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He shakes his head, smiling in admiration. “You are definitely making me work for it, Elodie,” he says, then clears his throat. “My theory is this—if you over-plan a date, it takes away from the fun. But I think you’ll like my plans.”
When we turn the corner a few blocks past the Painted Ladies, we arrive on a street teeming with storefronts and murals a few buildings ahead. That must be the outdoor art installation—bright, bold graffiti art I can’t quite make out yet. “I had a feeling you might like graffiti art,” he says.
“Presumptuous,” I tease.
“Only because I know a few things about you already.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see,” he says, walking me toward the first mural.
It’s a huge mural of a proud, red rooster. My hand flies to my mouth, covering up peals of laughter. After a few seconds, I swat his chest. “You’re mocking me.”
I don’t even see it coming, but he grabs my hand and holds it tight. Then he meets my gaze with the most playfully sincere look. “I would never mock your affection for roosters.”
He takes his time, threading his fingers through mine, then he rubs the pad of his thumb along my palm. I stop laughing instantly. I stop smiling too. Because it feels so good. I’m quiet, caught in a hushed charge of electricity. His green eyes turn a dark shade of emerald as he holds my gaze with such intensity I can read his desires like they’re a marquee above a theater at night.
My body aches a little for his touch. For those lips to crush mine and for his kiss to take me away.
But he doesn’t make a move. He just strokes the place between my thumb and forefinger, which is officially a direct line to my panties right now.
So far, in the span of five minutes I’ve learned his chaste kisses don’t lie, and nor do his hands. This man turns me on.
“Are you going to show me the others?” If he keeps touching me, I might melt. Best to at least move so I don’t turn into a puddle.
“I am. But first…”
He leans in and dusts a kiss to my left cheek. When he lets go, he gives me a closed-mouth smile, then says, “When I kiss you for real…”
That’s it. He doesn’t finish the thought—just leaves it hanging in the air between us. A sexy promise of more plans I’m sure I’ll like.
He clasps my hand and we wander down the street full of graffiti art.
A rooster riding a bike.
A rooster sunbathing in a flower bed.
Then, a painting of three roosters and a chicken, titled Her Posse. Next, one that says Wake Me Up.
“Well, thank you for the cock art, Gage Archer. I can honestly say I’ve never had a tour of so much cock before.”
“Good. Let’s get something to eat then, Elodie.” He takes a beat. “I’m very, very hungry.”
I hope he says that to me in other ways later tonight.
6
THE WAY TO HER PANTIES
Gage
I already don’t want this date to end, and there’s so much left of it. We’re heading to the restaurant, walking through Hayes Valley now and nearing a boutique hotel that’s giving me all sorts of ideas about how I do want this date to end. The young and beautiful stream out of the hotel entrance as we check it out. This place has become the it hotel in the last year. Celebrities stay here, athletes frequent it—even a famous tennis player and her rock star beau spent the night at this spot. Five stories tall, The Escape has a sleek modern design with a silver facade and clean lines, but twinkling strings of lights cover the entryway, giving it a whimsical feel.
“Love those,” she says, stopping to point to the lights.
Huh. This feels a little like kismet. “Funny, I was thinking about those kind of lights earlier,” I begin, then…Wait. No. Shut the fuck up. I’m not ruining this date by talking about my vision for an outdoor bocce ball court, complete with string lights, for fuck’s sake. Talk about a mood killer.
“You were thinking about…lighting?” she asks, seeming amused but a little befuddled.
