Who says chivalry is dead?
She had a fairly active dating life, not quite as much in the last few months with her heavy school load and ever-increasing financial demands that kept her practically living in the bar to get by, but no man had ever done this for her. She was thoroughly impressed, and still a little blown away as he took her hand and helped her out of the low little car.
Aullie stumbled slightly on her heels but wasn’t sure whether the wedges or Weston’s warm smile was making her knees wobbly.
Those are some straight, white teeth, she thought, alarmingly aware of how smitten she was with this man she knew almost nothing about.
Weston had parked in front of a local strip mall, a block long congregation of small local businesses. Taking Aullie’s arm in his, he guided her to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant that she had never been too. Making for an interesting first date location.
He pulled open the door, which tinkled a little bell. He gestured for Aullie to enter before him and she gave him a small nod, an involuntary smile playing at her full lips. She caught Weston’s gaze resting hungrily on her mouth and knew the deep red lipstick had been a good choice.
The decor was tacky and colorful. Big, flashy sombreros, rough oil paintings of Aztec warriors, landscapes dotted with small adobe buildings, and beautiful handmade clay plates covered most of the wall space. Bright fake parrots hung from the ceiling on little metal swings. The paint behind them was deep, golden yellow with ornate white trim along the ceilings and floors. The air inside was warm and smelled heartily of spice and meat, and Aullie immediately felt her mouth water.
Weston pulled her chair out for her, earning him, even more, brownie points. He took his seat across from her and said, “I love this place, it’s a little, under-credited gem. The family migrated here from Mexico about fifteen years ago, if I remember correctly, and they’re very cultural. Their food is also all totally traditional and amazing. Best refried beans I’ve ever had.”
“Well, I’m definitely excited to try them then,” Aullie said, her nerves beginning to relax a bit. The atmosphere there was so welcoming, so full of life, she couldn’t take her eyes off the eccentrically decorated walls. “I love the little parrots,” she said, pointing to the plastic birds.
“They’re something, aren’t they?” He chuckled. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’ve actually named them.” He pointed from bird to bird, first a green one, then a blue one. “That’s Miguel, that’s Juan.” Then to a red one. “That’s Rosalita.” Lastly to yellow one. “And that’s Steve.”
Aullie couldn’t help a burst of laughter. “All those traditional names, then Steve?”
Weston shrugged and gave her a wink. “Why not?”
Aullie couldn’t fault that logic, she thought with a giggle. She shook her head at him with a playful smile. He was just so charming, funny too, and she could listen to that smooth, lilted voice all day.
A short, squat Mexican woman in a frilly red blouse, tight black skirt and flesh-colored hose with clunky black shoes approached the table. Her hair was scraped back into a severe bun and she wore a large fake flower behind one ear.
“Hola,” she greeted them, placing a large one-page menu in front of each of them “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked with a heavy accent.
“You a margarita fan?” he asked Aullie.
“Oh yeah,” she replied.
“Make it dos margaritas,” he said, no shame in his broken Spanish. The little woman nodded with a toothy grin and scampered away as quickly as she had come.
“So, Aullie,” the way his beautiful mouth said her name still really got to her. “Tell me about yourself.”
So, she did. Just the bare bones, that she was a waitress full time and enjoyed it well enough, that she lived alone with a fat gray tabby cat named Bruce, and that she was going to art school.
“Art school huh? That must be fulfilling. Interesting too, I bet.”
Aullie batted the comment away, still nursing disappointment and doubt after the show last weekend and not really wanting to talk about school or her art. She hadn’t even been able to paint for a week, she’d been so distraught. Usually, she did two or three a week. “It’s alright, not quite what I’d imagined it would be.”
Thankfully, before he could probe further, the waitress set two massive margarita glasses in front of them. Good thing I’m not driving, Aullie thought.
“Are we ready to order?” the waitress asked, wide smile firmly in place.
