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“Ah,” she says. “Well, good luck, my friend.”
She makes herself busy mixing another drink as Cassidy approaches me. She’s wearing a tiny red dress that’s entirely perfect for her. It shows off her creamy skin and all of the little freckles that dot her chest and arms. She smiles when she reaches me.
“I wondered if I’d find you here,” she says.
“I wondered the same.”
“You look well.”
“And you look hot as hell, Cassidy,” I say.
It’s definitely because I’ve had two drinks and I’m working on my third, but damn if I’m holding back tonight. I tried to be so polite the other night when I drove her home, but that was a bad idea. That entire thing was a bad idea. I definitely should have kissed her. I should have asked her to come home with me. I should have asked her to let me spend the entire night worshipping her.
I was trying to be a gentleman, but I feel like I missed out.
Now that she’s here, I wonder if she’s feeling the same way.
Is that why she picked the little red dress?
Was she hoping I’d be here to appreciate her choice?
My eyes roam her body, appreciating every soft curve.
“Thank you,” she says. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The bartender quietly sets a drink on the counter for Cassidy.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Anytime, love.”
Then the bartender leaves us alone once again, and I look at Cassidy. There’s something different about her today, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Oh, sure, she’s sober, but there’s something else.
She seems tense today, and I don’t know why. There’s something about seeing her tense and stressed that makes me sad. I want to take those feelings away. I want to cleanse her of that anxiousness. It’s completely weird and totally strange, but I don’t like seeing her like this. I don’t like the idea that something has made her sad or unhappy.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something happened.”
“A lot has happened, Matthew.”
The way she says it has me cocking my head because I’m not sure what she’s going to say next. Usually, I can get a pretty good read on people. I’m usually absolutely fantastic at knowing what people have to say, but tonight? Tonight, I’m totally lost.
“Have a seat,” I motion to the barstool beside me and she gingerly sits down. She sips the drink and turns to me.
“You’re Matthew Ridge,” she says.
“Yes.”
Although, I’m not sure how she learned my last name. I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell her that on our night together. I don’t make it a habit to tell people my last name unless we’re meeting as part of a business deal. In general, I cling to my privacy as much as possible, even when it comes to dating.
“My name is Cassidy,” she tells me.
“I know.”
“I work at a very big company.”
