CHAPTER 4
Chelcie
My nerves are a wreck by the time I pull up to the restaurant Nikolas told me to meet him at. I hadn’t heard of Slice before, and to be honest, I really didn’t care where I was going. I’m just ready to get this started and over with. Seven on the dot and so nervous I feel as if I’m going to puke all over my brand-new dress.
I press my palm against my belly, rubbing the rounded skin that holds my child within, and say a silent prayer that everything will go well tonight. Dee swears that Nikolas is a great guy, and from the few times that I’ve talked to him on the phone, I have to agree.
“It’s now or never,” I whisper to myself. If I waste another second sitting here, letting my nerves overtake me, then I know I’ll turn the car back on and take off as fast as I can. Go back home, where it’s safe. Where I can pretend that life outside my little bubble isn’t a big fat unknown.
It takes me a second to adjust to the lighting in the restaurant. It isn’t like it is bright outside, being that it’s seven at night, but it’s so dimly lit inside that I have to squint for a second before walking up to the hostess.
Or who I assume is the hostess.
“Yeah?” she questions, looking up from her desk, snapping her gum loudly, and twirling her long, pink, and clearly very unwashed hair.
Uh . . . okay.
“I think I might be in the wrong place,” I mumble more to myself than to the lovely piece of happiness in front of me.
“Sure,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and picking up the magazine she was reading before I had the audacity to interrupt her.
I open and close my mouth a few times before I snap it shut and try to calm my climbing temper. “Excuse me!” I force out through gritted teeth.
“What, lady?” she barks, throwing her magazine down and looking at me as if I am the offending party here.
“Is this or is this not Slice?” I know damn well it is, but for the life of me, I can’t understand how this thing in front of me has a job anywhere, let alone somewhere where she is in charge of first freaking impressions!
“Uh, lady, do you know how to read? It’s on the door when you walk in.”
The hell?!
I can feel the heat of anger painting my skin red. I’m going to blow up at this girl and it’s not going to be pretty. Usually I have no issues controlling my temper, but when people want to act like half-wit window lickers I just can’t hold it back.
“Listen here, doll face. I don’t know what in the hell crawled up your sweet-as-pie ass this morning and made you turn into the spawn of Satan, but that is no excuse to act like your shit doesn’t stink. For some unknown reason, your boss decided you would be an oh-so-pleasant person to have sit on your butt and treat paying customers like garbage. Do you need me to show you how it is you should greet someone? Let’s repeat after me, shall we? ‘Hello, and welcome to Slice. How may I help you this evening?” I have to ball my hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out and shaking the tar out of this little twit. My chest heaves with frustration.
Her overly-lined-with-the-blackest-liner eyes narrow, and I can just see it working behind them that she is about to say something else that will just piss me off further. I hold my hand up—stopping inches in front of her face—and roll my eyes when I see her face flash with irritation.
Irritation at me!
“Listen, I’m sure you are just normally so full of sweetness that you were just about to apologize for being a massive bitch, but let me save you the trouble. Run out to the store and grab yourself some Midol. Maybe while you’re there, you can meet a nice man to get you off since clearly you’re suffering from some sort of frustration. IF by then you still aren’t feeling the joyful tingles of happiness, maybe you can find something else to occupy your time. Clearly being a people-person just isn’t your thing. Now, tell me, where in the hell is the bar in your fine establishment?”
I put my hand down when I finish, rolling my eyes when she just stands there gaping at me. She finally lifts her hand and points to the left. I don’t waste a second longer, turning on my heels. I walk into the darkened doorway that I hope leads to the bar.
I might have paid a little more attention to the waves of trepidation that keep flushing over my skin, but unfortunately for me, the little ray of happiness that met me at the door is making it impossible to focus on anything else.
Slice isn’t as bad as I expected, but it is by no means a restaurant, and it is definitely not a place I would ever think a first date should be held.
