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There—the corner booth. It's not totally private, but I can only see a portion of it from the entrance.
"Do you want a drink?" Patrick asks. "It doesn't have to be alcoholic."
I should resist the chemical temptation, but I need the liquid courage. "Gin and tonic."
"You sure?" he asks.
My stomach flutters. My sex pangs. My want is tinged with affection. He's concerned with my well-being.
He cares about me.
I want him to care about me.
It's different than it was with Zack. It feels real. Honest.
Because I'm different than I was with Zack. I'm giving him a chance.
And, so far, he's acing every opportunity.
My love of chai. My two-drink maximum. My inability to spend the night impromptu because I need my prescriptions.
Seriously, how are TV and film characters constantly having casual one-night stands? Do they tote their drugs in their bags along with fresh pairs of underwear?
"Just one." I motion to the booth. "Can you claim it? I need to, um… remove some items in the bathroom."
This dress is perfect. It helps that it's the nicest thing I own. Well, the nicest comfortable dress I own. Short, black, low cut, breathable.
Sexy yet practical.
And somehow perfect for this—
If I push the dress aside, I reveal my bra. If I pull it up my hips, I reveal my panties.
But I'm not going to meet him at the booth with either of those.
I find the women's bathroom in the back, lock myself in a stall, do away with my bra and panties.
While I'm here—
I pull out my cell and angle the picture just right, so I'm not totally exposed.
Snap.
I send the picture to Patrick before I lose my nerve.
He answers immediately.
Patrick: You're going to make me drop these drinks.
Imogen: Bud Light on the floor?
Patrick: Two gin and tonics.
That's kind of sweet, him ordering my drink. Or maybe it's dirty. I'm not sure anymore. I'm already losing touch with conscious thought.
He does puts me in touch with my body like this too.
That's good to know.
