts it on his white plate. He does the same for me. “I don’t do virgins. You might be a teacher, but I’m not.”
I’ve had enough of this talk with him.
“This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had. You, Clark, are an asshole. I don’t want to even finish my dinner with you,” I say while putting my arms into the sleeves of my leather jacket.
Clark doesn’t stop me or dispute what I just said about him. Instead, he watches me put my jacket on in silence.
Standing up from th
e table, I give him one last look before heading for the door.
“You’ll be back,” he says, loud enough for me to hear.
Pushing the door open, I stand on the curb for a minute to figure out what just happened.
I’ll be back? Hell no, I won’t. I am not The Terminator.
I don’t even know Clark’s last name or his phone number. I guess, even if I wanted to, I won’t be back.
Clark
What the fuck is up with that woman?
From the minute she walked into Jackie’s, when she was supposed to be on a date with that loser, she got under my skin.
Day one I walked away thinking she was gorgeous yet a complete airhead. But when she came into Jackie’s the second time, smelling like death, she intrigued me. Juliette does have a brain. In fact, she can carry on a conversation better than any woman I’ve ever met.
It’s sad that her ability to string a sentence together makes her stand apart from eighty percent of the female population. I’ve never had a good conversation with a woman. I didn’t even say great one. Just a good one.
Who told women that all we want is tits and ass?
Don’t get me wrong, tits and ass are great, but I want to be fucked physically and mentally.
Juliette, she’s different from the bimbos. The way she joined right in to blast the douchebag about the threesome—she has edge to her. Some wit. I fucking love witty women. And brunettes.
However, she’s rocking the Mother Teresa vibe. And that is not sexy. I’m not sure if she was lying about her virginity. But she said no.
Her loss.
Juliette
Teaching Romeo & Juliet to a bunch of tenth graders is quite a challenge.
“Yo! Ms. Roman, do you have a Romeo? Ya know, considering your name is Juliette,” one student shouts out.
“You hiding a Mr. Roman from us? Bring him in, we want to meet him.” Justin asks loudly in front of the whole class.
“This is not an appropriate topic. Let’s stick to the script,” I instruct, holding my paper in the air. They are supposed to be acting out some scenes but no one is taking this seriously.
Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 3