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21
Everything about the date was perfect.
The restaurant.
The food.
The weather.
The music.
Everything was perfect. Except my actual date.
I sat primly at the tiny table at Rio Blanco, the romantic tapas restaurant in Gowanus that Xavier of all people had recommended. I wasn’t sure he had actually meant his bizarre and frankly shocking offer to babysit Sofia so I could see Adam. But when he had texted halfway through Monday asking which night that weekend he should make himself available, I decided the hell with it.
After I’d asked Adam if he’d like to go to dinner that Monday, I’d considered canceling at least five separate times. But the days ticked by with Xavier confirming again and again that he was looking forward to his night with Sofia. His excitement was palpable, as was hers. I couldn’t disappoint either of them. Plus, if he really wanted a taste of legitimate parenthood, trying to put Sofia to bed was a great way to get it.
He had arrived an hour early, allowing Sofia to show him her doll collection while also allowing for a particularly awkward moment when I stepped out of the shower in only a towel on my way to my “room.” His hot gaze seared my damp skin. Then he blinked and went right back to inquiring after Sofia’s dollhouse while I stood there like an idiot, dripping all over the hardwoods and wondering what the hell I was doing.
Other than the exchange in the hallway, Xavier continued to be magnanimous toward the date. He had something to say about everything I was doing, and Sofia was happy to jump right in with him to critique my wardrobe, hair, makeup, jewelry, all of it. My initial choice of jeans had to be swapped out for a black miniskirt that showed off my legs. My hair had to be down, not pulled back into a practical bun. Smoky eye instead of simple mascara. I drew the line when they suggested a red lip. I already felt like a lady of the night, and not in a good way.
And so that unease continued, from the moment I left my house to when I arrived at the restaurant, through accepting Adam’s awkward compliments and kiss to the cheek, sitting through a delicious meal, and now waiting for him to return from the men’s room.
I should have been enjoying myself. But instead, I was yet again wondering what the hell I was doing here. Or why in the world Xavier had been so adamant I go.
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
My phone buzzed on the tabletop. I turned it over, revealing yet another new message from Xavier, who had been taking full advantage of the fact that I had to answer any texts from him in case something happened to Sofia. I honestly couldn’t tell if he was goading me or genuinely interested. Or why the latter bothered me so much.
Xavier:Still eating?
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t have to answer. Not really.
Me:Almost done.
His reply was almost instantaneous.
Xavier:Where to next? There’s a new club in Williamsburg that’s supposed to be great.
I scoffed. He had been back in the city for all of what, a week? And suddenly he was divulging advice to a born-and-bred local?
Me:I’m not really a club kind of girl.
Xavier:That’s not what I remember ;)
Something deep in my chest squeezed as a memory floated to the front of my mind. A dark basement lounge somewhere on the Lower East Side. Sultry trip hop, occasional whiffs of vanilla-scented hookah smoke, bodies swaying while I pressed mine to six feet, five inches of muscle in time to the beats. A pair of large hands sliding around my waist, then down, down, down…
Xavier: Has he put the moves on you yet?
I started, then stared at the message for a long moment. Good lord, could he read my mind from there? Irritably, I punched out a reply.
Me:omg that is NONE of your business.
His own reply buzzed while I was still trying to rid myself of his ghost.
Xavier: Just saying. If it were me in his shoes, I wouldn’t be wasting time with a cute bird like you.
I giggled. I honestly couldn’t help it.
