Dair (The Wild Side #3)(23)

She was on the edge when I yanked my fingers out of her, and stopped her hand on me, made it squeeze my tip, then pushed it away.

“Let’s stop this nonsense right now,” I told her firmly, trying to sound reasonable (which I didn’t feel) instead of angry (which I did).  “I don’t want to go.  I want to stay with you, right here, and finish what I just started.  Tell me not to go.”

She met my eyes steadily, and I knew what her response was before she said it.  “No.  I think you should go.  I’ll be here when you get back.”

I slammed the front door when I left and didn’t say goodbye.

I was so pissed that I had to pull over halfway there and get my temper in hand.  I didn’t want Lourdes to know how much I didn’t want to do this.  She didn’t deserve that.

Lourdes was dressed to kill in a little black dress that showed off her toned legs and just a hint of cle**age.  Her hair was parted down the middle, hanging in long, thick curls to her mid-back.  Her makeup was sultry, bringing out her big, dark, mysterious eyes.

She was a knockout, for sure.  If I wasn’t so out of sorts, I was convinced I would have been drooling at the sight of her.

As it was, I had to dig deep to stay engaged, and act like nothing was wrong.

I’d gotten last minute reservations at Joel Robuchon, because Lourdes had told me once that French food was her favorite, and I’d made a note of it at the time, because I’d been working up the nerve to ask her out on a date.  It was supposed to be one of the best, and most expensive, French restaurants in town.

It was certainly impressive at first glance, I noted, as we were shown to our table.  The decor was luxe, but the place was nearly deserted.  I figured that was because, though it was a Friday, the meals ran expensive, and when I say expensive, I mean five hundred dollars a plate, and that was before you added in the alcohol.

I wasn’t worried about it.  Money was literally the least of my problems, at this point.

Lourdes gushed about the place, admitting she’d been wanting to come here, but hadn’t been on a date in ages.

I felt like the worst kind of despicable for that one, but consoled myself with the fact that at least I’d taken her someplace she’d wanted to go, even if I couldn’t force myself to think of this as a real date.

We both decided to go with the sixteen course degustation menu, since that was what the waiter insisted we had to do.

I didn’t care, my mind on staying out as late as possible, just to spite Iris and make her worry.

Lourdes, as much as she was a health nut, enjoyed each course, tasting everything as only a health nut, who rarely ate this extravagantly, could.

None of it was my cup of tea, but I kept silent about that, as I was used to sitting through meals that I knew I wouldn’t necessarily enjoy.  My parents had trained me well for that.

I tried the caviar, didn’t like it, but pretended I did when Lourdes raved about it.

I barely got the Foie Gras down with a neutral expression, though Lourdes said it was the best she’d ever had.

My favorite part of the meal, by far, was the bread cart.  I overloaded on carbs, knowing I’d have to make up for it with the next day’s workout, and not caring, something about eating a bunch of stuff I didn’t like exaggerating my hunger for something I actually enjoyed.

The sixteen tiny courses went by slowly, the full meal taking nearly four hours, and after a time, I did start to enjoy myself.

She was a very nice lady.  Extravagantly beautiful.  Very charming and even funny.

It wasn’t her fault I couldn’t look at it as a real date.

You can’t go out with one woman, while being in love with another, and have it be a fair comparison.

“You didn’t love it,” Lourdes accused teasingly as I opened the passenger door and handed her into my Tesla.

I walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat before I responded.  I sent her an apologetic smile.  “It was very impressive.  I don’t believe I’ve ever been served food with real gold flakes on it before.  That was definitely a highlight.”

She laughed.  “You hated it.  Well, thank you for bringing me, anyways.  I loved it, and even though I rarely let myself eat like that, it was so worth it.”

“Then I’m glad we went.”

She laughed again, a rich, happy laugh, the kind of laugh it felt good to listen to.  “Well, next time, we’ll have to pick your favorite kind of food, to make up for it.”

And just that easy, I felt like a bastard again.

I took her to the newest Cirque show, at the Aria.  Front row seats.  It was hard to get those day of, but I knew a guy.  Well, Turner did, but his guy was happy to hook me up, too.

The show was great, and after, we took a little walk around the casino, chatting about it.

I studied Lourdes as she spoke.  She had the loveliest thick, deep sable hair.  There were masses of it.  I’d admired it from the first time I met her, and I realized suddenly that she was what I’d always considered my type.  My wife had had dark, heavy hair, and deep mysterious eyes, as well.

When had it changed, my type?  Was it the bitterness of the divorce that had soured my preference, or had it happened with my developing feelings for a wild, too young blonde?