I wouldn’t have had to think at all.
I took a couple more aspirin, washing them down with some orange juice I seriously considered putting vodka in, and tried for a nap on the couch. Maybe a change of scenery from the bedroom would help.
I jammed my head under a pillow, wrapping myself fully in a blanket, like a cocoon, against the muted light from outside. For such a rainy place as Seattle, it was surprising just how bright an overcast sky could be.
My breathing slowed, my mind started to clear, and I slipped into a dream, jumbled with faces and words, people I’d never seen before, people I’d never see again.
Roland on the side of the road, handsome and whole, with a beautiful woman, angry but in love, knowing that this fight would pass, that they only fought because they cared so much about each other.
Dan with his hands on my hips, guiding me against him, his erection pressing against the meat of my thigh, hurting in just the right way.
Caro’s face lit up in a sudden moonlight that wasn’t moonlight at all, but a pair of cars stopped on the side of a country road, spinning into a terrible weightlessness, and then an even more horrible nothing.
My eyes popped open. The light outside was a little less bright, and the hair stuck against my damp forehead. I’d gotten too hot in my cocoon of avoidance…that was all. My past had been on my brain, and that’s why it had haunted my dreams.
The thought wasn’t lost on me that it had been a long time since I’d dreamed of the wreck. Sometimes I was in the car with Caro, and other times I was watching from above, like a camera filming a scene in an action movie. Once, I’d been standing alongside my parents, watching that car come spinning in.
I wondered whether I would ever—with my new knowledge of the situation—go to sleep and find myself inside the car with Roland and Mina. Had either of them known what was about to hit them? Did they see it coming, like Caro, or had they just blacked out, like me?
I took another shower to wash the unpleasant aftereffects of my dream off, then had another drink of juice…this time, with vodka. My hangover had all but vanished, and I was working on eliminating my nerves for my impending date with Dan.
The more steps I took—another screwdriver, drying my hair, perusing my closet, putting on makeup—the more I looked forward to calling him. I was eager to get back to that place of distraction where I wasn’t thinking about what Roland had told me or what I’d done to cause him such heartache. I wanted Dan’s audacious flirtations and more booze and something else to join that cheeseburger from lunch in my stomach.
I laid out a couple of dresses that Roland had deemed too provocative for the office, figuring that at least one of them would probably be provocative enough for a date, and picked up my phone.
Dan answered on the first ring like an eager little boy.
“You don’t know how happy I am to be taking this call,” he said, making me smile.
“I hope you haven’t been just sitting there, waiting for me to wake up,” I responded, holding a pair of heels over one dress, then the other, before making my decision.
“I did that for a while,” he confessed. “Then I started drafting emails to my brother to find the best way to tell him about you skipping off from work.”
I gave a short laugh. “You did not.”
“Well, doesn’t matter, now,” he said. “You called. We’re going out, right?”
“That’s right,” I confirmed, smiling as I put in graceful hoop earrings. I changed my mind and went with sparkly studs. “I’m starving.”
“I trust you’re done with your hangover,” Dan said.
“Chasing away the last of it right now,” I said, swilling my screwdriver.
“A woman after my own heart,” he crooned. “And I have just the place in mind for you. Best seafood in the city. Please tell me you eat seafood.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “I eat everything.”
“That’s something I will definitely keep in mind.” I flushed once I understood his meaning. I tried to sputter a retort or an excuse but ended up lapsing into embarrassed silence.
“What time can I pick you up?” Dan asked calmly, as if he hadn’t just commented on receiving oral sex from me.
“Thirty minutes?” I squeaked. I really only needed ten, but the other twenty minutes were needed to get my flush under control.
“I’ll be there.”
Another screwdriver helped me relax, and I was well back on my way to somewhere between nonchalant and eager by the time Dan buzzed my door.
“Come on up,” I said into the speaker and let him in. “I just need to finish my drink.”
He whistled when I let him in the front door to my place, admiring the view and my new furniture.
“This is a leap above living out of the old car, wouldn’t you say?” he mused, running his fingertips over the countertop.
I didn’t think he meant anything by it, but the statement made me flush in shame. It had been stupid to ask him to come up. I should’ve left my stupid drink in the fridge—or dumped it down the sink—and met him downstairs. The apartment was only nice to me because I’d never had anything like it before. It was a leap up from living out of my car, and it was embarrassing that I’d done that in the first place.
Dan probably lived in a museum or a palace or something. This was probably downright quaint to him.
“Can I make you a drink?” I asked, forcing myself to smile as I slipped on my heels.
“You’re kind, but no,” he said. “I have some beverages in mind for dinner, and I wouldn’t want to imbibe before driving.”
Another unintentional barb, but one that hit me right where it hurt the most. Why was I being so stupid? It was only a cocktail, but of course he wouldn’t want to drink before driving. That was how he’d lost his future sister-in-law, and how his brother had gone from being a whole man with a life ahead of him to a marred monster.
And I was the cause of all of that. Maybe I’d learned nothing. Maybe I’d just drifted around until I got comfortable again, then settled into my awful ways. I just wasn’t a good person.