The room I walked into is vast and dark. There are smoke puffs floating around the air, causing me to cough a few times when I walk through a thick one. The lights are even darker in here, and given the way the lights keep flashing and sweeping the area with the low beats of some popular pop song, my guess is that I just walked into a bar—and by the looks of it, not one I would typically enjoy.
There are booths lining the room, some high-top tables with barstools pulled close, and in the center of the room is a long, rectangular bar. I’m assuming that it’s raised above the floor level, because other than the sea of bodies around it, I can’t see much.
The bartenders are dressed in what can only be described as their underwear. The shorts, which are skin tight and bright red, hug their curves and make me very aware that I am no longer a size five. Their bra-like top is hugging, pushing, and squeezing their boobs. Hell, they’re basically defying freaking gravity. I look down at my own chest, which isn’t lacking, but it most definitely isn’t pushing my nipples into my eyeballs.
With a deep sigh, I take off for the bar in hopes that finding Nikolas will be easier than it looks. Luckily, we exchanged emails and a few pictures so we both know what the other looks like. He told me this morning what he would be wearing, which isn’t much help since just about every other man in the general location of the bar is wearing a black shirt.
I walk up to the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention, and quickly realize that, if I had a dick, this would be much easier.
This was a mistake, I think. There is no reason for me to be here. Just when I’m getting ready to just say the hell with it and leave, I spot him. He isn’t unattractive. He just isn’t my type. Or at least the type that I’ve found I only have eyes for lately. The tall, blond, and blue-eyed variety seems to be the only one occupying all of my fantasies.
Nikolas is an attractive man. He isn’t overly tall—my guess is somewhere around six foot. He has jet-black hair that curls up around his neck in that sexy ‘I don’t really need a haircut’ kind of way. I remember from his picture that his eyes are an attractive gray color. His face is all angles and high cheekbones.
And he oozes player.
Which is very evident since he is currently leaning over the bar, whispering in the bartender’s ear.
What a freaking joke.
Straightening my shoulders, I set off in his direction. Might as well just get this over with. If I at least say hello to him, I don’t have to lie to Dee when I tell her that we just didn’t connect.
It takes me a second to get through all of the people crowding the bar. The music has gotten considerably louder since I walked in only a few minutes ago. The bodies that are dancing around the bar make it hard to walk without being jostled, and the last thing I want is to be pushed and, God forbid, fall.
I finally reach Nikolas just in time to see him lift the bartender’s hand up to his lips and give her a wink before kissing her knuckles. What a shmuck, I think. It’s a shame that he’s obviously such a douchebag because he wouldn’t be bad to look at for a few dates.
I laugh at myself before reaching my hand out and tapping him on the shoulder. He leans over and says something in her ear, causing her to look over at me before meeting his eyes again. Then she nods her head before walking away.
What the hell was that?
He turns, his smile still in place, and doesn’t even pause before letting his eyes take in every single inch of my skin. I can feel his eyes as if they are a physical touch, and even though it’s a clear sign—as if I need another one—that this man is a major douche, I can’t help but feel a little more confident that I clearly can still make his eyes flash with arousal.
In your face, Asher Cooper, with all your bullshit chubby talk.
“Nikolas?” I question.
“Ah, Chelcie. I was beginning to think you had stood me up.” He grabs my hand, mimicking the same play he put on just seconds before with the bartender.
It takes all of my willpower not to snatch my hand out of his and run to find the closest bathroom.
“Nope, just had a little trouble finding the place. So . . . Slice is interesting.”
“Yes. Very interesting,” he mumbles while his eyes never leave my chest.
What a tool.
“Would you like to go find a place to sit?” I ask, hoping that he might just tell me that he would rather spend time with the Playboy Bunny behind the bar.
“Of course. Forgive me. It’s been a long week and my head must not be on right.” He waves his hand in front of him, hinting for me to take the lead.
When I start off in the direction of an empty booth, his hand rests heavily against the small of my back. The first step I take, his hand leaves my back, caressing my ass before giving me a little tap. I yelp before spinning around and glaring at him.
He holds his hands up. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. I just couldn’t resist.”
“It would be best if you remember to keep your hands to yourself, Nikolas,” I snap.