Aullie wasn’t, she actually hadn’t even touched the laminated menu the woman had set down before. She was about to say no, when Weston asked, “You trust me? I could order for you.”
Surprised again at his gentlemanly manner, she nodded and agreed, “Sure.”
His ability to pull off a take-charge attitude, without being oppressive, really impressed her. She felt like a woman in good care, not smothered. Something she wasn’t sure she had ever actually experienced with a man but she was definitely a fan.
“How about that plate with a bit of your best dishes, Senorita?”
With a nod, the waitress scurried away and Aullie’s eyes fell back on the handsome man who sat across from her. “Your turn,” she said. “Tell me about yourself, Weston.”
“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” he said with a semi-shy smile. But, it turned out he had plenty to tell. “I work for an internet start-up my dad created, which is wonderful because I get to do most of my work from home. I won’t bore you with the details about that, though. In all honesty, it isn’t a very exciting job. I have a thirteen-year-old chocolate lab named Titan. He’s my little buddy, and quite possibly the coolest dog who’s ever lived. We play fetch in the park twice a week. You already met my mate Dylan.” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I sure have. How did you two meet? You seem, um...very...different,” she said, struggling not to sound offensive.
He laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. We met in school. I spent my younger years in England, with my mother. My parents split when I was little, Dad moved here to chase some ‘American Dream’ fantasy. Mum passed when I was fifteen. I’ll stop you right there, don’t apologize. Unless you’re responsible for cancer, I really don’t need to hear it,” he said with a genuine smile. “But once I moved here, I struggled for a while. I was always quiet and not very quick to make friends. Long story short, Dylan befriended me and we went through a lot of our wilder years together, couple tough times too. Hard to break a bond like that, even if you’ve matured faster than the other person, you know?”
“I understand that,” she said, nodding. The guy was deep, and she was entranced by him. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-nine in a week,” he replied. “How old are you?”
The difference in their ages didn’t bother Aullie much, she actually preferred older guys, though seven years was a decent gap. “Twenty-two,” she said. “I hope the difference doesn’t bother you?”
“Not at all, though I would’ve pegged you to be a little older. Twenty-four or five. But no, it doesn’t matter. You’re mature for your age, though.”
“Thank you,” Aullie responded with a grateful nod. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that.
The conversation flowed; relaxed, comfortable, and Aullie had so many more questions. She wanted to learn everything she could about the gorgeous man. Before she could, however, two steaming plates were placed between them. Her empty stomach took over. There was hunger in her stare as she took in the assorted plate of glorious Mexican food the waitress had placed in front of her.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but now you’ve got options,” Weston laughed. He pointed to the food as he described it, one cheese enchilada, one small chicken burrito, a chile relleno, and a beef empanada all slathered in various sauces and arranged next to a mountain of refried beans topped with a sprinkle of yellow cheese and red Mexican rice. It looked and smelled divine and Aullie th
anked him as she dug in.
The tastes, the textures, the spices, the stretch of the stringy melted cheese, every single detail fired up her senses and she couldn’t help the delighted moan that slipped out. Weston smiled, digging into his food with nearly the same enthusiasm. Their conversation comfortably stalled as they ate, the vocal silence punctuated by the clink and scrape of silverware against plates.
As the wolfing and chewing began to slow, conversation resumed. The amicable conversation covered their tastes in music, TV, and books. It turned out Weston was an avid reader and, as they pushed the cleaned plates to the edge of the table, he detailed his specific love for Shakespeare.
“I don’t know what it is about his work,” he gushed. “The man was a genius, really. He managed to capture every human pain; jealousy, greed, betrayal. And managed to make it all into art, you know?”
“Yeah,” Aullie said, dreamily. She was lost in his voice, as smooth and sweet as melted caramel. The fact he could speak so beautifully was nothing compared to the passion behind the voice. She had finally met someone else who understood the power and majesty of art, of creation.
