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His hot breath fans the side of my neck, and my breath hitches.
Oh God, my knees are buckling, and we don’t even have drinks yet. Focus. I need to focus on something else. Anything else.
“So, Lucky. Is this like your go-to first-date restaurant?”
He laughs and licks his lip, a move I am totally growing addicted to seeing.
“Believe it or not, I’ve never been on a first date. I’m usually more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type of guy.”
“Never?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “I was in the military the minute I turned eighteen, and before that, I was struggling to survive. There was no money or time for anything more than just a fuck.”
I swallow at the hard intensity he puts on that last word.
“Okay. So not your first date place.”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Not at all. What about you, Aria? What is your type? The douchebag?” he asks as if genuinely curious.
I laugh and wonder if that’s jealousy I detect under his question.
“Honestly? I don’t have a type, not really. I’ve only ever been allowed to date guys like the douchebag, and most of the time, they aren’t interested in me, just my father’s company and wealth.”
“Not interested? I call bullshit,” he says playfully.
I ignore the blush crawling up my cheeks at another of those unintentional compliments. “Okay, they wanted to fuck me, at least until they learned that pussy wasn’t on the table.”
He scowls, shaking his head. “Fucking idiots. You have the perfect ass for fucking.”
I smile at the way he comes to my defense. Lucky isn’t just a big bad biker. He’s also incredibly charming. So charming that I can see why so many women were happy to just have a night with him.
“So you’re my first, first date of my choosing.”
“You have good taste,” he laughs as the waiter arrives to take our order.
The waiter leaves with a promise to return with our drinks, and Lucky smirks. There's a playful look in his eyes, and it’s fixed on something over my shoulder. Following his gaze, I turn to see a tiny dance floor tucked away in a corner of the restaurant, with a couple swaying to a soft guitar tune.
When our food arrives, we dig in, sharing stories, laughing it up at our own jokes, and chatting about everything from our latest Netflix binge to that time Lucky got chased by a horny dog. Ergo: why Coco makes him crazy.
Once we’re done eating, Lucky surprises me by grabbing my hand. His grin widens, and with excitement in his eyes, he casually asks, “Wanna dance?”
“You dance?” Now I’m intrigued.
“Not at all,” he says, “but I’m willing if you are.”
“Let’s go!” I say, feeling a burst of energy.
I stand, and Lucky leads me to the dance floor. We start moving, slowly and naturally, like we’ve done this a million times before. The rhythm of our bodies matches the steady beat of my racing heart, and Lucky’s touch sparks something in me I’ve never felt before.
As the final notes of the song softly drift away, Lucky leans in close.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Lead the way,” I say, my whole body buzzing with want for this man.
We leave the Italian restaurant hand in hand, stepping out into the cool night air. The breeze feels extra tingly against my heated skin, stirring up a sense of anticipation that has me holding my breath.
Tonight has been fun, exciting even. But something tells me it’s turning into something more.
