A Not So Meet Cute(101)
I place my hand on hers and move it to my mouth to kiss her palm. “You’re welcome, Lottie.”
“I’m sweating.”
“What?” I laugh. “What do you mean you’re sweating?”
We’re standing in line, waiting to enter the concert hall, and this is the first thing she’s said to me since we left the car after finishing off our donuts. We shared a burger and fries at Killer Burger, opting for the peanut butter burger, before we headed over to Voodoo Doughnut and each got a donut, but split them, so we could have a taste of each. Lottie’s idea. But she’s been silent ever since the donuts were consumed. I asked her a question at one point, but she didn’t answer, instead, continued to stare out the window. I wasn’t sure what was going through her head, so I chose to just let her have her peace.
Holding on tightly to my hand, she leans in close to me and says, “I’m so excited, Hux. I’m sweaty. I’m nervous. My body doesn’t know what to do with itself.”
I like it when she calls me Hux. It sounds good coming from her lips.
“Are you going to fangirl out?”
“Uh, yeah,” she says with confidence. “If you didn’t expect that, you clearly don’t know me at all. And I expect you to fangirl out as well.”
“I’ll get my girly scream ready.”
She chuckles. “What I wouldn’t give to hear it.” The doors open and the crowd grows closer as people begin to filter into the vintage Art Deco building.
“Before we head in, want to take a picture with the marquee?” I ask. She’s nervous, so she might say no.
“Oh, great idea,” she answers.
Thank fuck.
I take my phone from my pocket and switch it to camera mode. Lottie curls against my side and places her hand on my chest, and I angle the phone just right to capture my height, her height, and the marquee above us.
Once I take a few, I say, “I’ll text you the best one.”
“Please do. I want to send one to my mom. She’s going to freak out.”
“Is she a Fleetwood Mac fan too?” I pocket my phone as we move closer to the building.
“Yes. She was the one who introduced me to their music, basically to all the music I love.”
“If I knew, I would’ve invited her as well.”
“Stop. It’s better like this, making her jealous.” Lottie smiles, and . . . fuck . . . I like that smile. I’m obsessed with that smile.
I’m obsessed with her.
“Daughter of the year.”
“I think so.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “What about your brothers? Are they jealous?”
“They don’t know I’m here.”
“Really?” she asks, surprised. “You didn’t tell them?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She pauses and asks, “Didn’t want them to know about me?”
I clutch her hand tighter to ease any doubts that might be popping up in her head. “Didn’t want to hear their I-told-you-so’s.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, confused.
This is not the place I want to have this conversation, in a throng of people, but thankfully, we’re at the front of the line so I can press pause on my answer as I hand the ticket attendant our tickets. Once they’re scanned, we walk into the concert hall. From the outside, it stands above the rest, with its gothic-style columns surrounding the marquee, but on the inside, it’s decked out in gold wallpaper from floor to ceiling. Pops of a dusty sky-blue are carved into the pillars surrounding the lobby, while the floors are a colorfully glazed tile that must be original to its era of build. Breathtaking. Art Deco at its finest.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask her as we move toward a concession stand.
“Uh, sure,” she answers quietly, and I know the shift in her mood is from the question she asked that went unanswered.
I work her through the crowd and find a concession stand that just opened. I order us both a beer, and then, with the drinks in hand, I guide her to our seats, which are on the first row of the mezzanine level, dead center. The perfect view, in my opinion. Just close enough, but not so close that we’re craning our necks.
“Wow, these are great seats,” she says.
“Yeah, I’m pleased with them.”
She takes a seat, and once she’s settled, I hand her a beer and then take a seat as well, being sure to turn toward her. Everyone is still filtering in to their seats so I take this opportunity to elaborate on my answer.
I just hope she’s on the same page as me, because I’m about to put myself out there—put my personal life over business—and that’s fucking terrifying. What if she doesn’t feel the same way about me? What if I’ve been reading her wrong this entire time? I can’t keep living in this unknown so there’s only one way to find out.
I set my drink in the cup holder and reach for her hand, which she lets me take. I bring her knuckles to my lips and place a gentle kiss there. Her cheeks stain with a hint of pink as she smiles at me.
“My brothers were skeptical about our situation.” I look her in the eyes. “They told me there was no way I would be able to keep this strictly professional—our agreement.” I rub the side of my cheek, a bout of nerves hitting me all at once. Christ, man, just say it. “They were right. After our first night hanging out with Ellie and Dave, I knew you were different. And then I had a taste of you, in the hallway, I got to watch you come apart on my fingers, and I was fucking done. I tried to deny it, to ignore it, but my need for you has grown too strong, Lottie.” With a deep breath, I say, “I want more from you. And I know this crosses the line of our agreement, but I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you, because I do. I like you, Lottie. I like you a lot.”