“That’s so exciting! Is she having a boy or a girl?”
“A boy. He’s going to be my family’s first grandchild. My mom is out of her mind with excitement.” Lewis hasn’t stopped smiling since he got here and his smile is contagious.
When the waitress comes by, I’m appreciative that Lewis takes the lead and orders for us.
“Hope you don’t mind that I picked the vegetable options. I’m a vegetarian.”
I never once thought about dating a vegetarian. Is this something I care about? No. I don’t care whatsoever.
“How long have you been a vegetarian?” I ask.
Lewis takes a sip of the Ethiopian cocktail he ordered. “My whole life. My mom is a vegetarian and that’s how she cooks for our family.”
Our plump, short waitress shows up with two hot towels that we use to clean our hands. It’s scolding hot, but I try to keep my cool, literally. When she leaves with our used towels, a second waitress follows behind to place a large silver circle tray down in the middle of the table along with a platter of bread.
“We eat Ethiopian food with our hands. Hope you don’t mind digging in.” Lewis picks up the sponge-like white bread and rips a piece off that he uses to scoop up collard greens.
Following his lead, I pick up my own piece of bread. I rip off several pieces, scooping up what looks like a stew and then corn and lentils. Everything tastes rich with spices and herbs—not so bad. I do spy a platter of meat options on a table near ours, but I avert my eyes before I drool.
I shove some food into my mouth and very ungracefully drop some on the table. “Oh my gosh, that’s totally embarrassing.”
Lewis laughs and at the same time drops some of his own food. “Looks like we both could use some practice.” He laughs at his mistake. “It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten here. Usually my family comes together and we go through platter after platter like a big Thanksgiving feast.”
I’m grateful he laughed off the mess we’ve both made. An easygoing personality is a nice change from the drama that I’ve been used to with Clark.
Stop thinking about Clark.
“What do you think?” Lewis asks before stuffing a huge piece of lentils rolled up in bread into his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” How did he know I was thinking about someone else? Did I accidentally say something out loud? “Thinking about what?” I eye him in fear.
“The food,” he points to the table and laughs.
Oh yeah. The food. “It’s delicious! I’m glad you asked me to come here. I’m trying to do more things outside of my comfort zone.”
“That’s a fun idea. What are some other things you’re interested in trying?” Lewis asks. His ability to take genuine interest in me is a major plus.
“Well, to be honest, I haven’t thought too much about it. As opportunities show up in my life that I’d normally say no to, instead, I say yes. What are some things you’d like to try? I could use some ideas.”
The waitress swings by to leave another plate of bread on our table and clears away the empty one.
He brings his hand to his chin and strokes it as if in pensive thought. “Hmmm… good question. I’d like to swim with sharks.”
“Whoa. Swimming with sharks sounds terrifying. I am not the strongest swimmer. That’s something I’d say no to.” I laugh. Just thinking about a shark freaks me out. “Maybe I’d like to get a tattoo.” I shrug my shoulders, not quite sure.
Lewis’ phone rings and displayed on the screen is the word that sends tremors through my body … Bunny.
Don’t tell me that rabbits can make phone calls now.
He laughs when he notices me spotting the name. “It’s a dorky family nickname we have for my mom. Don’t ask.” He keeps laughing as he answers the call. When he hangs up the phone he says, “I’m sorry to cut this short, but it looks like I need to go to the hospital. I’m an uncle!”
“Of course! Congratulations to your family!” I get up from the table to hug him.
Lewis squeezes me tightly in pure excitement before throwing some money down on the table and taking off out the door in a flurry.
This gives me a minute to process everything that just happened. Why did I have to see a bunny? And why does this whole date feel ruined now?
Clark. Screw that guy.
Dear Universe, why are you doing this to me? Am I a big joke to you?
17
My nerves are shaking. I want to hide in a closet.
That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I can collect my thoughts in there.
It’s almost time to give my big speech in honor of Norman. I look around the banquet hall for the nearest exit; when I spot it, I speed walk over. Tucked down a narrow hallway, I find a closet to escape to.
It’s pitch black in here as I run my hands along the wall near the door to look for a light switch. Nothing.
A knock causes me to jump, pressing myself against the back wall. Who would want in this creepy dark closet? I don’t say a word, but the door opens and closes quickly. It’s as if all the air is sucked from the room—there’s a body standing awfully close to me.
“Why the fuck are you in this closet?” Clark asks. His deep raspy voice is extremely recognizable even though I can’t see his face.
“I’m hiding,” I whisper. “But you always seem to find me.”
If I reach my hand out, I’ll be touching him—he’s that close and this closet is that small. I haven’t been around Clark since the nightclub incident three weeks ago and my body is betraying me. I want to touch him. Kiss him. And sucker punch him in the face or maybe the balls. Definitely the balls.
“Hiding from what?”
I can’t see him, but I feel him place his hands on the wall above my head, caging me in.
“Public speaking.”
Clark laughs as he hovers over me. I smell the scent of his warm, spicy cologne.
“Aunt Marjorie roped you into speaking? You will do great. I know it.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “How do you know that? Don’t be so sure.”
