by S. Van Horne
“Yeah, but the chick who ordered isn’t the one you’re taking out. It’s her sister you got.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Then how in the hell do you know that this chick is worth me going through with this? Why don’t you just have Zane or Wade take her out? They need the money more than me.” Now that the restaurant is out of the red, taking extra work from Jason isn’t necessary.
“Because she asked for you. Just do it, Dylan.”
I spin around and lean against the brick wall of the restaurant. “Fine. But I swear to God, Jason, this is the last one. I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“I hear ya. I lost two other cuts of meat in the past couple of weeks.”
“Then, I guess you’re just going to have to find some more cuts of meat. Text the info to my phone. Please tell me it’s not tonight.” I have too much crap to do tonight to drop everything for some chick.
“It’s not. She ordered Prime Rib for tomorrow.” Jason laughs in my ear and hangs up.
“Fucking prick,” I mutter as I end the call and slap the wall.
I don’t want to fucking do this.
My cell phone dings, and I know it’s Jason sending me the order.
That bastard. I pull out my phone and shake my head.
My Saturday night was now going to be consumed with a chick by the name of Ginger, and I was already counting down the hours ‘til I could drop her off and get back to my life.
CHAPTER TWO
GINGER
“PUT THIS ON.”
I shake my head and thrust it back to Lexi. “Not happening. I am not doing this.”
Her hand pushes on my shoulder, and she gives the dress back to me. “Yes, you are. It is your twenty-sixth birthday, and you need to get out and have some fun.”
“Do I really need to have fun with my ass hanging out and my back on display to the whole world?”
Lexi belly-flops onto the bed and looks up at me. “I don’t know how many times I need to say this, but you have got a banging bod, just like me.” She scrunches her face up and gives me a wink. “Curves, Ginger. Curves are what men want, and curves are what you’ve got. Tons of them.”
My gaze travels over the mirror on the wall. Curves was the nice way of saying fat. Ever since I sprouted a big ol’ set of tits, I’ve heard the word curves hundreds of times when people talked about me.
Lexi piled my auburn hair on top of my head, exposing the curve of my neck. I’m used to having my hair up when I’m at work, but the way she pinned it, I feel like a hooker looking for her next trick.
“You touch one of those pins, and I swear to God, I will kick you in your lady nuts.”
My hand freezes mid-air, and my gaze catches hers in the mirror. “Lady nuts?”
“Yes, lady nuts. Judd kicked me right square in the crotch last night, and I swear to all that is holy, I know exactly how a guy feels when he gets it right in the gonads.”
I squint and wonder when Lexi lost her mind. “Do I want to know how and why my sweet nephew managed to kick you…well…there?”
“No. All you need to know is he’s going to be a butt, just like his dad. Lord help the woman who marries him when he’s forty.”
“Forty?” I ask. Lately, Lexi has been saying thirty. She just upped the age she was finally going to let her son grow up. As much as she complains about Judd being a butt, he is still a momma’s boy, and she dreads the day he will finally fly the coop.
“Yes. Although, after he kicked me in the lady nuts, I was ready to give him away when he turns ten.”
“Lexi,” I laugh. “He’s only four. I don’t know how he could have hurt you.”
She glares at me and shakes her head. “Trust me. Just trust me.”
I hold up the dress she’s insisting I wear. It doesn’t look too short, but I know as soon as I put it on, my bubble butt is going to make the back three inches shorter than the front. Thankfully, she chose black to help disguise my poochy stomach, but that is about the only thing I can say about the dress that I like. “Is there a reason why I can’t wear a nice pair of pants and a blouse?”
Lexi shudders. “You do know saying the word blouse makes you ten years older, right?”
“Shirt, whatever. Call it what you want, as long as you don’t make me wear this dress.”
Lexi shakes her head. “Dress. That’s my final decision. This is my gift to you, and I get to call all of the shots.”