“The restaurant has an enviable wine cellar,” Dan said, still examining every detail of my apartment. He might as well have been rifling through my underwear drawer for the attention he was giving things, squeezing the arm of the chair, glancing over the covers of the magazines I’d spread over the coffee table. I’d picked up a little while I was getting ready, having an apartment of my own was still too much of a novelty to me to let it get good and dirty. I enjoyed keeping it clean and tidy. It was a lot easier to do than it had been in my car.
“Seems like this place has everything,” I said, drinking the last of my cocktail before rinsing the glass out in the sink and putting it in the dishwasher.
“You’re very neat,” he observed, as I set the dishwasher’s cycle to on.
“I didn’t have one of these bad boys in the car,” I said, patting the machine’s door as it hissed to life inside.
“I wouldn’t imagine you would,” he said drily. “Fun playing house, isn’t it?”
And there was another little spike of venom. Did he come to flirt with me, castigate me, or take me out on a date? I couldn’t really tell—and it was making me feel more insecure than usual.
“Should we get on the road?” I suggested a little forcefully, grabbing my purse. “The traffic might be bad, and if we’re trying to make an eight o’clock reservation, it might take time to get there. Of course, I don’t even know where we’re going, yet, so I could be full of it.”
“Perhaps,” Dan allowed absently, adjusting my window blinds, and I felt a spike of anger.
“Or I can tell you to fuck on off out of here and I can order a goddamn pizza,” I said. “What’ll it be, Dan, my man? I could make a pizza last for four whole meals in my car. That shit never goes bad.”
He blinked at me, taken aback, before bursting into loud, helpless belly laughs. He held his middle and practically tripped
and fell onto my couch, hooting and hollering.
“What’s funny?” I demanded, but then a smile was creeping up on my own face. Had I really just told him to “fuck on off out of here”? Damn.
“I can see that my brother’s foul mouth has rubbed off on you,” he observed when he could speak again, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Poor thing. He is offensive on his best days.”
“Excuse me, but I had this sailor mouth all to myself before I so much as stepped foot in Seattle,” I said, putting my hands on my hips.
“You sound pretty proud of it,” he said, grinning at me.
“It comes in handy for breaking the ice,” I said, feeling better—excited, once again, for the opportunity to spend time with the strange man who’d invaded my apartment and my life. “Now, take me to dinner. I’m starving, and that seafood isn’t going to eat itself.”
Dan drove fast and flashy to match his sports car, and I alternately gripped my purse—as if it would somehow magically make Dan drive slower—and mashed an imaginary brake with my heels. The pedestrians and buildings whipping by kept me from enjoying the sumptuous interior of Dan’s car—the moon roof that practically encompassed the entire ceiling panel, the buttery soft leather that coated nearly every surface, the new-car smell. To live in one of these would be a real luxury, I decided, even if it would be a bitch to keep the leather clean and cool.
Of course, these days, I didn’t live in cars. I lived in apartments, like a real person.
On the way to the restaurant, Dan peppered me with questions: What did I like to do for fun? What was my favorite food? Favorite drink? Color? Sport? Where had I been in the city already? What did I want to see?
My answers mostly depressed me and made me feel stupid.
“Watch TV and clean house.”
“Everything.”
“Vodka.”
“Black.”
“None.”
“Nowhere.”
“I don’t know.”
“Beauty!” he exclaimed, exasperated. “What am I going to do with you? Are our dates going to be sweeping the floor of your apartment with the TV on? Take pity on me and tell me what you like doing so I can take you to things you actually want to be doing. Do you like movies? The theater? Art? Sailing? Hiking? Swimming? Clubbing? Karaoke? I already know you like dancing, of course.”
I blew my breath out at him. “I don’t like that kind of dancing,” I corrected. “That was just for money.”
“We do lots of things for money,” he said, sighing in agreement.
I laughed at him outright. “Who’s the ‘we’ you speak of? Just what is it that you do for money? Did you take your clothes off for this fancy car?”
We rolled into the valet parking for the restaurant, and Dan revved the engine suggestively, leering at me.
“You’re such an ass,” I said, unable to stop myself from laughing at him. “And just what makes you think that I’m going to let you take me out on any more dates after tonight? You haven’t impressed me much, yet.”
“That’s what dinner’s for,” he said, winking as he got out of the car. The valet helped me out of my seat, and I tried my very best to get out of the car in a ladylike manner.
“It better be an amazing dinner, then,” I said, rolling my eyes as Dan offered me his arm. “What a gentleman.”
“All I’m trying to do is get to know you better,” Dan said, walking me inside the establishment. The smell hit me instantly—hot, delicious food. I was definitely ready to eat.
It was as fine a restaurant as I’d ever been in, all quiet, polite conversation and violin music. I’d done right by wearing a dress, but I still felt out of place, afraid that, despite my makeup, everyone would realize that I had no business being here, let alone on the arm of this man.
“Reservation, please?” A concierge in a tuxedo was scribbling in a book on a podium at the front of the restaurant.
“That won’t be necessary,” Dan said.
