Dazed (Connections, #2.5)(14)

Shivering, I step back inside and decide on denim. I pair my favorite skinny jeans with red high-heeled booties and a tight white sweater. I decide to leave my hair down— I’m not sure why, but I did like the way Jagger wrapped his finger around a stray strand yesterday. Next I decide on an Art Deco 1930s-style necklace from my grandmother’s collection. Its red glass pieces tilt back like butterfly wings. Clasping it and selecting simple gold earrings, I’m ready to go.

***

Butterflies swarm my stomach as I pull into the restaurant parking lot. I see him instantly—the wayfarers cover his gray eyes, the tattered jeans fit snuggly on his narrow hips, the scuffed boots with the orange laces, the messy but somehow perfect dark hair, and that blue vest. He’s got one leg canted against the brick wall of the building and the other planted on the ground. His head is bowed, and he’s got earphones in his ears. God, he’s sexy. My pulse races and I smile as I park my car next to his.

Guys don’t have this kind of impact on me—ever. Men have actually always been a bit of a struggle in my life—not that I’m into girls. It’s just I fell in love for the first time when I was sixteen and that ill-fated relationship kept me away from other guys until my freshman year of college. Then for the next four years I dated a handful of men each year. But I was always subconsciously looking for a reason to break up and easily found one. Sex is also something that’s always been a struggle for me. I don’t see what it is that women find so enticing about it. I’ve been with probably a dozen men, so it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing. I get the mechanics; I just don’t understand what it is I’m supposed to be feeling.

He opens my door before I even grab my purse and stretches out his hand. I take it and he tugs me out of the car. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say back. My fingers are tingling from where they were wrapped around his hand.

“I’m glad you didn’t stand me up.” His mouth stretches into a slow grin.

“I thought about it, but decided I couldn’t do that to River,” I joke.

He bites his lip and the sight takes my breath away. “That makes me one lucky bastard to be his cousin.” He’s teasing me back. I’m already catching his stride.

“Yes it does.”

Looking around over the top of his sunglasses, he glances toward the restaurant. “Ready to go in?”

I nod and he puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the door. The Loft is a casual bistro-style place with spectacular panoramic views. It has the best food around with a six-foot rotisserie and the most extensive cheese selection in all of California. We enter and he removes his sunglasses and tucks them in the slight V of his sweater. I watch his eyes as he evaluates the place. Today they’re like gray storm clouds—deep, rich, slow moving, even languid.

His gaze swivels to mine. Those eyes sweep over me in a now familiar way and send a shiver through me. “You look beautiful. Red really is your color,” he says fingering the faceted glass squares around my neck.

“Thank you. It’s a piece from my grandmother’s collection.”

“May I help you sir?” a voice says from behind me.

His hand drops from my neck, but finds its spot on the small of my back. I like it there.

“Table for two?” the hostess asks.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Would you like to sit inside or out?”

I say “inside” at the same time that he says “outside.”

He leans forward. “It’s a beautiful day. What do you say we enjoy it?”

“Sure, why not,” I answer, although I’m thinking I never eat outside. The noise and the wind are just too distracting. The hostess leads us up to the second floor and we’re seated at a round table with four chairs circling it with a beautiful view of the beach. Jagger pulls a chair out for me and I sit. He selects the one next to mine, facing the ocean.

The hostess hands us our menus. “Your waiter will be right with you,” she says before leaving us alone. We’re the only people sitting outside and I notice it is actually really peaceful. We sit close and look over our menus.

Jagger leans forward. “So what’s good?”

“I always order the grilled salmon. But I hear the flatbreads are amazing. Dahlia gets them sometimes when we eat here.”

“The vodka infused halibut on parmesan flat bread it is then. What about you?”

“The grilled salmon.”

“Maybe you should try something different today?”

I look at him trying to figure out if he’s making fun of me or maybe teasing me, but his expression stays neutral and his eyes remain focused on mine.

I sit up straight. “Sure, why not. Live a little. Right?” I’m not sure why I say yes, but I think it has something to do the sexy, smoldering smirk I knew it would put on his face.

He leans even further toward me and an incredulous smile plays around his lips. “Right!” And there it is—it makes my stomach somersault and my pulse race.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks.

“Yes,” Jagger replies. “The lady will have,” he pauses and looks at me.

“A sparkling water and the grilled flank steak sandwich,” I say.

With a grin on his face he orders a sparkling water with lime and the flatbread. Then he inclines his head toward the sun. The view from the table is amazing. The water crashes against the rocks, the sky is bright, the clouds are fluffy and serene, and the wind stirs around us at just the right speed.