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I go through my entire closet twice before deciding on a pink strapless dress that clings to my body by sheer force of will and subtle amounts of elastic in all the right places to make sure I don’t fall out.
I’m tempted to pair it with sandals, and if this were a daytime date I would, but this is nighttime, so I find my sexiest silver heels that make my legs look dynamite, even if I’d be the first victim of the zombie apocalypse if I had to run in them.
Dress and heels on, I look in the mirror at the full effect. My hair is pulled up loosely, a few face-framing layers intentionally escaping, and my makeup is light pink, giving me a sort of sun-kissed look. The outfit is flattering and sexy without being in your face. I feel... pretty. And not a minute too soon because Chance knocks on my door.
Surprisingly, I’m almost shy opening up for him. This is real on an entirely different level. “Hi.” When he doesn’t answer, standing outside my door in a black suit and looking like the world’s sexiest secret agent, I stammer a little, fidgeting with my hair and smoothing my dress. “What is it?”
“You look... gorgeous,” he says, visibly swallowing. “In all the world tonight, there must be millions of men taking millions of women out on dates. Yet I’m certain none are as lucky as I am right now.”
“Poetic,” I comment dryly. “Did you practice that or read it in a book?” I’m judging him harshly, but guys don’t really talk like that, not seriously. It’s either a line or sarcasm.
“Actually,” Chance says, not offended by my response, “I have read poetry. I think a gentleman should be acquainted with at least a little bit of poetry. And not just dirty limericks, either. You truly are breathtaking, Samantha.”
“Oh. Uhm, thank you,” I say, more accepting this time to the compliment without all the fancy-schmanciness around it. “You wanna come in?”
“For a minute, but we have reservations.” He steps into my apartment, but only by a few feet.
“We do?” I ask.
Chance nods, looking around as he says bluntly, “Was afraid if I didn’t, I would push in as soon you open the door and bend you over the nearest surface. A reservation seemed like a way to stop myself.”
“An appointment is all it takes to stop you from fucking me?” I challenge with a sly grin. Now that I know what he’s doing, I’m flirting hard, almost as if I want to push him too far to see what he’ll do. Sex is a familiar and comfortable zone. A date is not.
“Samantha,” he warns, his voice deep and rough. “Show me your apartment and then let’s go out. I want to take you on a date.”
That stops the bratty response I had at the ready on the tip of my tongue. “You do?” When he simply stares at me, I give in and gesture around me, still not exactly sure how it got to this point. Chance and I are on an actual date. It’s madness. “The ten-second tour. Not in your view is my bedroom, which is slightly bigger than your average broom closet, and my bathroom, which is slightly bigger than an airplane’s. That’s pretty much it.”
It’s ridiculous in comparison to his place, and we both know it, but he smiles. “It’s lovely. Like its resident.” He cocks an arm. “Shall we?”
Snagging my purse, I take his elbow and lock my door as we leave. “So, what poetry have you read?”
“The masters,” Chance says breezily. “Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Byron, Yeats, Tennyson, Jagger, Dre...”
“Wait... Jagger... Dre?” I ask, and Chance grins at my catch. “Rock and rap music?”
“Songs are poetry put to music,” Chance points out. “The poetry of our times, a way for those who are looking for a voice to find theirs.”
“That’s actually very astute,” I say in agreement. I’m not surprised by Chance’s appreciation of music, but I guess I expected his tastes to run somewhere other than old-school rap. Maybe someone with a John MayerBody is a Wonderlandtype of vibe would seem more his speed.
After a short drive, Chance pulls up in front of Macrosine. “Health food? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given your reputation as a health nut. Thine body is a temple,” I tease.
“Macrobiotic, organic, and the head chef used to have a Michelin star. You’ll love it,” Chance assures me, getting out and handing the keys to the valet. Offering me his arm again, he leads me into the restaurant, where we’re quickly seated at a prime table, the host almost deferential as he hands us our menus and nearly disappears into thin air.
I can’t help it, I laugh. “Wow.”
“What?” Chance asks, then smirks when I wave my hands around like ‘all this’. “Yeah... I know.”
He looks around, like he’s never so much as bothered to do so, but I’m scanning the whole restaurant gobsmacked. It’s all white and light wood, with plants here and there. The chair I’m sitting in is linen-covered, the table is set with wood-handled silverware, and the water and wine goblets look handblown with tiny little bubbles in the glass. It’s understated but luxurious, and definitely expensive as fuck. I bet I can’t even afford an appetizer here.
I glance at the menu, and the first item I see is a dandelion salad that costs more than I spend in a week at the grocery store.
Isn’t a dandelion a weed? They’re charging grocery prices for annoying grass people yank from their yards?
A woman appears at the tableside, silently and discreetly filling the water goblets, and before I can say thanks, I swear she bows her chin and skedaddles away.
Toto, I’m not in Kansas anymore!
Turning back to Chance, I find that he’s completely unbothered, having not even noticed her, much less acknowledged her. “Have you literally spent your entire life having people trip over themselves to make sure your every whim is catered to?” I ask disapprovingly. “I mean, I think if you’d said you wanted your ass kissed, someone’d pull out fresh Chapstick for it.”