“Won’t be necessary?” the concierge repeated drily. “This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the entire city. Reservations are a requirement. We’re booked for weeks.”
“I said it won’t be necessary,” Dan reiterated, putting his hand down on top of the book the concierge was writing in.
It was unbearably rude, and I flushed with embarrassment, cutting my eyes to the side to see if anyone was witnessing this. In the service industry, this was a foul move to pull, to assume that you were more important than anyone else. I wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Dan Shepard, party of two,” he said coolly, and withdrew his hand. He’d left a hundred-dollar bill on the book.
“Mr. Shepard,” the concierge said, looking up, his bushy eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “I’m so sorry. Of course. Everything is fine. We…we’ve been so busy tonight. Table for two. Right away.”
The concierge seated us himself and snapped his fingers. Instantly, a waiter was at his side, offering us menus.
Dan immediately started rattling off French—I thought—and dates I didn’t quite follow until I realized he was ordering bottles—whole bottles—of wine.
“Right away, sir, Mr. Shepard,” the waiter said. I could tell the waiter was nervous, rattled by the relative importance of the man sitting next to me. He wasn’t that important. He just had money. I pitied the poor people who worked here, intimidated by what Dan represented.
“Now, what looks good to you?” Dan asked, looking at the menu. “We’ll ask what the chef’s special is, of course, and I can make several recommendations for you.”
I was silent until he looked up from perusing the menu.
“What?” he asked, and I realized he was completely clueless about his missteps.
“You can’t just come in here without a reservation; it’s rude,” I informed him. “This is a busy, popular place, from the looks of it, and you’ve ruined somebody’s night by taking their table. You have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”
“It all worked out,” Dan said innocently. “We got a table, the concierge got a little richer, and I’ll tip the waiter handsomely. I always do.”
“You can’t always just throw money at something to excuse your behavior,” I protested.
“But what else am I going to use it for?” he asked, and I had to laugh at his ignorance.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Dan said, capturing my hand and kissing it. “We grew up with money, my brother and I, and I guess I never really learned my manners. I was the baby of the family—and spoiled.”
“I’ll teach you manners for free,” I offered, smiling, “if you can teach me how to behave in your world.”
“What do you mean, ‘in my world’?” he asked, cocking his head.
“I don’t know a thing about wine, for one,” I said. “I only like vodka because it gets me drunk so I don’t have to think about…things. I haven’t had leisure time in a long time, so I don’t know what to fill my weekends with. Teach me…how to be normal, how to act normal and do things that normal people do…and I’ll teach you your manners.”
“Looks like we both have difficult tasks ahead,” Dan said. “Everyone tells me I’m selfish and oblivious—well, that was just my last girlfriend. And you don’t know what you like to do. I enjoy a challenge, but why do you want to be normal? You’re extraordinarily beautiful. Don’t you realize that? If the right doors opened for you, Beauty, you’d be unstoppable.”
“You mean the doors with money behind them?” I asked, raising my eyebrows to distract from the way Dan had just made me blush. “I hear money makes people rude.”
“At least I know what we’re going to do on our next dozen dates or so,” he said.
“What?”
“Everything.”
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine, and he and Dan engaged in what seemed to be some kind of complicated ritual of sniffing and swirling and sipping and nodding. My wine glass was soon filled modestly, and the waiter se
ttled the bottle into a tableside bucket of ice.
“Are you ready to order?” he asked, having regained some of his composure around Dan.
“Ladies first,” Dan said, holding his hand out to me and smiling.
Oh, no. Put on the spot. I hadn’t so much as cracked the menu, and when I did, my eyes bugged out at the offerings. Most of the items were in a language I didn’t understand, and the prices were hard to fathom. I picked the first thing I recognized—crab de something or other—and cringed at the price.
“And for you, sir?”
“The surf and turf,” Dan said, folding his menu shut. “The filet needs to be rare—very rare. Bleeding. Practically still alive.”
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said.
“I thought we were going to get seafood,” I said, eyeing Dan with amusement. “You marketed this restaurant to me as the best seafood in Seattle.”
“And it is,” he said, handing the waiter our menus. “But its hidden secret is that it has the best steak in Seattle, too. I’m getting the best of both worlds. It’s your own fault you didn’t get the surf and turf.”
I didn’t order the surf and turf because it was one of those scary options that didn’t have a price beside it. What prices I could see overwhelmed me to begin with. I was a modern woman, but I sincerely hoped Dan’s dinner invitation meant that he was paying, too. I could see our tab traveling upward toward the cost of my monthly rent, especially with the litany of bottles he’d asked for. I’d never heard of anyone buying an entire bottle of wine at a restaurant…let alone three. I was more than sure I’d be able to polish them off, but I would’ve never dreamed I could afford them, not without Roland’s credit card at my disposal. I somehow doubted that he would approve of me snapping up expensive bottles of wines with his funds though.
“Well, you’ll just have to give me a taste of your filet when it comes,” I suggested, taking a small sip of the wine he’d ordered for me. It was good—crisp and airy with just a hint of carbonation. That part I didn’t like, but I could ignore it.
BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance Page 47