by Adams, Naomi
The waiter smirked, checking out the swell of Clara's blouse with a sly glance, "Good choice."
Fredrick wanted to kick his shin or tell him exactly what he thought of his crude remark, but doing so would draw her attention to it and make her even more uncomfortable.
He didn't want that.
"As quick as you can, then?"
The waiter's eyes widened, "Oh. Of course. Right away, Sir."
He turned on his feet and moved quickly.
Fredrick returned his attention to the tight-lipped woman, determined to avoid eye-contact with him.
Picking up her white rose, he twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. "So, have you been here long?"
Her cheeks flushed and she finally rested her green gaze upon him.
A balloon of hope that she might have softened gave birth to the large smile he wore.
At least it did, until her jaw tightened, "I arrived almost an hour ago, ten minutes before we were due to meet. There are few things I loathe more than tardiness, Fredrick."
"Ah, yes." Balloon of hope popped. "I would have texted or called to let you know I was running late, but you preferred not to supply your number on the dating site. Probably wise, but in these circumstances - kind of inconvenient."
She frowned, "I caused an inconvenience? Are you for real? I don't know you, why would I give you my number? Don't blame my need for privacy for your lack of manners."
Fredrick was surprised by her poisonous attitude, "I wouldn't. I mean, that's not what I'm doing."
She huffed and looked away.
Dammit, he was ruining his one chance.
"Hey, but now I'm here, I'd love to explain why I'm late."
She's fiery, takes no prisoners, beautiful, strong, and moving me in all the right ways. Even though she's about as forgiving as a viper.
"If you let me, Clara. What do you say?"
Rather than listening to him, she raised her hand and shook her head, "I'd rather not because I have a headache now, too."
He stopped talking.
The peachy flush to her cheeks was in fact the flush of irritation, not attraction.
Still hoping Champagne might help her to relax a little, he did as she said and stopped talking, waiting for the waiter to deliver his last chance.
He had yet to meet a woman who wasn't impressed by expensive Champagne, although she hadn't mentioned it online.
Tension built between them in the silence, and when she went to stand, he feared his last chance would arrive too late. "Wait, please."
"Sorry," she said to him, all breathy, as though the whole ordeal had worn her out. "It's just . . . there are more important things I need to be getting on with than . . ." Clara checked the time on her cell, " . . . whatever this is. Truth is, I don't date much, and situations like these are why."
His stomach cramped, and reflexively, he clung to her hand, "At least stay for the Champagne. I bet you love bubbles."
Clara shot him a glance, her jaw clenched, snatching her hand from his grasp.
"Oh, because that's all it takes to bed a woman, right? A few bubbles and her panties will magically fall to her ankles, right along with her dignity."
She scowled at him.
He could kick himself for being so presumptuous.
"No, I don't want to bed you. That's not what I was . . . please, Clara?"
This is messed up and she is as stubborn as hell.
Chapter 4
Clara was livid.
Does he think he can show up late in filthy clothes, smelling like a pool hall with what can only be smudged cigarette ash on his face, and expect that just because he's hot and most likely rich, all he needs to do to compensate is flash his cash?
The nerve of him!
She was beyond disappointed, though she couldn't deny his tall stature, golden brown eyes and even his dirty dark wavy hair gave her goose bumps.
The glint in those eyes added to the struggle against the growing urge to walk away, but his honeyed voice was what held her there.
Loving the written word alone all these years seemed to add importance to a man's voice.
This man's voice.
"Champagne not your poison, huh? No problem, tell me what is and it's yours. Let me make up for keeping a beautiful lady like you waiting."
Why am I still here?
What could I hope to gain from this trust-fund playboy?
She fidgeted in her seat, imagining where this date might have ended had he not been so disrespectful.
He was delicious, but the inevitable emptiness she would get from this kind of man in the aftermath of casual sex—no thanks.
Men were generally cheating sex-pests; even the good ones like her father let her down.
She was better off alone, or romancing Anon in cyberspace.
The waiter returned with their fizz and went to pour them both a glass.
Clara covered her glass with her hand, trying with all her strength not to give her date eye contact. "Not for me, thanks."
"Can I get you something else?" asked the waiter. "The wine list, perhaps?"
Fredrick's gaze drilled into the side of her cheek.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a smile play around his plump lips, "Tell him what you want, it's yours."
Damn him for thinking I'm so easily appeased.
Damn me for needing sex, ever.
"You know what?" Clara stood and grabbed her jacket. "It's time I was leaving. The office called while I was waiting for you. And well, your tardiness ate into our date, so . . . enjoy your Champagne."
The waiter bit his lip.
Embarrassed for the high roller no doubt, he left the Champagne in the icebox and marched off to another table.
Fredrick gaped and stood up, standing so near to her, the scent of sweat on clean skin, of spicy cologne, of man, flooded her senses.
For a moment of intense arousal, it even overpowered the stench of smoke.
He held out his hand again, "Can we start over?"
He appeared sincere when she glimpsed his glorious brown gaze, but how could she trust him—especially a hedonist like him?
