Ethan
It’s not that I’d never held a woman’s hand before, it was just that I’d never felt the urge to hold a woman’s hand before. I wanted to touch her, to soothe her, to take away the cloud that seemed to surround her. I just didn’t know how.
“What cycle of disappointment? I’ve never had a problem getting it up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Her head snapped around and she looked at me and laughed—a genuine, full, unaffected laugh. “I believe that. Maybe you’re the fun I need,” she said almost to herself.
“Maybe I am.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be better company when we get to the restaurant, I promise.”
“I don’t want you to be anything but yourself. You don’t have to put on any act with me.”
She stroked her thumb across my skin and I squeezed her hand.
We arrived at the restaurant sooner than I would have liked. I enjoyed having her next to me in the car with no one around us. I was close to suggesting we just go back to the hotel right now. But that would sound like I wanted to get into her underwear, which of course I did, but it wasn’t just that. I didn’t want to share her.
I knew instantly I’d chosen the wrong restaurant. We walked in and heads turned toward us, straining to see who had just arrived. It didn’t suit her. She wasn’t going to be impressed with seeing some powerful hedge fund guy or some Hollywood actor. I’d gotten this totally wrong. Fuck.
We were showed to our table toward the back of the restaurant. I was jumpy. I was very close to fucking this whole evening up.
“You ok?” she asked as we sat.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Sorry for going all Sylvia Plath in the car.”
I laughed. “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to be yourself. I’m just a bit concerned this restaurant isn’t the right place for you.”
“Really?” she looked around. “It seems nice. You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine. I just don’t think it’s the type of place that I should have brought you. I should have picked a better restaurant.”
“It looks plenty fancy enough.”
“That’s the point. It’s too much I think. You suit something …”
“You don’t think I’m worth taking somewhere fancy?” She was smiling but it concealed an edge to her question.
“I think you’re worth taking to the fanciest place in New York City. But I’m not sure you’d like it as much as you’d like something a bit more relaxed. Less pretentious.”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “I can do fancy,” she said simply.
A very nervous waiter came over and went through the menu with us. I watched her as she smiled and nodded at him, trying to put him at ease. It was a kind thing to do, and when he left he looked like he was a little bit in love with her.
“What are you going to order?” I asked.
She was looking over my shoulder, not at the menu. She shrugged. “I’ll have whatever you have.”
“You will?”
She nodded. “I hate menus. I hate the deciding, so I prefer not to look.”
“So now I have to order something I think you’ll like. Like a test.”
“God no, that’s awful—what kind of women do you normally date? Just order what you want. It’ll be fine.”
“But if you don’t like it?”
“Then I won’t eat it, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not a test, honestly.”
I ordered. Sea bass. I wouldn’t normally order fish, but women liked fish, didn’t they?
“I don’t date,” I said when the smitten waiter had taken our order. Or my order for both of us.
“What?”
“You asked me a question about the kind of women I normally date.”
“Oh, yes. You don’t date?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, right. I can see there’s something of a monk about you.”
I laughed. “I didn’t say I was a monk. I said I didn’t date.”
“I’m not following you. You don’t like to call it dating?”
“Call what dating?”
“Dinner, drinks, back to your hotel. Do you live there?”
“No, I don’t live there. I just … book that suite sometimes.”
“Somewhere to stay with your non-dates?”
“I don’t stay there.” Why was I telling her this stuff?
“You’re talking in riddles.”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t do the dinner, drinks, dating thing usually … or ever. I book the suite, I fuck in the suite, but I don’t stay over.”
She looked at me but didn’t say anything.
I waited and she still didn’t say anything. Fucking hell. I knew I was going to fuck this up. This restaurant. Telling her about my relationships, or lack of them. What was I thinking? I should never have run into her at lunch. This was a disaster.
“You haven’t said anything,” I reminded her.
“I don’t know what to say.” She gulped down half her glass of wine. “You don’t need to woo me. I fucked you last night. I’ll fuck you again tonight. You didn’t need to bring me to dinner. You don’t need to tell me that I’m different—that you don’t normally sleep over, but you made an exception for me; that you don’t normally take women to dinner, but you made an exception for me. I told you last night. I don’t want the bullshit. I can take it if it’s only sex. That’s all I want. I just want the truth.”
She took her napkin off her lap and pushed it onto the table and stood up.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Let’s get to the bit where we’re fucking. That’s what we’re here for. The rest of this is just bullshit.”
I reached across to her and circled my hand just above the wrist. “Sit down. Please.” She looked beautiful. Unguarded.
It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d think it was a line. But I guess she didn’t know that I didn’t do that. I didn’t need to do that. She didn’t know that I had a no-bullshit policy. Why would she? She’d been fucked over by a series of douchebags full of lines like that. Why would I be any different?
She hesitated, but she sat down, her eyes fixed on the wine glass in front of her. I grabbed the bottle from the bucket beside the table and shooed away the waiter who came to assist. I topped up her glass.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m going to promise you something.”
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.
“I know you don’t want me to, but I’m going to do it, anyway. I’m going to promise you that I’m not going to bullshit you. You can choose to believe me or not. I’m not going to tell you that I’m going to tell you everything, but everything I do say to you will be true. I like you. You’re funny and sexy and amazing in bed. You’re here for a week. Then you’re gone. You’ve said you need a little fun in your life and I’m happy to oblige. Why don’t we just hang out for the week? We can have some fun and then say goodbye. No bullshit. No promises. Just great sex and a few laughs.”
She looked at me for the first time since she sat down. I could tell she was trying to think of a funny response. I grinned at her and she took a sip of wine rather than grin back, although I could see the twitch at the corner of her mouth. Wow, she was stubborn.
“Is that such a bad offer?”
“No bullshit,” she repeated.
“I promise. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to pay you a compliment.”
“You can only do that if it’s not bullshit. Not because you think it’s what I want to hear, or what you think you need to say to get me into bed.”
“Agreed.” I nodded. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Fuck off,” she grinned.
“You do. Suck it up, buttercup.”