Chapter 13
Jake
Only ten more hours.
I shot Brooke a smile. If she knew I was actually counting down the hours to our date, she’d probably think I was crazy. And maybe I was a little. Whenever I had the chance, as the morning dragged on, I was determined to sneak a look at her and share a smile. I could barely take my eyes off her. She had her hair in twin braids today, and she’d never looked cuter.
Earlier, when we were making our way to the operating suite, I stopped her.
“Your braids look really good.”
Blushing, Brooke asked, “You think so?”
“Yeah, I—” I trailed off as Mark appeared at the end of the hallway.
“We’ll talk later,” I said, frowning.
I’d been about to tell her that she should wear them tonight, but clearly, now was not the time. I felt weird enough about going to dinner with Brooke as it was, there was no point in rubbing it into Mark’s face.
Later that day, while Mark dealt with an irate potential client on the phone, I pulled Brooke aside.
I took her braid and twirled it in my hand, then gave it a playful tug.
“I was going to say that you should wear braids tonight. If we’re still on, that is.”
“Definitely,” Brooke said, with a broad smile, “I’m really excited!”
The way her sweet face was brimming with poorly-disguised delight, “excitement” seemed too weak of a word. I took her hand and squeezed it.
“I’ll pick you up, okay? Text me your address. Does 7:00 p.m. work?”
She grinned, and I released her hand just in time—right as Mark walked by.
It seemed like the hours dragged by the rest of the day; seven hours, six hours, then five. When it was finally time to go, I briefly considered telling Brooke to skip me picking her up, I could just drive her to her place and wait while she changed. But then I remembered that she drove here too, not to mention the fact that Mark was lingering around awkwardly.
“Goodbye Brooke,” I said, as I left.
“Goodbye,” she said, with a wink.
Then there were three hours until I picked her up, two hours, one hour… and finally, it was time.
I’d put on my best navy dress shirt and black pants, along with one spray of cologne. I didn’t know why I figured Brooke would like it, she seemed down-to-earth, and not one to appreciate cologne or even wear perfume. I’d just had a feeling.
When Brooke entered my Lamborghini, it took me a minute to find any words to say to her. She looked, literally, like sex on legs—not to mention regal and sexy as well. Her green dress was the same color as her eyes. It was skin-tight and showed off her perfect curvy body. Then, her shapely legs with those platform heels, those pink pouty lips of hers—damn. And, the best part of it all, she’d done as I asked, and kept the braids.
“Damn, you look—damn,” I said, my gaze lingering on her lips.
Brooke giggled.
“You look super-hot yourself,” she purred in my ear.
My cock perked up at that, and I took a deep breath. It was going to be a long night.
Luckily, I’d gotten us a reservation at Princessa’s—the place was packed. When I gave the maître d my name, he led us through into the restaurant.
“Right this way, monsieur and Madame.”
His gaze lingered on Brooke’s cleavage for a second too long. Jealousy spiked through me, but Brooke’s ecstatic smile calmed me down.
“This is gorgeous!” she declared in a hushed voice.
And really, she was right. I’d heard about Princessa’s lantern-lit balconies, but seeing them was something else entirely. The stone-floored balconies had wrought-iron fences that allowed guests a stunning view of LA’s Chamberview Park, while the tables and chairs were stunning works of wrought-iron art themselves.
Our maître d sat us at a secluded table near the edge of the restaurant, as I’d requested.
After another too-long look at Brooke I didn’t much like, he left to get us the wine we’d requested.
Brooke’s face in the light of the lantern was absolutely breath-taking.
“Jake,” she said in quiet voice, “This is, without a doubt, the nicest restaurant I’ve ever been to. I don’t know how to thank you.”
I took her hand in mine, squeezed it.
“Just you being here is enough, really.”
She smiled softly, then her face fell.
“The way things have been at work lately, and you not joining for lunch, I was a little afraid that—”
I held up a hand.
“Let’s not talk about that—about work. Right now, I just want to enjoy my time with you.”
She smiled.
“That sounds good to me.”
Just then, the maître d returned with our wine, and it was time to order. Brooke admitted she had no idea what she wanted, so I ordered for both of us.
