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“Stop it.” She glances around the dining room rather than making eye contact after the compliment. I study her delicate features. The last time I saw her, she was just as mesmerizing as she is now, but I was drunk and everything was a little blurry. I didn’t fully appreciate how fucking beautiful she is.
She glances at me and shakes her head slightly. She’s irritated with me. I can’t blame her. After our night together, I disappeared.
“So, you’re a football player,” she says, leaning back in her chair.
“Was. I retired this week.”
“Really?” she frowns and her curiosity wins out over wanting to be clipped. “Why?”
“It’s time to move on. I have other things I want to do in life. I’m getting old.”
“I don’t know anything about football,” she admits. “The last time I watched was when—” She clears her throat. “It was a long time ago.”
“No football at all?” I ask. “What about other sports?”
“I don’t follow sports. But I run if that counts for anything.”
I smile. “It does. I love running.” If she runs, it explains her smoking hot body. It’s not hard to tell she takes care of herself, taking pride in her appearance. She looks like a model. But feels like girl next door. It’s almost like she has no idea how breathtakingly beautiful she is.
The server appears with a bottle of wine. He fills our glasses for us before putting the bottle on ice and leaves again.
Natalie picks up her glass and takes a sip.
“I love Chenin Blanc,” she says.
“Me too.” I like that we have something in common. “So, you work with Michelle? At Ruby Blue.” The conversation is strained. She’s not happy about being here. With me.
She nods. “About eight months, now.”
“Have you always been in fashion?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I used to do a couple of things just to stay afloat. Nothing special, not until Michelle found me.”
“Well, I’m glad she did. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have a second chance at this.”
“At what?”
“Seeing you.”
She sips her wine, her eyes on me over the rip of the glass. They’re dark and drowning deep, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“It’s not like you didn’t know where to find me,” she says tightly. “You have my number.”
“You’re right.” I fiddle with the silver fork on the table. “I should have called.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Personal struggles.”
She nods. She doesn’t buy it, and I have to admit, it sounds like an excuse.
“When I finally got around to real life again,” I continue, “I felt silly about how long it’s been and figured you’d already forgotten about me.”
“Or maybe you just forgot aboutme,” she counters. She sighs. “It was a mistake coming here.” She makes a move to stand but I reach across the table and put my hand on hers. The contact is electric. She looks down at our hands and stays seated.
“Give me another chance,” I say. “Just this dinner. Let me make it up to you. If you still think I’m not worth your time after tonight, I’ll leave it at that. But I really want to spend time with you, Natalie.”
What am I saying? I want to get to know her. She’s magnetic in a way I’ve never felt around a woman. The last time we were together, it involved a lot of alcohol and I was convinced I felt drawn to her because of it. Usually, I don’t care about women and I don’t want to get to know them. I’m not interested in a long-term relationship.
