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“I can’t say that I have, ma’am.”
“Well, that is just not something that I can’t live with. You are going to share this with me and because I think your kinda cute, I’ll let you have the last bite. Then you can eat the frosting off the stick too.”
I can feel the blush rushing to my face! I should never try to be cute!
“Adorable,” he says under his breath with a little chuckle.
I take a couple of bites and then hand him the rest. He lifts that cocky little eyebrow again and then puts what’s left of the foodgasm on a stick into his mouth. As he pulls the stick out of his mouth and chews, I’m momentarily distracted by his perfect pink lips and am reminded how they felt on me just hours ago.
“Not bad at all,” he says. “Not sure I could eat a dozen of them but they are pretty good. Not as good as chocolate ice cream though,” he says with a wink.
“How can you even compare the two? They come from two different playing fields all together,” I say astonished while he escorts me to the jeep.
“I can compare them because I know it gets you wound up and I love it when you get all feisty. It’s kinda hot.”
He jumps in the jeep and starts the car. He goes about two blocks, parks, turns the car off and then jumps out and opens my door with his dimples on full display.
“Did we seriously just drive two blocks?”
“Yes, we did. I am giving you the full southern gentleman experience and no gentleman would make you walk in those heels,” he says as he offers me his hand.
Entering the small but beautiful Carbonara Trattoria Italian restaurant the delicious smells fill my head. I realize I haven’t eaten since our snack style lunch on the trail today and I’m starving. Thank goodness he made reservations and our table is ready. Jonathan motions for me to step in front of him and follow the hostess to our table. As I move past him there it is; that smell that is all Jonathan. I’m suddenly hungry for something besides this delicious smelling Italian food.
When we reach the table Jonathan pulls my chair out for me and helps me scoot my chair in. Just like he said, always the gentleman. The hostess hands us our menus and tells us about tonight’s specials, but I don’t hear a word. Jonathan’s eyes are staring into mine as she speaks and when she finishes, he says, “Thank you,” but his eyes never leave mine.
“You are so beautiful. You know that, right?”
“You aren’t so bad yourself, Georgia.”
“It’s going to be really hard to sit across this table from you when all I want is to be next to you. But I’m the one that requested a romantic table for two so here we are.”
“I think you’ll manage just fine. You’re a big tough Marine and I am pretty sure you’ve faced tougher adversity than a romantic dinner for two.” I reach out to pat his hand in a fun but patronizing way but he doesn’t let me get away with that. He takes my hand in his and starts to rub his thumb back and forth on the back of my hand. I had no idea how badly I craved his touch until I had it back.
“Thanks for coming to dinner with me tonight, Emily,” he says with true sincerity. “Now what sounds good?” Picking up his menu and releases my hand. I feel like a puppy with separation anxiety at the loss of his touch. “How does Mozzarella Caprese sound to start with?”
“You had me at cheese. Sounds great.” I say perusing the menu.
Our server, a cute Barbie doll-blond, comes by to take our drink orders. When Jonathan orders our appetizer he points to it on the menu and Barbie feels the need to put her hand on his shoulder, and make sure her plastic doll boobs are on full display. I’ll give it to him. Jonathan doesn’t take the bait and his eyes never leave the menu until she’s removed herself and her plastic tits from his space.
Does Barbie not see me sitting right here? I mean, I know he’s way out of my league, but still, is there no such thing as girl-code? I don’t recall ever having this feeling before. It feels like it could be jealousy, but it can’t be jealousy because I just don’t do jealousy. Green simply isn’t my color. No, I’m not jealous—just pissed at the blatant lack of respect Barbie has shown me. If I can’t handle this little incident how the hell did my mom sleep at night knowing what my dad was up to? It just makes me sick.
After she walks away Jonathan says, “Everything all right? You look kinda pissed at the moment.”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine isn’t going to cut it. Please tell me. Did I do something to upset you?”
With a huff I say, “You didn’t do anything at all but Barbie, our server, has a lot of nerve. I know that we aren’t exclusive but she doesn’t know that. There is this thing called girl-code and you do not just blatantly shove your boobs—fake or not—into a guy’s face when he is clearly on a date with another woman. I just cannot stand women that don’t have respect for other women. That’s all.”
After I finish my rant his face slowly breaks out into that beautiful smile of his, dimples and all.
He then shakes his head and his face grows serious when he states, “First, I do want to make one thing clear. We are exclusive. When we agreed that it would be you and me for a week, we may have said no expectations but that did mean there would be nobody else for either of us this week.” He says this while pointing back and forth between us. ”JUST. YOU. AND. ME.” As he finishes his statement he puts his forearm on the table, leans toward me, lifts one eyebrow and looks me dead in the eye as if to dare me to disagree with him. I simply nod my understanding
“Second, you are too cute when you’re jealous.” The smile and dimples that light his face say just how pleased he is with himself.
And . . . enter blush. “I am not jealous, it’s just basic girl-code. She broke it and her tip will reflect it,” I say matter-of-factly as I pretend to look over the menu so I don’t have to look at him.
“Gracie,” he demands in the lowest, sexiest voice I have ever heard. He waits in silence until I look at him. “I only see you. Since the first moment I laid my eyes on yours in Ole’s, it has only been you.”
