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“You look… phenomenal.”
I felt myself blushing as I climbed into the cab. Clark instructed the driver to head to a restaurant in Mayfair then sat back into the seat next to me.
We made small talk. It didn’t feel quite as easy as the night before. I was anxious, but I was calmer by the time the cab stopped. Clark paid the driver and climbed out first, turning to offer me a hand. When I placed my hand in his I knew the spark I’d felt the previous night was real. It was there then, in our touch, like a charge through my veins.
I stepped onto the street and looked up at the restaurant.
Shit.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“No. Nothing. It’s great.” I faked a smile. “Okay, I… I don’t think I like oysters.”
He laughed, hard, so hard I wondered if he was relieving his own anxiety, despite looking cool and calm. “I brought you to an oyster bar and you don’t like oysters.”
I giggled nervously. “Well, I don’t think I do.”
“Okay, and that means what, exactly?”
“I had one once and thought it felt like cold mucus sliding down my throat. I gagged, maybe, a little.”
One side of his mouth curved. He was… beautiful. “Well, maybe I can change your mind. Would you let me try?”
I bit my lip, thinking — knowing — I’d let him try anything. I nodded and let him lead me to the restaurant.
The venue was plush. White walls seemed never ending as they drew up to high ceilings and elaborate retro lighting — frosted glass cylinders hanging from wires. Blossom trees, somehow real, decorated the periphery of the room, in full bloom. A subtle scent of jasmine almost entirely masked the smell of the sea. The menus at the bar were crusted with shards of broken mirrors. I wondered if he’d wined and dined women here before.
We were seated at the oyster bar and a waiter took my coat and Clark’s blazer. His shirt was unbuttoned by three, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows. Right then I regretted that I hadn’t invited him in last night. I was dying to know what was under those clothes.
Clark chose a bottle of white wine and ordered a selection of oysters. He took over, clearly on a mission to convince me I did like the slippery things. I watched him the entire time, noticing how the vein in his neck thickened when he was thinking, how his Adam’s apple moved gracefully under his thin layer of stubble as he tasted the wine.
“Alright, connoisseur, fix this philistine,” I said when the waiter placed two plates of six oysters in front of us. Six different flavours, two of each.
Clark turned my stool and pulled me closer to him, planting a foot next to mine on the rim, his knee pressed against my thigh. I forced my thoughts away from the things that slight touch did to my impatient insides.
“Six attempts. If I can’t convince you with any of these, I promise that next time you can choose where we go.”
“Next time? Getting ahead of yourself a tad, aren’t you?”
He ignored me, focussing on the oysters and selecting a plain-looking one. I definitely wanted a next time. He lifted my chin so my head was angled back slightly. I opened my mouth, waiting. He tipped the oyster shell, and I swallowed the fish in one gulp. Lemon juice ran down my chin. Before I got to it with a napkin, Clark leaned in and sucked the juice from me, slowly, tenderly, in a way that made me totally, completely, utterly wet in my thong.
He rubbed his own mouth and sucked the citrus from the tip of his finger. “In answer to your question, no. I don’t think I’m getting ahead of myself. You’ve been watching every move I make since we came in here, and if you felt an ounce of what I felt when we kissed last night, I’d say there’ll be another date, and another after that.” He winked, and I thought I might come, right there on my perch.
I managed the oysters, washing them down quickly with wine. I confessed the one with bacon and cheese topping wasn’t too bad. Mostly because I could only taste cheese and bacon.
“Was this an epic fail?” he asked through a half-smile.
I shook my head. “I had fun. But maybe I’ll pick dessert.”
Clark paid the bill, and I hailed a cab.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Wait and see.”
The cab dropped us at a frozen yoghurt café by the river.
“You are joking? It’s ten degrees out here and you want frozen yoghurt?” he asked, following me into the café, where only five people were sitting.