I took a sip of wine.
“Actually,” I said, “There is something I want to get out of the way first.”
A nervous expression took over Brooke’s face.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s about Mark,” I said, “I know you say that when you guys—you know—that it was just for fun. And I don’t doubt that you’re as strong and independent as you seem to be. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, if you do decide to pursue things with him. Mark is basically a playboy and has been as long as I’ve known him. I’ve lost track of how many girls thought they could change him, and how many hearts he’s broken by now. He really doesn’t mean to and he’s not a bad guy at all. Mark just wants a bit of fun, but every time it ends up the same way. I think it might be because of his past, Mark had pretty fucked up parents. But whatever the reason, he’s never had a serious girlfriend last more than two months. It would kill me to see a nice woman like you get hurt, too, so—I felt like I had to say something. I apologize if I’m overstepping the mark—no pun intended.”
Brooke didn’t laugh at my feeble attempt at a joke. At first, she didn’t respond at all. After a minute, she said, “Is that why you invited me here, to warn me about Mark?”
“What? No,” I said, immediately, “Definitely not. I invited you here because I’m really attracted to you. I think you’re fun and interesting, and classy as hell.”
I gave her a rueful smile.
“Which may make me slightly biased about the Mark thing, but what can I say?”
As she took a sip of wine, Brooke smiled at me gently over the rim of her glass.
“Alright, that’s acceptable to me.”
Under the table, I nudged her foot.
“Oh yeah, me being attracted to you is ‘acceptable’ to you?”
She shot me a cheeky half-smile.
“Yeah, I’ll allow it.”
“And what about you?” I asked, “Are you only here to get warnings about Mark from me?”
She smirked.
“Not exactly, there’s a guy I like here.”
I feigned a surprised expression.
“What—here in this restaurant? It’s that fucking maître d who can’t keep his eyes off you, isn’t it?”
She giggled.
“No, he’s sitting at a table at the edge of the restaurant, actually.”
Impulsively, I grabbed her hand. I wanted to kiss her, right here, right now. In this genteel upscale restaurant, I wanted to give her a great big smacking kiss. The kind that made the rest of our bodies want to join in as well.
But already our waiter was back, with our orange-glazed pork tenderloin, so I only grinned at her. The food was even better than expected. Every piece of pork was more delicious than the last, while the potatoes had been spiced to perfection. Despite this, it was hard to concentrate on the food with Brooke sitting directly across from me. My gaze kept flicking to her mouth as she enjoyed her food. When she wrapped her lips around the straw in her water, my boner swelled uncomfortably against the side of my thigh. Fuck, concentrate Jake, just get through dinner.
The sexy look Brooke shot me as she sucked up the water didn’t help.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, when she lifted her head.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Liar,” she teased.
“Believe me,” I said in a low voice, “you don’t want to know—it’s definitely not PG-13.”
“PG-13 is boring anyway,” Brooke scoffed, her eyes daring mine to reveal it.
Under the table, I rubbed my leg against hers, then stopped.
“Brooke,” I said, taking her hand and lifting it to my lips, “I brought you here because I wanted to get to know you better. I wanted to have a romantic night with the girl I have a crush on.”
As my lips connected with the soft skin oh her wrist, Brooke smiled.
“I’m having a really wonderful time.”
I let go of her hand, then, running my finger around the edge of my wine glass, I eyed her.
“That was supposed to get you to tell me more about yourself.”
A grin came over Brooke’s face as she nodded.
“Of course. What do you want to know?”
Asked point-blank like that, I found myself speechless.
“Well,” I said, “Hm. What about your paintings—would you ever show me one?”
To my surprise, Brooke pulled out her phone and started flicking through it.
“Of course. Let me just find one.”
She shot me a nervous glance.
“And no lying if you hate it.”
“Of course,” I said, although I couldn’t imagine myself disliking anything she had made.
“Here,” she said, a few seconds later, holding her phone out in front of me.
It was a photo of a piece so extraordinarily good, that I thought she was joking.
“No way.”
She frowned with petulant irritation.
“What—you didn’t think I was capable of it?”