“Don’t I get a say on my present?” Lexi and I heard whispers of the side business of The Meat Market, but we were both too chicken to actually find out if they were true. At least, I thought we were both chicken. “You know, I could just not go. I mean, do you really think this guy wants to spend time with me?”
“Yes, he does. Stop worrying about it. The man would have to be crazy not to want to have you on his arm.”
I shuffle into the bathroom and hang the dress on the shower curtain rod. I close the door, trying to get a little bit of privacy from Lexi. She has been dictating my social life lately and giving me crap about working all the time. She doesn’t need to notice the ten extra pounds I’ve gained on my ass.
The dress slides over my head and over my torso, hugging my hips and ass. I twirl around, looking to see what a disaster it is from behind. “Hello, nachos and doughnuts,” I mutter. I really need to kick my glazed doughnut and iced latte habit in the morning. “Lexi, you can see everything.”
Lexi sticks her head into the bathroom. “Holy hell, I was so right about that dress. He isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of you.”
I’m not so sure if I like that. Lexi is, after all, paying this guy to go out with me. “Doesn’t that make it prostitution?”
“No. He is being paid to take you out to dinner and then dancing. If anything more than that happens,” she wiggles her eyebrows, “that has nothing to do with money.”
I sigh and tilt my head to the side, assessing myself in the mirror. “Well, don’t get your hopes up too high, Lexi. With my luck, he’s going to take one look at me, give me back your money, and hightail it out of there.”
Lexi slings her arm over my shoulders, and a grin spreads across her lips. “I guess you’ll just have to go there and find out.”
CHAPTER THREE
DYLAN
SHE’S LATE.
How the hell are you going to be late for a date that you paid for? Although, Jason said her sister set it up, so maybe she flaked at the last minute and doesn’t care if her sister blew a wad of money.
The waiter approaches the table and glances at the empty chair across from me. “Would you like to order?”
I shake my head. “No, we’ll give her ten more minutes.” The waiter inclines his head toward me and wanders off.
I’m going to give this chick a little more time, and then I’m getting the hell out of here. My time is more important than sitting and waiting around in some restaurant.
My gaze travels around the dining room, wishing I’m back at The Brown Bottle. It may look like a dive bar, but the food is nothing less than five stars. Here, everyone looks like they have sticks shoved up their asses while they eat subpar food. I’m tempted to start handing out my business card and telling them to head there for a real meal, no sticks up their asses required.
I spy my date with the maître d’, and I shift in my chair, my dick stirring at the sight of her. “Holy fuck,” I whisper. Jason was right on the money when he said this girl was exactly what I’m looking for.
Her dark reddish-brown hair is piled on top of her head. My hands itch to unpin it and watch it fall over her bare shoulders. The strapless black dress hugs every curvy inch of her body, the hem falling inches above her bare knees. She glances in my direction, and I suck in a breath. Fuck me running, this chick is the thing wet dreams are made of.
She follows behind the waiter, her eyes on the floor. I stand before she even makes it to the table and move to pull her chair out. I’m dying to be next to her, and I haven’t even spok
en a word to her.
“Right here, Miss,” the waiter points out. He doesn’t know what to do since I’m doing his job for him.
“That’ll be it for right now,” I reply, dismissing him.
The guy must know he isn’t needed anymore, and he wanders away from the table with a nod in my direction.
I hold my hand out to her. “Ginger?”
She looks up at me, her gorgeous green eyes scanning my face. She hesitantly puts her hand in mine and licks her lips. “Yes. You must be Dylan?”
I gently squeeze her hand and pull her close to me. I lean down, my lips next to her ear. “Yes,” I whisper.
Her breathing hitches, and her other hand rests on my forearm. Her scent surrounds me, and I bury my nose in her hair. “Should we sit down?” she mumbles.
I close my eyes, realizing what the hell I’m doing. Jesus Christ, Dylan.
