Frayed (Connections, #4)(27)

I skip the valet since I don’t like anyone touching my bike. I find a small parking garage around the corner and pull into it. I’ve been to this town a few times, but the only thing I really remember about it is the white dogwood trees that line the streets. With my bike secure, I walk slowly down the street looking around at the small shops, all very different but inviting to passersby. The old-fashioned streetlights display banners that read MERRY CHRISTMAS. It’s a little early for that—isn’t it?

The town looks to be a little larger than Laguna, and a bit quainter, but nowhere near as trendy or diverse. I pass a florist, some retail shops, a few galleries, and many restaurants and bars. People are walking as though they don’t have a care in the world, just browsing, talking, and laughing. One store in particular catches my eye. It’s a bookstore named Fiction Vixen. My love for old books draws me toward the two stacks in the large windows located on both sides of its front door. The books are displayed in a Christmas-tree-like fashion with strands of lights wrapped around them.

Arriving at Pebbles, I pull open the heavy glass door only to find that the place is crowded. I weave my way through the people waiting in the entry and stop at the hostess station.

“Can I help you?” the cute girl says.

“I’d like a table for two.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

“No, do I need one?”

She glances down at the book of names in front of her. “I’m sorry but you do. We’re full tonight.”

I lean down. “Are you sure you can’t find a small table for two tucked away somewhere? It’s just that this is my first date with a girl and I was really hoping to impress her. I don’t want to look like the jackass I am for forgetting to make a reservation.” I quirk a smile and stand a little closer.

She glances up at me and her eyelashes flutter. “That’s really sweet. Let me see what I can do.”

She scans the seating chart before her.

“How about right there?” I point.

“One of the window tables? Those are always the first ones requested.”

I shoot her a wink. “So my date would be really impressed if I got us one of those?”

She smiles at me as she erases the name printed above the table. “Your name, sir?”

With my biggest shit-eating grin I say, “Ben. Ben Covington.”

As she leads me to the table, we pass a granite-topped bar where a few couples perched on the stools are lost in deep conversations—hands on knees, faces a little too close, hooded eyes. I remember thinking just recently the only girl I ever came close to flirting with besides my long-term girlfriend was S’belle. But maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Then again, it depends how you define flirting. To me it means you have game in mind. With the hostess I was just pouring on the charm, not trying to bed her. So I stand by the idea that I’ve never really put myself out there in flirting mode. But something tells me I’m about to before the night ends.

“Let me know if I can help you with anything else,” the hostess says before leaving me at a table near the window with two menus.

I check the time on my phone; it’s seven twenty-seven. I sit here wondering if maybe S’belle isn’t going to show and find my nervousness disconcerting. Not a minute ticks by before I spot her. Her back’s to me and she’s talking to the hostess. The lights from the street cast shadows on her long red hair. But it’s as vibrant as ever against her bare back. She pulls it to one side as she laughs at something the hostess says. Oh, f*ck, is that girl blowing it for me? She twists in my direction as the hostess points over to me. Fuck, I think I’m busted.

I stand up and she smiles at me. My body hums at the sight of her approaching me—she’s wearing a halter top that reveals a hint of cleavage and tight jeans that hug her shape perfectly with the highest f*cking heels I’ve ever seen. She sashays toward me and the thin gold chains hanging over her shapely chest swing back and forth. She isn’t a girl anyone could pass by without drooling over. I consciously close my jaw that I know is hanging open. At our table her eyes look me over—head to toe. I see it plain as day and I have to pull back the knowing grin from my lips.

“Hi there,” I say with a grin, and lean in to kiss her.

“Hi,” she answers, turning her face so my mouth lands on her cheek.

“You look beautiful.” I’m trying my best not to be affected by the kiss snub.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and there it is—that look of innocence that sets my body ablaze. Okay, I’ll let the snub pass. Who knows? Maybe she has some crazy role-playing game cooking in her head.

I extend my hand and she places hers softly in my palm so that I can bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. Her smile is wide and bright as I let her hand go.

“Madam,” I say as I pull out her chair. Maybe I could be the ma?tre d’ and she could be a demanding patron?

She sits and sets her phone on the table and her purse on the floor. When she sits back up, I breathe in her scent as I take her napkin and place it on her lap. Leaning down, I let my warm breath caress her neck. “In case you want to add it to your collection before it gets dirty.”

She looks up at me. “Very funny.”

“I try to be.”

“Oh, I think you try to be more than that.”