“No,” I said immediately, “Well, kinda. I mean this is—damn.”
And it was amazing. Brooke’s canvas was far better than anything I could ever hope to do myself. She had done it in an abstract, yet modern style. The painting was of a girl’s face, turned away slightly, gaze on the horizon. Her face was all jagged and cracked with different teal sections, as was her extended arm.
“This belongs in an art gallery,” I stated after a minute.
Brooke looked at me with obvious pleasure.
“You’re just saying that.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not actually—you have real talent. This piece is phenomenal—I mean, the feeling just bleeds off of it. What is the story behind it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Brooke’s face fell.
“Yes, of course. Uh, it’s of me, as a girl, when my dad left for the last time. I was twelve.”
“Shoot, I’m sorry. Not exactly first-date material.”
Brooke smiled bitterly.
“No, it’s fine. His leaving made me who I am today. It made me swear to myself never to rely on someone the way my mom did on him. To never let someone get away with God knows what, time and time again like she did. He was an alcoholic.”
The more Brooke was saying, the more incredible she seemed to me. The fact that she had somehow come through a nasty disfiguring oven accident as a child and grown up in a dysfunctional and eventually broken home, yet still came out so well-adjusted seemed incredible to me.
“You really are something, you know,” I said, taking her hand, “Going through all that and still ending up as positive and kind as you are is pretty remarkable.”
Brooke smiled.
“Thanks, although I think you’re exaggerating. Everyone has problems and deals with them.”
As I entwined and re-entwined my fingers with hers, I shook my head.
“No, I don’t agree with you there. My dad left too and it broke me up for years. And then when my wife left—I was a wreck for months. I still haven’t gotten over it completely.”
At that, Brooke took my face in her hands. Gazing into my eyes, every pore of her face was filled with a sorrowful understanding of my sadness.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
We kissed. As our lips lingered over each other’s, I thought about how fantastic Brooke was. She had really meant it when she’d offered condolence—her sorrow had literally radiated off of her. God, she was perfect.
“It was just so sudden,” I said, my gaze going to the starry night, “One minute we were in love, and the next I was nothing to her. She said it was because she didn’t see enough of me, because of my long hours at work. I promised to change, but by then it was too late.”
Now, the whole feeling at the table had shifted. I felt it myself, and could see it in Brooke’s eyes too—I could tell she was feeling sadly reminiscent.
“Want to go for a ride?” I asked.
“What—now?” Brooke asked.
I rose, setting a stack of bills on the table.
“Right now.”
“But Jake,” she said, giggling and tugging my hand, “That looks like way too much. Are you sure?”
I winked at her.
“Clearly you didn’t even glance at the prices. Besides, worst case, I gave our waiter a nice tip. Think of the great service we’ll get next time.”
“But Jake,” Brooke said again, as I tugged her along.
“Less talking, more walking,” I instructed with her.
Giggling, she dutifully obliged.
Outside, my black Lamborghini was in the same spot I’d nabbed up front when we’d gotten here.
“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Brooke asked, as we sped along the road.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “It’s a surprise.”
She sighed, then locked her lips onto my neck.
“What if I kiss it out of you?”
“Do you know the statistics of accidents caused by kissing?” I asked, as I revved the engine and swerved the car back and forth on the empty road.
“JAKE!” Brooke cried delightedly.
Unfortunately, that distracted her right off my neck.
“Whatever,” she said, “I can see where we’re going anyway—the Hollywood sign.”
“You got it,” I said, “It’s pretty abandoned at this time of night. It’s perfect—you’ll see.”
And, only a few minutes later, we did.
I parked down the road a bit, then, hand in hand, we trudged up the winding road.
The area around the sign was completely unoccupied as I’d hoped. Brooke and I stopped a few feet away to take it in.
“No matter how many times I see it—” Brooke began.
“It never loses its majesty,” I finished.
She glanced at me and grinned which I took as an invitation and immediately swept her up in my arms.
“Jake!” she cried, “What are you doing?”
I didn’t reply until I’d set her down behind the Hollywood sign. Sitting down beside her, I said, “What I’m doing? I am kissing the sweetest, sexiest girl I know.”
And that was just what I did.