Roxie

Why did I agree to a dinner date?

He wouldn't take no for an answer and a huge part of me wanted to go, that's why. But it's beyond unprofessional. Not to mention that it could be the start of something I don’t want. Yet, I didn't cancel. I even dressed up.

I've been in this town for less than a month, I have no friends, and I'm sick of eating dinner alone. And the alternative was having dinner with a hot guy who clearly wants me. So from that side of things there is absolutely nothing wrong with me going on this date. And I was almost out the door, wearing a satin red dress with an open back and a pair of black high heeled shoes, which is an outfit guaranteed to make things happen, but I changed my mind at the last second.

Since I was already running late, I just pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and took my jean jacket to hide the open back of the dress, which is short enough to work as a tunic anyway. This isn't a date. We're just meeting to discuss his daughter's behavior.

I arrive to the restaurant a couple of minutes late, have to endure his piercing look all the way from my car to the entrance, where he’s waiting for me.

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, since his dark eyes are making me feel all sorts of unsteady inside.

He grins. "Not a problem, but I think you might be hot in that jacket."

His gaze slips down my front, over my breasts and across my stomach, making me very aware that I'm not wearing a bra under the flowing tunic. But my breasts are small and firm enough that I can get away with it, and I'm pretty sure he's thinking that exact same thing.

"I'll be fine," I say and pull on the door to open it. He catches it and holds it open for me to enter first.

The waitress seats us at one of the window tables, giving us a perfect view of the highway, at all the cars whizzing by. I’ve already eaten here a few times, since moving to this town, and I’d always sit by the window, watching the cars drive by and wonder where the people in them were going, whether they have families to get home to, or if they’re all alone like me, with no one to come home to.

After just a few minutes inside, I realize Cross was right, it is too hot for this jacket. A breeze was blowing outside, but in here it's stuffy and hot. Yet if I take this jacket off then there will be no more pretending that I came here in any kind of a professional capacity. Cross is wearing his usual outfit: a button down shirt, jeans, and his cut.

I order a beer, and finish almost the entire eight ounce glass of water before the waitress returns with it.

Cross has his menu open on the table, but he's looking mostly at me. And damn it, I could get used to that look.

"I'll have a cheeseburger and a side salad," I tell the waitress, then slam shut my menu, while staring at her so intently to get away from his gaze that she actually raises her eyebrow at me.

"I'll have the same, only no salad for me," Cross says.

"How old are you, Roxanne?" he asks, once the waitress leaves.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I ask, taking a sip of my beer and getting foam all over my upper lip.

"Indulge me," he says, grinning at me again. "I'd give you twenty-two or twenty-three tops."

"I'm twenty-seven," I say, taking another careful sip of beer, then wiping my lips right after.

"Well, you don't look it," he says leaning back and locking his fingers behind his head, checking me out with even more interest, if that's possible.

"If you're worried that I'm not qualified to handle your daughter's case, you can rest easy," I say. "I have experience working with inner city kids and—"

"I was actually wondering, if maybe you weren't too young for me," he says, the full meaning behind his words so clear it makes a flash of desire pass over my clit, and the room grow hotter by at least twenty degrees.

I almost ask him how old he is—I’d say about thirty-five—but instead I clear my throat, and give him the most serious look I can muster under the circumstances, given that my cheeks must be bright red.

"We met here to discuss your daughter's future, since you refused to come to my office," I say. "And that is all we’re going to talk about."

But I feel like he's already made up his mind about wanting me and nothing I say will change it again. It's a weird feeling to have about a man I've just met, and it makes no sense, but I feel it. Not that I'm gonna let this date play out the way he thinks it will.

"Not much to talk about then," he says, leaning over the table and clasping his hands together about an inch from mine. "I took her to the movies this afternoon, and we had a nice chat over ice-cream afterwards. I know how my daughter thinks. She's exactly like me, and I think I can have more success setting her straight than my father had with me. At least I mean to try."

"Good," I say, drinking some more of my beer. "Because I spoke to the principal today, and she says the parents of some of the other kids are pressuring her to expel Lily."

I shouldn't have told him that. It was totally unprofessional. I blame the alcohol and the heat, and that damn piercing look of his, which makes me certain I'll never have any secrets from him. I've almost finished my beer and I haven't had any alcohol in a dog's age. Nor have I eaten anything since breakfast.

He lets out an angry groan, his grin not happy and inviting anymore. Now it's just hard and malicious. And something is definitely wrong with me, because now I want him too, more than I did before.