Clark presses his body against mine. By instinct I reach my hand out to rest on his firm chest.
Kiss me, you fool.
I don’t want to be the first to cave in to my needs.
“Do you trust me?” he asks. His breath is on my mouth yet he doesn’t bring his lips to mine.
“I don’t know.” That’s the truth. I feel bad for saying that, but why should I lie? I have nothing to gain by telling a fib. “You haven’t given me many reasons to trust you.”
“I’ve been more honest with you than I have with anyone else.”
Clark brings his face closer to mine. His tongue darts out and licks my lips. Ever so slowly, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. This man is addicting. I want more. Now.
Taking matters into my own hands—I run them up his chest and behind his neck. I pull him closer and slam my mouth onto his before darting my tongue inside. I circle mine with his.
Clark’s hands leave the wall and skim down my body. Just as I’m about to do something I regret, the door opens and light spills into the small closet.
A janitor with a thick gray mustache and wide eyes greets us. He smirks once he realizes what is going on and points toward a mop in the corner, which he grabs before shutting the door again—leaving me in the dark with a man I should avoid.
I shove Clark’s chest to push him to the side as I open the closet door and dart into the hallway.
“Oh come on, that would have been fun. Sexy time in the closet,” Clark says as he smirks and joins me in the hallway.
“No, it definitely would not have been. And don’t say the words sexy time ever again,” I say, pacing back and forth. “This hasn’t helped my nerves at all for this speech.”
Clark takes one step toward me as I take two steps back. This is not what my anxiety needs—more frustration when I need to remain calm, cool, and collected.
“Juliette, we are about to begin. Can you come with me?”
Marjorie’s event coordinator, Rebecca, asks.
“Gladly!” I shriek as I skirt around Clark to follow her back into the banquet hall. I stop in my tracks. “When did this happen?”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asks, eyeing me curiously.
“There are so many people in here. It’s packed!” My heart does a cartwheel in my chest. Hundreds of people are now in the room.
She grabs my arm in excitement. “Isn’t this amazing! And to think all of the money raised will be going to the Prince Foundation. They say every forty seconds in the United States someone has a heart attack. This fundraiser will hopefully kick off a long line of donations to come.”
My face drains of all its color as I wobble to the side, grabbing a nearby chair for support. Suddenly, I’m at a loss for words. What if my speech bombs and no one donates? What if I embarrass Marjorie? Or the memory of Norman?
“Juliette, is everything alright?” Rebecca asks, holding on to my arm to steady me from falling over.
“Yes, I’m just …” my words trail off as I take in the size of the growing crowd.
“She’s going to do phenomenal. Don’t worry about her,” Clark says, standing at my side.
Rebecca looks worried. She’s afraid I’m going to ruin the night. Instead of asking me more questions, she shows me where she wants me to stand before she’ll introduce me in just a few minutes.
When Rebecca leaves us, Clark leans in closer.
“You shouldn’t have run off from the closet. Things were just getting good in there,” he says, winking.
“Are you serious? I am about to humiliate myself in front of hundreds of people and you want to talk about what we could have done in that closet. Unbelievable.” I stomp my foot in frustration.
He pauses for a second. “You’re right, it would have been unbelievable. Just like all of our other times. The look on your face as you orgasm and the way your legs shake—that’s my favorite part.”
“Stop!” I shriek as my face heats up.
He likes the way my legs shake? I also like that.
“That’s not a word you’d be screaming if we went back to the closet.”
I’m going to kill this pervert if he doesn’t shut up. He’s throwing me off my game.
It’s then Clark grabs my arm and points at the stage. Rebecca says my name and the room explodes in applause. Clark ushers his hand out for me to walk up the steps.
When I reach the microphone, my eyes scan the crowd until they land on Marjorie’s face. She smiles and nods, which encourages me.
“Dr. Norman Prince was someone who shaped my life …” I continue my speech about the legendary man who influenced me in many ways.
I’m still nervous, but seeing Marjorie’s face light up as I tell a quick tale about how they both were like parents to me calms my nerves.
When I finish my speech, I’m rewarded with a standing ovation. I do an awkward curtsey, which I instantly regret, and fly off the stage where I find Clark.
“I’m proud of you,” he says.
“Thank you. And that was really smooth of you to distract me.”
He smirks as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m very grateful that he took my mind off the speech, even if he did put it on sex.
Clark puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward Marjorie’s table.
“My darling Juliette, that was beautiful. That meant everything to me,” Marjorie says beaming as she takes me into a warm embrace.
“Juliette, well done,” Dad says, joining our little party. Mom just nods her head to acknowledge my presence but doesn’t say anything about my speech. Instead, her eyes land on Clark.
“Nice to see you again, Clark.” She practically drools over him. Yuck. Clark is young enough to be her son.
“Mr. and Mrs. Roman, nice to see you both. I do agree Juliette did a great job,” Clark remarks.
“Yes. It was … nice,” Mom says, making a face as if the words are poisonous on her lips.
Marjorie’s hand rests on my arm. “It was more than nice, dear. It brought me to tears.” She then turns to Clark. “And you, that was a very generous donation you made in your uncle’s name.”
