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Alessandra
Panic sets in when I get a call from James saying that he would like to meet me for dinner at six o’clock instead of eight as originally planned. I say that it’s fine, but inside my head I’m screaming “No.”
“Will that give you enough time to get ready?” James asks.
“Of course, I was just going to go from work to dinner anyway.”
“Okay then, see you at six.”
I work as hard as I can for the next four hours and then I quit to get dressed. I could go home to get ready but what’s the point? Everything I need is here.
However, it looks better for me if James picks me up at home. I don’t want to seem like work is my whole life, even if it is.
After dressing myself to look spectacular, I head home. I only live five minutes away from the office, so I get home with plenty of time to do something special to my hair. I want to knock James off his feet tonight.
It’s five fifty-nine and the doorbell rings. I’ve been sitting on the sofa watching business news. I quickly turn off the television and go to answer the door. When I open the door, I get the desired reaction from James.
“Well, hello, sexy.”
“Hello yourself,” I say.
James is wearing an Armani suit that hugs his body. As an accent piece, he has a bright fuchsia tie. I like a guy who is bold enough to wear a wild shade of pink like that.
I grab my purse and lock up. James takes my hand as we walk together to his black Chevy muscle car. There are two white racing stripes on his car.
“Go to the track much?” I ask.
“Not as much as I would like.”
I’m impressed with the car and also impressed by the way James opens and closes the car door for me. We drive to the restaurant that’s in Chicago’s Gold Coast.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“Yup, it’s my favorite restaurant/bar to have bachelorette parties.”
“Wow, there must be one hell of a bar bill at the end of the night.”
“No kidding, I had to sell a lot of jewelry after the last one.”
James chuckles as he opens the door to the restaurant for me.
The maître d leads us to a cozy table and there begins the most sexually charged night of my life. First, we talk about business but then the conversation jumps off the rails.
“Would you rather have sex in an elevator or on the hood of my car?”
“Excuse me?”
“Haven’t you played would-you-rather before?”
“Sure, but not on a first date.”
“Hmm, is that what this is?”
“Nope, I put on stiletto heels for business casual meals all the time.”
“Oh baby, your legs can really pull off a stiletto.”
I want to say excuse me again, but my mouth goes dry, and my blood seems to all flow to my nether regions.