But that won't happen.

"I figured something like that was behind this talk of expelling her," he says, leaning back so the waitress can set our plates down in front of us. "Lily hasn't gotten into that much trouble at all this year. I should've seen this hypocrisy coming."

"Sounds like you have your mind all made up," I say, taking off my jacket, because sweat is erupting on my forehead, and I'm starting to feel like we're sitting in a sauna and not a restaurant.

His breath hitches as I feel one of my boobs bounce a little, while I struggle to get my arm out of the sleeve.

"I grew up in a town a lot like this one," he says, and picks up his burger. "I'm also from one of the most conservative families that ever existed anywhere, so I know the drill. Never mind what goes on under the surface, as long as the exterior stays picture perfect."

I give him a long sideways glance, as I pick up my burger too.

"What?" he asks, baring his perfectly straight teeth then taking a huge bite of his burger. And yeah, watching him eat turns me on too. I'm not sane.

"I can't see you in a conservative family. Or behind a picture perfect exterior," I say and actually giggle at my clever play on words.

He chews fast, then swallows hard. "My father was the local preacher. The real fire and brimstone kind, and he wasn’t satisfied with things only seeming picture perfect. He made sure they were. I think it was a way for him to keep his own demons in check, because I know we were two of a kind, just like me and Lily are. But no, I never fit into his picture perfect and strict as fuck idea of what he wanted his family to be. We parted ways when I was seventeen, and I haven't looked back."

"Was it hard to do that?" I ask, again forgetting that this is a meeting, not a date.

He shrugs. "No. I hated him and he hated me and we're both better off apart. I felt sorry for my mother because she had to stay with him, but by the time I left he'd already made her meek and docile, exactly the way he needed her to be. But why the hell am I telling you about my parents?"

"I hope you don’t think you and Lily would be better off apart too," I say, gasping right after then finally taking a bite of my food, since, yeah, I shouldn't have said that either. It's like I'm trying to piss him off, so he'll threaten me and tell me to get lost, because I don't know, if I'll ever get him out of my mind unless he does that.

"I'm not thinking that at all," he says coldly and eats some more of his food too.

We just eat our food in silence after that. I don't taste mine at all, since I'm too focused on avoiding his piercing, dark, pondering gaze.

He finishes his burger first, wipes his mouth on a napkin and tosses it on his plate.

"Let's cut the crap, Roxie." The way he says my name—the name no one's called me by in over six years—rips right through me and makes me choke on my burger. But I manage to swallow the bite without coughing. "Why are you really taking such a strong interest in my daughter?"

He's looking at me like he already knows the answer, like he already knows I came here tonight, because I want to get to know him better.

I finish off the rest of my beer before I slip up, say the wrong thing and let him know he's right. It's that deep, piercing gaze of his. It makes me want to tell him all my secrets.

I clear my throat, wiping my lips and setting my napkin down too. "This is my first real job, and your daughter needs my help. I mean to do the best I can for her."

He grins at me. "You're not scared of me at all, are you?"

The way he asks it makes my heart race. Is this it? Is this where he tells me to get lost? "Should I be?"

"Most people are," he says and shrugs. "Especially school workers and such. But you just walked into my life and started ordering me around like I'm some regular blue collar dad. I have to say it's refreshing, but a little annoying too."

"I'm not ordering you around, I'm just doing my job," I mumble.

"Yeah, right. And when you visited my home, you just breezed in like you've been there a thousand times before," he says, his eyes flicking to our reflection in the window. "And that lovely tramp stamp of yours tells me you're no stranger to having a good time. Maybe even with bikers."

My head whips sideways to see what the hell he's talking about. It's gotten dark outside while we ate, and my bare back is fully visible in the reflection along with the swirly tattoo on my lower back that I got on my eighteenth birthday.

"So like I said, let's cut the crap, Roxie," he continues. "I'd love to go back to your house after dinner. And don't worry, it'll be our little secret."

I have no idea how to respond. I should be huffing up in indignation at his lewd and way too forward suggestion. But it's exactly what I wanted to hear, only I didn't want to admit it even to myself until he went and suggested it. But all that aside…

"I'm not the type of woman you can speak to like that," I hear myself say. Even though deep down I am the type of woman who wants to be spoken to like that, dominated the way only a real man can dominate a woman. Being the daughter of an MC president and the sister of an enforcer, I led a very protected life. Which didn't stop me from fantasizing. Not that it ever went far beyond that. I'm not a virgin, but I might as well be, since I've never had any of my biggest fantasies come true with a man. And one of my loudest thoughts when I first saw Cross was, "Finally, a man my dad and my brother can't keep me away from."

