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“Excellent choices, sir,” Dennis confirms before swooping away.
“I do love the lamb,” she says, sliding her hand across the tablecloth and lacing her fingers against mine.
“I know you do,” I shrug.
“Such a gentleman,” she smiles. “I barely have to wish for something, and you make it happen. Just like that! Like a genie.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I smile back.
She leans her chin on her fist and stares around the restaurant, candlelight reflected in her big blue eyes. We’ve been here so many times I practically have the menu memorized, but there aren’t a lot of decent restaurants outside of St. Louis. This is just a few minutes from my house, and I rather enjoy the sound of sprinklers hitting the wide, manicured lawns late at night.
I never really picked up the habit of golf, but I do enjoy networking with the players once they hit the bar. I’ve made a lot of very lucrative connections here. I might’ve even made more if I had cultivated the golf habit, but I don’t like doing things I’m bad at.
Despite my calm exterior, I can feel my heart racing. The outline of the ring in my pocket presses hard against my thigh. This is a big deal.
This is the right thing to do, I tell myself. This is the right moment to do it.
“So, are you all jazzed up about the big reunion tomorrow?” she smirks, sort of killing the moment if I’m honest about it.
“Jazzed up? Is that what the kids are saying these days?”
“Oh, don’t pretend to be some old stick in the mud. Jazz is way older than you anyway. Are you excited?”
I lean forward, fixing her in my stare. “I’m much more interested to know if you are excited, my dear.”
“Oh, you!” she stage whispers. “You’re always so naughty!”
“Yeah, well, the night is still young.”
She shrugs prettily, pressing her cleavage dramatically out of her neckline, leaning forward with a flirty leer.
“I love the way you look at me,” she murmurs.
“Well, I love the way you look,” I answer.
“I think you’re going to love the dress I have picked out for tomorrow,” she continues.
Again, killing the mood. Is she doing it on purpose?
“You don’t say?” I reply, sitting back and trying to smile through it. “Something new?”
“Oh, just a little thing by Paule Ka. It will really look good when we hit the dance floor. There’s going to be a dance floor, isn’t there?”
“Undoubtedly,” I grimace. “And did I get a good deal on this fashion show?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you did, Clay. You’re an excellent shopper.”
“Well, that is the important thing. That, and the way we look on the dance floor.”
“Come on, spoilsport,” she scolds me. “I’ve never been to a class reunion before. This will be fun for me. It’s a chance to make everybody bitterly, horribly jealous of you. It sounds great!”
“That sounds great to you? I don’t even think these people remember me, Deborah. They probably won’t even register my name long enough to become even moderately jealous of me. Probably not even slightly jealous.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re the richest, sexiest, most successful man for a hundred miles. They’re going to be eating their hearts out.”
“I don’t think that’s true… a hundred miles is a fairly large radius,” I mutter, but she’s not listening to me anymore.
Her eyes are sweeping the room again, a habit I have noticed more and more. She loves talking about how successful I am. She loves the house, cars, the Ameri
