Page 13 of Baby Girl

“Yes, I understand. I find you to be quite interesting, Erik,” I said as I reached for the door handle.

I found myself, when talking to him, to be more conscious of my words, more conscious of how I said things. Not necessarily what I was saying, but how I said it. He was intelligent, very intelligent, but he did not act like it. He dressed like a younger guy, rode a motorcycle, and tried to speak like he was just one of many other men in this city. By just naturally being Erik, he reeked of his intelligence. I felt like such an idiot around him. I tried to choose my words carefully not to embarrass him or me. This was so unlike me. I was almost always the smartest person in the room, and always the smartest girl. Around him, I felt so mall, so vulnerable.

I opened the door and got out. He got out at the same time, and leaned over the top of the car, and looked at me. As he smiled, I noticed that his face had become more tan, probably from the motorcycle ride all day. His skin was tan, but lacked wrinkles. His face was just like he was; rugged, handsome, intriguing, and gorgeous. I could stare at this guy from now until the end of time.

“Well, what did you decide?” he asked in a raised tone of voice.

“Uhhm, excuse me? About what?” I responded.

“I asked you where you preferred to eat. You stared at me and didn’t respond.”

“Oh, I am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Or something, I, uhmm, didn’t hear you,” I couldn’t even believe I said that. I sounded like a fool.

“Ok, I will decide,” he said, as he turned and scanned the horizon of buildings.

“Il Vicino. How does that sound?” he asked, motioning to the Italian restaurant in the corner of the parking lot.

“Sounds great. I love that place.”

I walked around toward his side of the car, toward the restaurant. As I got closer to him, he extended his arm, and placed his hand in front of his belt, positioning his elbow out, away from his body.

“Hold onto my arm, Kelli. Walk beside me, holding my arm. Always walk on my left side, and always hold my arm, understand?” he said as he looked over his shoulder at me.

I walked to his left side, and wrapped my right arm through his extended arm. As we walked side by side toward the restaurant, I felt warmth, a certain comfort that I have never felt. I felt like he had me here, positioned beside him, to protect me. To make sure that I was comfortable with him, and that I knew he was not only in charge, but that he wanted everyone to know it. I was falling for this guy and I was falling fast.

He had told me not quite twelve hours ago that he was going to own me. He may or may not know it, but he already did. He could tell me to do anything, right now, and I would do it. All of those questions that he asked me in that long email; I would do every one of them, right now. This guy had a certain presence about him, a certain power. He didn’t express it, he wasn’t pushy or arrogant, but I would do whatever he wanted.

Pleasing him would make me so happy. As we walked toward the restaurant, I began to wonder if I could actually please him. What if I couldn’t? What if, I tried as hard as I could, and he laughed at me? What if he told me I wasn’t even good enough to be his fuck-buddy? The thought of that began to make me feel ridiculously uncomfortable. As I stumbled over a hole in the parking lot, I realized that we were at the entrance of the restaurant.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I didn’t see the hole in the lot, sorry,” I smiled as I responded. Walking through the entrance, I smelled him again. The smell made my mouth water. The smell made me want to please him.

“You’ve been here before?” he asked me, nodding toward the menu.

“Yes, several times.”

“Well, Kelli, do you know what you want?”

Looking over the menu, I decided to get the Cobb salad. It was a great salad.

“Yes, I do,” I responded.

The restaurant was a fairly nice Italian restaurant; but the format for it was unique. There was a menu at the entrance, and a cashier at a bar. You ordered at the cashier, and went to your table, and they delivered your food when it was ready. After the initial ordering of the food, it was like any other restaurant, in that it had waiters and waitresses. We stepped to the cashier to order our food.

“Go ahead, Kelli,” Erik said as we stepped to the bar.

“No, you go ahead, I am thinking,” I had no idea why I said that, but I did.

“I will have the Cobb salad,” Erik said, “and a glass of tea.”

Shit. Now, if I ordered the salad, it would look like I was copying Erik. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t an individual, especially after all of the questions that he had asked me. Damn it, I really wanted that salad. I stood and thought, and tried to decide what to do.

“Kelli?” he said as he turned and looked at me.

“Uhhm. I will, uhmmm, have the lasagna,” I said, not even thinking. Surely they sold lasagna; it was an Italian restaurant, after all.

“And a glass of water,” I added.