“It was nothing,” Clark says.
“You make me proud,” she says.
Clark blushes and looks at the ground for just a moment. If my eyes weren’t glued to him, I would have missed it. But it was endearing.
Just then a young, beautiful blond breaks up our group chat.
“Clark, it’s been much too long. How are you, darling?” she asks him in what sounds like a French accent. Her body is facing Clark, and only Clark. She’s blocking me off from my own parents and whatever the hell Clark is to me. A friend, I guess.
Mom raises her eyebrows and nods her head in the direction of the French woman. She’s daring me to do something. And to her disappointment, I’m not going to. Clark is a free man. Free to talk to whomever he wants. I’ve turned over a new leaf and don’t care what he’s doing or with whom because he is not mine. My inner turmoil would battle every single day if I tried to figure out how to make us work. But after reading my own “No Friends With Benefits” manifesto over and over, I’m now sure it’s not worth the stress.
Instead, I take this as my opportunity to slip away to the dessert buffet. As I load up my plate with goodies, Mom joins me.
Grabbing onto my arm in a tight pinch, she asks. “What was all that about? How did you let that happen?” This is all said through gritted teeth as to not let anyone hear her scold me. The Upper East Side way to reprimand your children.
“What are you talking about?” I play dumb, just to piss her off more. It’s the little things in life I cherish.
“You were talking to Clark when that woman came to break you up. Instead of marking your territory, you backed down like a coward. Don’t let anyone push you around.”
Is this motherly advice? Outside of stand up straight, suck in your gut, don’t ever leave the house with chipped nail polish, and never talk to anyone about money, she’s never given me advice before.
“What do you want me to do? Lift my leg and pee on him like a dog.”
“That sounds kinky,” Clark laughs as he walks into this silly conversation. “Not a fetish I’m interested in, but to each their own.”
Mom’s face pales in embarrassment while I chuckle under my breath.
“Where did your little friend go?” Mom asks, tilting her nose higher into the air. Her eyes are emotionless as she stares directly at Clark, her arm still holding on to mine.
“Blair? She’s an old friend from college.”
That’s all he gives her. She’s not going to be happy about that, but Clark isn’t going to care.
“Don’t waste my daughter’s time if you are still interested in other women. She’s above that and worth much more.” Mom lightly grabs his suit jacket sleeve and pulls him in toward her. “Got it?”
My eyes go wide in absolute shock. Mom has never stood up for me before. This is an extremely weird way to go about it, but a little part of me is touched. She’s never told me I was worth anything, ever.
“Loud and clear,” Clark says with a nod of his head.
One of Mom’s friends interrupts our conversation and pulls her away. Thank God. Who knows what else she’ll come up with to threaten him about? She’ll corner him into marrying me if she stays here any longer. Clark wouldn’t let that happen though. He may be the only person able to go toe-to-toe with her in terms of stubbornness.
“Where have you been the last few weeks?” Clark asks.
“Avoiding you,” I say as I take a bite out of a brownie.
The DJ changes the tune to a slow song. Clark takes my plate, sets it down, and then extends his hand. “Dance with me.”
I guess what’s one meaningless dance? My instinct is to tell him no, but I guess I can continue my saying-yes-to-things experiment.
I slip my hand into his as he guides me to the dance floor. Clark pu
lls me into his chest. He rests one hand on my lower back while the other holds my hand.
Clark surprises me by leading us in a waltz.
“I didn’t know you could dance.”
He traces small circles on my back, sending shivers up my spine.
“There’s many things about me you still need to learn,” Clark whispers into my ear, pulling me even closer. That’s when I feel it—his arousal pressing against me. I fake a look of shock. “You know what you do to me.”
“You are too much!”
“Too much masculine sexuality.” He laughs like the pig that he is. I laugh too.
I can’t take this guy anywhere. Actually, I’ve never taken him anywhere—he always takes me. And then I always give him attitude and ruin everything.
“Can I take you on a date?” I spit out, surprising myself.
I don’t know where this ridiculous idea comes from, but it’s something I really want to try.
“You want to go somewhere with me … your fuck buddy? I thought you didn’t want to be seen in public,” he says while we continue to dance. “You made it obvious this was an arrangement you wanted no part of. Time and time again.”
The song comes to an end, replaced with something much more upbeat, and we make our way over to the nearest bar.
“To be honest, I thought you didn’t want to be seen in public with me,” I say, feeling a little foolish for my vulnerability. “But you’ve already proven that’s not true. So I don’t know what my problem is.” I shrug my shoulders, noticing I’m rambling, yet I continue. “I want us to go on a real date.” And that’s when it hits me. “I have a proposal for you! If you go on one real date with me and you don’t have a blast, things will change.”
“And if I do have a blast?” he asks, mimicking my upbeat tone.
I compose myself before saying my next thought. I’m going to go out on a limb here because he can easily freak out or shut me down. “Then we talk about changing your proposal.”
“To … what?”
He really doesn’t know where I am going with this?
“To being in a relationship.”
And that’s when time stands still. He stares as if he doesn’t know how to say words.
Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1) Page 12