She thought aloud and although she meant it, she worried it was a little toxic. "I don't have the time to waste on you, sorry." His hand in hers, she held it tight, shook it once, and let go. "Bye Fredrick."
Leaving the restaurant without a second glance, a part of her, however small, wondered if she might have missed out on an incredible experience if only she had the courage.
She even paused at the reception area, partly wanting to turn back, but remained on course.
Instead of hot sex with a playboy, she would go home and text Anon.
Then she would take a long hot bath, alone.
She still had a little power left in those batteries to use up.
But while waiting for the valet guy to collect her car outside the restaurant, she studied her hand.
She had enjoyed his hot, smooth palm against hers, with his long fingers curled around it. He didn't grab on greedily like some, or weakly like others.
Would he handle me that way in the bedroom, given the chance?
With a firm, controlled touch?
She shook her hand, then shoved the offending limb into her pocket, just as her car arrived.
Chapter 5
The following day at work crawled along like a slug over salt.
Sometimes Clara disliked being CEO of her own charity.
Not because trying to get donations from people for any kind of addict was too much like squeezing sap from a dead branch, which it most certainly was. But because witnessing how cruel human nature could be was often too awful to bear.
After meeting a new resident at one of the half-way-houses funded by her charity, she needed a time-out because of just such a situation.
The man bore the mark of the same lending sharks her father once used.
No police investigation could ever find enough evidence to send them to jail, but everyo
ne knew who they were and what they did to repeat non-payers like her father, and like the man she met that afternoon.
If a debtor couldn't pay their debts, these sharks liked to take a hammer to their right hand and crush the bones to powder.
No amount of hospital treatment could fix it once they administered their special kind of retribution.
Clara remembered when her father went missing for a few months.
She was fifteen when she received his call, and rushed to a hospital out of town to find him with the exact same injury.
Gambling was always his addiction; it crippled her father and robbed Clara of their relationship.
His addiction started before she was born, so she never knew him before he became the bum no one trusted, the bum they pitied and avoided.
Before he became the family embarrassment.
Times like this she wished she had someone to lean on back home.
But dating was once again relegated to the 'something other people did' pile.
Back to chasing emails and text messages from Anon for fun.
And sometimes, just sometimes, she needed vodka too.
Once home from her lousy day, Clara poured a long glass of vodka, added tonic, a slice of lime, and two cubes of ice.
Snuggled into her couch, she picked up her cell to turn it off for a few hours reprieve, but before she did so, her friend's name popped up and the handset played Beyonce's ‘Single Ladies’.
"Hey Lisa," Clara sighed, dreading the conversation about to begin between them, "How's things?"
"Hectic." Lisa ran her own restaurant, and was head chef too. They met at school, became instant friends, and went on to study business management together at college. "Thought I'd get your answerphone. Are you home yet?"
"Yep, I'm home."
"I told you he was beautiful, didn't I? Are you in love yet? Did the date go well? Did you open those perfect pins of yours."
Lisa was never one for soft words.
"No!"
"You're playing hard to get, huh? Waiting for the second date to let him screw your cobwebs away? Nice touch."
Where should I start and can I be bothered?
"Well, the date ended early because he was almost an hour late and turned up filthy and smelling like a pool-hall."
Lisa said nothing.
She had let down her friend but Clara never did ask her to get involved with her love life.
"I don't have time to waste on playboys who think they can buy me off with bubbles, Lisa. Sorry, but your plan didn’t get me laid."
"His profile pic was sexy as hell. He even wore a suit, albeit with an open neck shirt. You surprise me, saying he turned up dirty."
"Sexy isn't everything." Of course, even filthy he was certainly sexy. "Good manners count for a lot, too."
"Are you saying he was sexy?"
Clara huffed, "Yeah, he was good looking. So what?"
"You should have let me show you his picture, you would have seen him in a better light. I even downloaded a copy to, um . . . enjoy myself with," she laughed.
"What if we'd started dating? Tell me you wouldn't masturbate over an image of my boyfriend."
"Well, I wouldn't keep it if you got serious, obviously."
Lisa would keep the picture in her 'Toy Bag' and would continue to use it until it no longer had the desired effect.
"Sure you would." Clara huffed. "Dating isn't all about looks anyhow, and I didn't want to be blindsided by a picture before I even met him. This way, I judged him on his actions, not only his freaking cheekbones."
"Who bit your ass? You're so serious, Clara. You'll die from a heart attack before you reach forty."
Clara's head started to ache again and she took a long swig of her vodka before saying, "Whatever. We were just a bad fit, Lisa. That's all I'm saying."
"I know you, remember? I bet if he turned up ten minutes early and dressed in a tux with a florist behind him, you would have found some reason to judge him negatively. Maybe he had a good reason for the way he looked. Did you ask why he was late?"
No I didn't ask, why should I?
"Like I said, I didn't have time to waste on him or his excuses."
"See? You never intended to give him a chance did you? Poor guy."
"Did too, and the poor guy was a bum with too much money. You date him if he's so hot."