The waitress approached, taking the plates and offering dessert. Weston insisted on an order of fried ice cream despite Aullie’s complaints that she couldn’t possibly handle even one more bite. She narrowed her eyes playfully, shaking her head at him.
“You’re trouble,” she accused.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, with a laugh.
“You know exactly why,” she said, slyly.
Before Weston could reply and hopefully continue the flirtation, a massive sphere with a beautiful crispy golden crust drizzled in zig zags of runny chocolate syrup was placed on the table between them. Despite her bloated middle, she couldn’t help the rush of saliva to her mouth. Two spoons rested in the white porcelain dish, and before long the two warred with their spoons, vying for the bites with the most chocolate and laughing hysterically as they did so.
A few minutes later, crunchy bits of fried crust floated in a rich, white puddle of melted ice cream. Weston locked spoons with Aullie, his flashy hazel eyes enraptured her.
“You know, I have to say, Aulora,” his use of her full name sent a shiver down her spine, “I am quite bewitched by you.”
Aullie dropped her eyes, wishing she could come up with anything to say that would have half the suave or class that he did. “Thank you.”
Weston paid the tab, which Aullie was grateful for, given that she’d had to take the night off work to be here. Though she wouldn’t have traded the night for anything in the world. He walked her back out to the car and opened the car door for her, yet again. As she sat alone, in the dark, waiting for him to walk around the car, she took a deep, contented breath.
The air was cool, the car smelled like old leather. Aullie truly couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so ethereal, almost as if she were floating. He hopped in the car, started it up, and after a few semi-concerning pops from the engine, and a humble smile from Weston, they were off. Entirely too soon, they were back to a row of short, ugly brick buildings, one of which happened to house Aullie’s one room box of an apartment.
Weston jerked the ancient bug to a stop on the side of the road. The engine grumbled as the heat built between them in the tiny car. That Margarita had been strong, Aullie thought. She felt a pleasant buzz, enriched by the fact that she was with a man she didn’t need to keep her guard up around.
“So,” he mused
“So,” she replied.
She had thought he was just being coy but one of his wide, warm hands was on her jaw and he pulled her in for a kiss. His lips were soft, the intensity behind it was flaming. She could’ve melted into his arms just then. She was no stranger to sex on the first date, but this guy was different, and as his tongue began to sensually push its way through her plush red lips, she knew she had to bring a stop to it. Make sure he wanted to see her at least one more time before she gave it up. She pulled away, regretfully, and couldn’t help a little shiver of delight. Every nerve in her body was overloaded, especially the ones that mattered.
Weston blinked a few times, as if regaining his composure. “I said it once and I’m more than happy to say it again,” his silky voice was deeper, huskier. “Absolutely bewitching.”
Aullie smiled back shyly. “Good night, Weston.”
“Good night, Aullie.”
Getting out of the little orange bug was one of the hardest things Aullie had done in a while but she did it. She felt the heat of Weston’s watchful gaze until she rounded her neighboring building, the only one visible from the street. As she did, she heard a metallic screech and then a rumble as the little bug shifted and drove off into the night.
Chapter 5
The date had ended at a logical place for a first date, Aullie thought, though it was only ten. Without work, she had nothing to do with the rest of her night, but she felt more inspired after her night with Weston than she had in months.
She peeled off the tight dress, tighter now after all that food. Digging through the dirty laundry pile on the floor near her bed, she found a pair of wrinkled, striped pajama pants and a baggy spirit shirt from her college, both of which were spattered with dried paint. The light fabric was soft against her skin, allowing for great ease of movement as she pushed her bright paisley couch up against the back wall to open up the sitting area for her easel.
Once set up, she selected a twelve by twenty-four-inch canvas out of the pile of blanks she kept stashed in her storage closet. She prepped it, propped it up in the easel tray, and then it was time for paints.