He smirks and gives me a wink before grabbing my hand and taking off in the direction we were headed. I try unsuccessfully to pull my hand from his, but he keeps his firm hold on mine.
What a nightmare.
* * *
So far, I’ve been in date hell for about two hours, and within those two hours, I’ve actually talked to my date for about thirty minutes. The second we sat down, ordered some finger food—since that was the only thing offered—and some drinks—nonalcoholic for me and shot after shot for him—he disappeared. I would have left, but the greasy food was so good that I couldn’t stop eating.
And then I ordered some more, along with another water with lemon, and by the time I realized that I had been people-watching and living in my own head, another hour had passed. It isn’t abnormal for me to space out when I’m in the middle of a crowded place. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. It doesn’t matter where I am. I sit and story after story just filter through my head. Clearly I have been living in my own personal bubble, because while I was writing a new story in my head, my date vanished.
Well, isn’t this lovely.
I flag down one of the scantily clad waitresses and pay the bill—the whole bill—before grabbing my purse and heading off to the bathroom before I leave.
The hallway leading to the bathroom is oddly quiet. The lighting is just as bad as the rest of this place, dark and smoky. Once I make it up to the door marked Chicks, I give it a good shove before realizing that it’s locked. I would leave, but since I was sitting there living in my head, I downed seven waters, and right now, baby bean is making it very clear that space is limited and my bladder looks like a nice pillow.
Knocking on the door, I yell, “Excuse me? Is anyone in there?”
“Yeah, bitch. Hold the hell on!” comes the muffled reply followed by a crash and some giggles that quickly turn into one of the longest moans.
While I’m sitting here about to pee on myself, cobwebs having collected around my neglected pussy, some chick is getting her rocks off. Life is not fair. I laugh at the thought of my lacking sex life. It’s not for lack of want—Lord knows the pregnancy hormones have me turning into some sex-craving whore—but there is only one man my body craves, and regardless of what I tell myself, that will never happen.
“Come on! Pinch her tit and roll your hips, dude! Showtime is over!” I yell, slamming my fist against the wooden door.
I hear some more grunts, moans, and muted curses before silence takes over. I’m just about to say the hell with it and brave the men’s room when I hear the lock disengage and the door swings open. Honey McSexpot from the bar struts out first, fluffing her hair and hooking her uniform top back into place. Her makeup is all over her face and her hair looks like she stuck her head under the hand dryer in the bathroom.
I laugh. Yeah, that’s right, I literally laugh in her face at the picture before me. “Honey, you might want to check your face before you go back to work.”
“Whatever, bitch. You might want to check your date.” She shoots back before walking back down the hall.
I don’t even think about what the heck she just said. I’m more focused on the toilet paper sticking out of the crotch on her shorts. What a whore.
I’m still laughing to myself when I turn back to the bathroom and collide with a firm chest. “Whoa there, pretty thing. If you want some of Nik the Dick, all you have to do is ask. Didn’t think you were the type, but I’m more than ready for round two!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing even harder at the hilarity of the situation. Nik the Dick? What a mess this whole night has turned out to be.
“Nikolas. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but being the minuteman that you seem to be, that would be a lie. I should thank you for showing me just what I’ve been lucky enough to miss out on here.” I take a second to look at him, really look at him, and this time, I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. “You do realize that you have a tampon stuck to your face, right?” As disgusting as it is, I can’t stop laughing.
By far, this is the worst date I have ever been on. Knowing that my date was busy fucking the bartender should sting. I clearly don’t have the wow factor anymore, and that is perfectly fine with me—especially since the prick I was supposed to be here with now has a very used tampon stuck to his face.
He looks confused for a second before spinning on his heels and running back into the bathroom. I can hear his girlish yelp seconds before I hear him losing his stomach.
And I just turn, walk to the men’s room, relieve myself, and then head the hell home. I don’t stop laughing until I’m waving at Joe and safely behind my apartment door. Only then do I realize just how lonely I really am and my giggles turn into sobs.