"Only chance you gave him was the chance to fail. If you're honest, looks are everything when dating. If a chimp showed up swinging from the chandeliers, you might be entertained but you wouldn't want to take him back for coffee, now would you?"
Clara could feel her jaw tightening, her head thumping, "Lisa, I went along and met the guy, as you insisted, and he wasn't my type for whatever reason. End of the conversation."
Lisa paused before saying in a sweeter voice, "I just thought you were both so similar. If I could show you his details, you might change your mind."
"I don't even want to start dating; I'm not in the right place. I'm too…" Clara raised her voice, "Just back-off, yeah?"
"Cool it sweetie, I come in peace, remember."
Put in her place, Clara realized she'd shouted at her best friend.
"Shit, sorry Lisa." It was all getting on top of her. "You don't deserve my venom. I'm having a bad day as well as the bad date . . . but there is no excuse for my attitude. Forgive me?"
"Of course. I'm walking out of the kitchen and into the yard for a smoke. Unload your attitude on these broad shoulders. I can take it."
Clara loved Lisa, even if she did insist she do things she didn't want to do. "Those sharks hit another one of our service users earlier today. I went to see the poor guy at the halfway house he's at, and . . . I guess it just reminded me of . . ."
"Your dad, I get it." Lisa grew up with Clara so she witnessed her struggles with her father, and had been the shoulder she cried on many times when they were younger. "How did they get away with it this time?"
"They got away with it the same way they always do. No one knows a thing. No one saw a thing. No one heard a thing. Course, the guy who lost his hand won't say a word either, so the police have nothing to go on. It's infuriating; I was almost sick with it all."
"Who can blame them for not coming forward, though? The sharks have guys everywhere and they're cruel bastards."
Clara exhaled, utterly exhausted. "Days like today I want a machete and a free pass to dole out my own judgment. I'd show them cruel."
"Ouch, you're scary when you want to be."
Clara scoffed, wishing she could do more than be scary to people who earned a living from the misery of others.
Wishing the kind of badassery she administered was not solely in her imagination.
"You do all you can for them, you know?" said Lisa softly.
Clara sniffed back tears and gulped on more vodka. "Never enough though is it?"
After a short pause, where her cell grew hot against Clara's ear and her arm ached from the effort of holding the handset in place, Lisa asked, "You slurping on vodka by any chance?"
"You got it, and I intend to soak in a hot bath before an early night, too. I'm whacked."
"Sounds like a brilliant idea. You deserve a time-out by the sounds of it."
Another short pause drifted over them, where both realized there was nothing more to say on the subject.
Not without adding to the misery.
Lisa said finally, "I'm sorry I set you up on the date. It's just, you do so much for everyone else day in day out, but no one's looking out for your needs. Guess I wanted him to show you a good time, away from the daily grind."
Clara remembered Fredrick's beautiful face and honeyed tones, "Hey, I understand sweetie. And he was okay to look at, you were right about that. You picked a sexy guy. But I still left him gargling on expensive Champagne." She sniggered, though the effort to do so weighed heavily on her shoulders, "So . . . what did it say on his profile, anyway?"
"Lots, but what struck me was where it said he's a lonely gu
y looking for an intelligent lady to share fun times with. Plus, his dating rating is ninety-nine percent."
"Dating rating?"
They rate each other, online? Awful.
"Yes, that’s his score from previous dates. Women love this guy."
"How many dates has he had?" This all seemed too much like a game. Clara didn't play games or appreciate being a pawn in one. "Oh, why did I ever let you talk me into this nonsense?"
"Because you're a lonely, intelligent lady looking to share fun times."
"Am I though? I'm too busy to be lonely. As for intelligent?" Clara's throat began to swell, "You decided I was lonely, but that doesn't mean I am." Clara bit her lip, too tired to argue her point but upset all the same. "And he's exactly the kind of guy I expected would use those kinds of websites. Lisa, do me a favor; take down my profile. And don't set me up on anything else resembling a blind date."
Lisa ignored her, as always, "Sorry, nope. The profile is staying live. You'll be ready to try again in a week or two. They're not all bad. Men are human too... and you are not all right on your own. You need sex at the very least, just like the rest of us."
"Ever heard of masturbation?" Clara gripped her glass tight, "All I need for a great love life is batteries. Oh, that reminds me."
She walked to the shopping list on her fridge and added 'batteries.'
"A rubber dick is not the same as the real thing. Fact."
"How's your love life since you signed up to that dating site?" She was being a tad hypocritical. "All you ever get from it is laid. If I need anything I can't get for myself, I'll let you know. If I need anything at all from a man, it's a deeper understanding. Not a cock."
"Nothing wrong with my love life, thanks. Getting laid is all I have time for right now; don't knock it till you try it."
"I appreciate you and I love you, but I'm fine as I am. We're just different.”
“Alright, alright. I get it. I’ve got to go back into the restaurant now.”
“Bye, Lisa."
"Sweet dreams, Hun."
Clara smiled, refilled her glass, and shuffled to her bathroom.
Accepting that when she touched herself and thought of Anon's words as she always did, it would now be Fredrick's mouth she kissed.