But I'm a responsible woman, an adult. And I have a job to do.

"Yeah, I know you’re not that kind," Cross says, leaning back again and resting his head against his interlocked palms. "You're the first woman I've wanted to take out and get to know in years. You intrigue me, Roxie. But you also turn me on like nobody's business, so it was worth a shot. Your eyes are saying yes, so how about it?"

I smile, look at him sideways, have no control over the reaction. I’ve missed being spoken to this crudely, this honestly. The guys I met in the last six years would just beat around the bush for so long we'd both pretty much lost interest by the time we finally slept together. It's nice to be told I'm hot, that I'm sexy, that I'm desired, that I drive him to do things he normally wouldn’t so he can have me.

"I'd like a rum and Coke," I hear myself say to the waitress who has come to ask, if we'd like anything else.

"Certainly," she says and turns to Cross. "And for you?"

"A scotch, neat," he says, his eyes still gripping me, even though there's no need for him to keep looking at me quite that intensely. He's already caught me. But my logical brain is still putting up a fight. My mind’s at a complete standstill, and I have no idea how to reply.

When my drink arrives I grab it and gulp down about half before it starts to burn.

He downs his scotch in one long swallow.

"We should leave," I say hoarsely, setting my drink down and finishing off my glass of water in an effort to quell the burning in my throat.

"So that's a no?" he asks wryly.

I have no answer to give him, none at all. So I get up, smoothing my tunic down. "I have to use the restroom."

I don't wait for him to say anything, don't even look at him, just weave my way among the tables, taking the quickest route to the bathroom.

Once there, I just stare at my face in the mirror. The reflection's fuzzy, and that's not just from the drinks and the poor lighting in here. It's also because I have no idea who I am right now. Roxie the MC president's daughter, or Roxanne, the professional guidance counselor?

I'm neither of those. I'm something in between, floating with no direction, nothing to ground me. Because I have no family, no friends, I have no one, and I haven't missed having someone this acutely in years. Someone who could show me who I really am, because without that everything is just air, just thoughts and intentions, nothing concrete. Maybe Cross could be that someone. Maybe he could be my link, my way back to being someone.

I've not let anyone close since the night I lost my family. Sure, I had friends, and a few boyfriends, but I kept them all at arms length, because to get close to someone is to risk getting hurt, and I couldn't face that. But I've been lonely, so lonely I'd sometimes spend entire evenings at a fast food place, or the main subway station, just to be among people, just to feel connected. Cross is the first person who truly makes me think I can change my lonely existence, that it's not too late for me. That I can still have a life worth living. He almost makes me brave enough to risk getting hurt again.

But all that makes no sense, because I hardly know him.

So I still have no answer to give him once I return to our table. He's already paid for our meal and drinks, and normally I'd offer to at least pay for my share, but he's not the type of guy who'd entertain a woman paying for dinner, and I'd rather skip that argument. I've been arguing with him almost constantly, since I met him, and I want to stop.

"Ready?" he asks and I nod, grab my jacket and purse and precede him out of the restaurant.

Even when I can't see his eyes, I feel them on me. He's right behind me. I don't even have to check.

The wind outside has picked up and gotten colder, but it does nothing to bring down the scorching heat gripping me. Especially after he grabs me by my lower back and pulls me closer.

"So, what's it gonna be, Roxie?" he asks.

He's not the type of guy who takes no for an answer easily, that much is clear from his persistence in this matter alone. I can also tell he doesn't hear the word, "No", often. And that's not the answer I want to give him.

"1455 Sycamore Drive," I hear my voice say.

He grins then kisses me, his lips rough and demanding, yet sweet too somehow. And I know I gave the right answer, even though my logical brain is still firing off quickly fading objections. But I'll figure it out in the morning. Right now, his lips pressed against mine, and his tongue invading my mouth, is already grounding me, pulling me away from the lonely, regret, grief and sadness-filled limbo that's been my everyday for the past six years, back to a world I really want to be a part of. A world where I truly belong.

"I'll be there," he says then kisses me again right after, squeezing my ass roughly before releasing me. My head’s spinning as I watch him walk towards his bike, my blood rushing through my body so fast I'm shivering.

My logical objections are less than fading echoes now. Which isn't the same as thinking that this is a good idea.