Her eyes are pointed down as she folds herself into the chair, and I gently push her in. I look down at her, her hands in her lap, twirling a ring around her index finger. “Relax, Ginger.”
She looks up at me, and I watch a small smile spread across her lips. “Okay,” she whispers. She unfolds her napkin and lays it in her lap.
I move to sit down in my chair and feel her eyes on me.
“I’m sorry I was late.”
I shrug and take back every asshole thought I had about her being late. She could have been three hours late, and I would still be fine with it. “You weren’t that late. I hope there wasn’t anything bad that kept you.”
She shakes her head and rests her hand on the table. “No, nothing other than my pep talk to walk into the restaurant took longer than I expected.” Her cheeks blush red, and her eyes dart to the table.
Fucking. Adorable.
I wonder if she turns that lovely shade of red anywhere else on her lush body. “Nervous?’ I drawl.
“Just a bit. My sister has the best of intentions, but this is a bit out of my comfort zone.”
“It’s just a date, Ginger.”
Her gaze flicks to me. “That one of us if being paid to be on.”
I grab the menu and glance over the appetizers. Having cooked in five star restaurants the past ten years of my life, the blah and overpriced food makes me cringe and toss the menu on the table. I’m so over large plates with three bites of food that cost seventy dollars. “You into this place, sweet cheeks?”
“Um, well,” she stutters. “I’ve never been here before.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Ever been to The Brown Bottle?”
“No.”
Hmm, I shouldn’t be irked by that, but I am. Although, if she had ever been in The Brown Bottle before, I would have seen her and not let her leave without knowing what she sounds like when she comes. What can I say? I have a type, and Ginger fits it to a T. “You drive here?”
She tilts her head. “Uber.”
I stand and hold out my hand to her. “Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
She looks around, takes her napkin from her lap, lays it on the table, and places her hand in mine. “Okay.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GINGER
I DON’T KNOW WHERE WE’RE going.
Dylan’s fingers thread through mine, and he pulls me through the restaurant, out the front door.
We stand at the curb, and he looks down the street. “I’m parked two blocks down.” His gaze drifts down my body and stops at my feet. “Are you able to walk in those?”
I look down at my feet, too dazed to remember what shoes I put on. “Um,” I whisper. Damn Lexi for making me wear these. Three-inch black sling backs are not my ideal walking shoes. To and from the car is no problem, but when talking blocks in Chicago, that is a no-go. “Think we can get an Uber to your car?” I joke.
“No.” He releases my hand and stands in front of me. In one motion, he bends and swoops me up in his arms. I frantically wind my arms around his neck. “Hold on, sweet cheeks,” he rumbles.
“Dylan,” I squawk. “You can’t carry me.”
He smirks. “Yeah, I can.” He flexes his arms around me and walks to the end of the block. We wait at a crosswalk for the light to change.
“People are staring at us,” I whisper in his ear.
“Yeah, sweet cheeks. The men are jealous as hell of me, and all of the women wish they were you.” He strolls across the street like this isn’t the first time he carried a woman down the street.
“That is not what they are thinking,” I hiss. Well, I’m sure the women are jealous of me, but I’m sure the men are wondering how the hell Dylan is able to carry me. “I’m too heavy. You’re going to drop me.”
Dylan looks down at me. “I bench press more than what you weigh every morning.”
“You work out?” There was one thing we did not have in common.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’ve stepped foot in a gym more than ten times. Every year, I make the stupid resolution to lose weight, but after one time of going to the gym, doughnuts win,” I babble.
“You don’t need the gym.”
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. “Mmkay.” Says the man with the bangin’ body and tight ass. I’m the Stay Puft marshmallow man next to him. “So where are we going?”
Dylan crosses another street and manages to hold onto me while he digs in his pocket for his keys. “Brown Bottle.”
“You seem to really be into that place.”
He chuckles and gingerly sets me on the ground. “I should be. I own it.” He beeps the locks on his SUV and opens the door for me. “You’ll love it.”