She was feeling very… warm. Very red. She squeezed and squirted tubes and her palette was soon covered with little piles of yellow, orange, purple, and different shades of red. Using her palette knife, she scooped and mixed different colors together, waiting as usual for the color that perfectly fit her mood to appear. Then, it did. Crimson and violet, with a huge glob of white, she had mixed them and the perfect shade of fuchsia was born.
Once the ball was rolling, she couldn’t stop. She played music on a low volume, hoping not to disturb her neighbors, and the classical notes swirled around her.
Before she knew it, the canvas was covered; a beautiful first layer of fuchsia and red, with little yellow and white sunbeams. Though it was beautiful, it had emotionally exhausted her and she eventually realized it had been almost 3 hours since she started. Time always flew when she painted, but not quite like that.
Tired, and covered in paint, she began to pack her things away when she heard a buzz from her phone on the counter. Must be Brittany checking how her date went, Aullie thought, taking the time to wash the thick oil paint off her fingers to avoid staining her phone screen. Once they were more or less clean, she scooped up the device and unlocked it. But, it wasn't a text from Brittany.
It was Weston!
-I can’t stop thinking about you. When can I see you again?-
Aullie grinned and blushed, happy to know he was feeling the same way she was. She considered her schedule, the next night she had free was Monday.
She typed a quick text back -Good, glad I’m not alone :) My next night off is, Monday. We could do something then?-
He replied that was great, that he couldn’t wait to see her again. She said she couldn’t wait either and to have a good night.
His last text came in, making her heart race -I’m sure it’ll be a great night, considering I’ll probably be dreaming of you :)-
On that note, tired and aware of her long work day coming up, Aullie stripped down to her panties and fell into bed. Curling up in her soft sheets, she was still smiling as she quickly fell asleep.
The weekend passed in a blur. It was a busy one, thankfully, so Aullie at least made some good money on her back to back twelve hour days. When she could, which wasn’t often, she had exchanged flirty texts with Weston and it was clear they were both excited for date number two.
That night, she opted for m
ore casual attire. She wore a pair of medium-waisted bell bottom jeans, with a lace pattern she had bleach dyed herself down the front. The deep fuchsia peasant blouse she wore hung off both shoulders, accentuating her long neck and pronounced collar bones. The color reminded her of the impassioned painting she had done after their first night together, still drying on the easel in her living room.
She’d pulled her hair back, neatly braiding it down her back in a perfect fishtail. Around her neck, she wore a wire-wrapped amethyst on a thick black leather cord she had made in her jewelry class at school, and a pair of silver hoops adorned her ears. Aullie was excited for him to see more of her true style, she was eager to share her art and things she had made, with him.
Hurrying out to the curb after a text from Weston, letting her know he was there and waiting for her, she scanned the empty street for the beaten down bug. It was nowhere to be seen, the only car that stood out was a shiny silver Aston Martin that looked wildly out of place on her weedy, crumbling, low-income block.
Spoiled asshole, she snipped in her mind. Even just seeing the car called up memories of her snake of a father, his equally snaky friends and their awful fake wives.
The selfishness, the obsession with image, the toxicity that came with wealth, they were all represented in this gaudy, environmentally-unfriendly car. It was disgusting!
Suddenly, the window of the shiny car rolled down. Aullie’s stomach twisted uncomfortably when she saw Weston in the driver’s seat. As she closed the distance to the car, she did her best to justify the car.
Her mind spun a yarn to cover for the man, she thought she knew. Maybe it’s not his. Maybe he borrowed it from a friend or relative. He’s probably just trying to impress me, he doesn’t know about my family or my money issues. It’s all fine.
As before, he reached across the car, though this car was definitely wider, and popped the door open from the inside. His smile was wide and excited, he was formally dressed again in a silvery gray button down and a dark pair of trousers. Aullie tentatively sat down in the seat; the car reeked of expensive leather and premium carpeting, the smell was almost nauseating to her, reminding her of her father.
Evergreen: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 130