“Oh, do I seem like The Brown Bottle type?”
He reaches out and grabs my hand. “You’re my type, sweet cheeks, so that means you’ll fit right it at The Brown Bottle.”
I brace my other hand on his chest and gaze up at him. “I’m curious to know what exactly your type is.”
“I’m looking at it.” His hand slides around my waist and tugs me flush against his body.
“Is this normally how your dates go?” I gasp.
He shakes his head. “No, not at all.”
“Then what are we doing?” I whisper.
“Something completely different that’s going to last.”
My jaw drops at his words. His hand glides up my side, delves into my hair, and his lips brush against mine.
A moan escapes my lips at his touch, and I lean into him. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I know I don’t want it to end. “This is so not how I expected this night to go,” I reply dumbly. I mentally take stock of Dylan’s hand in my hair, his other hand resting on my ass, and his lips a breath away from mine. He had just earned every single penny Lexi paid him.
“Me neither. I expected to feed you, spin you around the dance floor a couple of times, and make it back to the restaurant before last call.” He tugs on my hair, tilting my head back further.
“You didn’t really have high expectations,” I whisper.
“As soon as I saw you, Ginger, my expectations soared.” His eyes heat with desire, and he squeezes my ass. “Now, I plan on feeding you, and then having you for dessert.”
My breath whooshes out of my lips. “Whoa.” If Lexi paid extra for this, I’m going to owe her the rest of my life. “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.”
He brushes my lips with a gentle kiss and then rests his forehead against mine. “It’s all real, sweet cheeks. Get used to it.”
In one swift move, he spins us around, and deposits me in the passenger seat. As soon as I lift my feet, he swings the door shut and jogs around the front of the truck.
I smooth my skirt, tugging it down as far as I can. Even sitting down, I’m showing a lot of thigh. Damn, Lexi. Although it doesn’t seem like Dylan is complaining. “So where is The Brown Bottle?”
Dylan starts the SUV and pulls away from the curb. “Fifteen minutes from here.”
I clear my throat. “So, do you cook there? Or are you just the h
ead guy?” Small talk is not my forte.
He glances over at me and smirks. “Both, but I’m the head guy. This past year, I was able to escape the kitchen and hire a head chef.”
“So, things are good?” Jesus, could I sound lamer?
“Yeah, they’re good.” He reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. “Relax. Why don’t you tell me more about you?”
The word boring pops up in my mind. There really isn’t much to say. “Um, well, I’m twenty-six.”
“That it?”
Lame. Totally lame. “There’s not much to say.”
“Where do you work? What do you do?”
Oh, duh. “I work for a law firm.”
“Lawyer?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m just a secretary. You know, answer phones, file, and go on coffee runs.” Lord, now I made my job sound boring, too.
“You like what you do?”
“It’s a paycheck.”
He gently rubs my thumb. “I’m going to assume that’s a no.”
“Does anyone really have a job they like? I mean, it’s a job.”
“I love my job.”
I scoff and laugh. “I think that’s pretty damn rare.”
“How about this, if you could quit your job today and get any job you want, what would it be?”
I lean my head back against the headrest. “So, we’re playing make-believe now?”
“Just answer the question,” he replies.
My eyes roll so hard, I’m afraid they’ll get stuck up in my eyelids. “When I was six, I wanted to be a ballerina. When I was eleven, I wanted to be a singer. Fourteen, a nurse. Eighteen, I just wanted to grow up, and now at twenty-six, I just want to work my forty hours a week and collect a paycheck.”
Dylan nods and stops at a red light. “So, what do you do when you aren’t collecting a paycheck?”
“You’re really trying to find out how boring I am, aren’t you?”
“I doubt you’re boring, sweet cheeks.”
I smirk and shake my head. “Sweet cheeks. I have to say, I’ve never been called that in my life before.”