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It’s funny, when Wyatt first asked me out, I shot him right down. My how things have changed. Is he asking me out right now, like on a date? Or is this a friend zone sort of thing?
I could be a total dork and come out and ask. Or not.
“I’d love to join you. See you in a few.”
30
WYATT
I’m temptedto take Amalia’s hand while we walk the two-ish blocks to dinner, but something tells me that would be pushing it.
But since I’m dying to touch her—I have been since I first saw her at the gym today—I place a soft hand on her upper arm as if she needs guiding, which she does not, walking across the street.
She was so damn cute working out, concentrating, biting her lip, and trying to remember everything I told her while she lifted dumbbells and struggled through squats. She’s strong and determined, and will be able to do weight exercises with little effort in no time.
While she was putting every bit of her muscle and brainpower into doing everything right, I was enjoying the hell out of watching her in her little sports bra and hip-hugging leggings, not to mention getting a peek at a delicate little tattoo on her left side ribs. Damn if she didn’t have a body fit for sin with perky tits and a nice, juicy booty that jiggled just the right amount as she walked around the gym.
I wasn’t the only guy staring, I can tell you that. But when I threw a death glare at some tacky-ass dudes who couldn’t manage to look away, that reduced the number of gawkers considerably. Sure, I got some dirty looks back, but people seldom fuck with me. Not to brag, it’s just a fact. When you’re the big one in the animal kingdom, things tend to go a certain way.
No wonder women hate the weight room, with all the assholes huffing and puffing, showing off and trying to grab the attention of anyone walking around with tits.
Idiots. They have no idea they’re driving away the very thing they really want.
And now we’re heading out for something to eat. Take that, haters. If they knew how to play it cool, they might have a beautiful woman on their arms too.
I may not have worked as a software engineer in a while, aside from tinkering on my own little projects, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still think like one. That’s how I chose the place we’re heading to right now.
I’m building a program to help people choose the vegetarian restaurant best suited to their budget, tastes, location, and desired ratings. It’s a long way from being ready, but if my data are correct, tonight’s eatery should be a good one for Amalia and me.
Yeah, I gambled on whether or not she’d join me. Although I have no problem dining alone. I’ve been doing a lot of that for this project. But having her with me is the icing on the cake for my ongoing research.
We settle into our corner booth where a small candle flickers on a table made of repurposed wood from somewhere far away. I position myself directly across from Amalia so I can admire her freshly-washed face. The only makeup she’s wearing is a smear of red on her lips, and her hair’s still slightly wet from the shower. I swear, without her usual black eye stuff, her blue eyesglow even brighter than usual, and the smattering of freckles across her nose, which I’ve never noticed, are so wholesome—and I am pretty sure she’s anything but—that I’m tempted to freaking propose marriage.
I do like contradiction in a woman.
I’m not your typical engineering geek who prefers things to be buttoned-up and as predictable as possible. I like a little wildness when I can get it, and I’m pretty sure Amalia has it in spades. Not just because she looks like a rocker chick in an industry where most people dress like they walked out of a Ralph Lauren catalog, but rather because she’s a badass who talked Levi into publishing his Ryder Night book.
Hell, not even I was able to get the green light for that, and I’ve known the guy since we were kids.
And I’m still not sure how she figured out he was the author.
I order us some organic, unfiltered wine because, of course, that’s all the place has, and cross my fingers it’s not undrinkable.
Becoming vegetarian has not been without its challenges.
“Whoa,” Amalia says, turning over her menu. “Look at these prices.”
Yeah, it is one of the pricier veg places in the city.
“Hey, it’s my treat. Don’t worry about any of that.”
She looks at me over the top of her menu, her eyebrows drawing together. “I hope you don’t think that just because you pay for an expensive dinner, that means I’m going to sleep with you.”
Holy shit. Is that what she thinks of me? I mean, of course I’m spending time with her because I like her, but this is not a quid pro quo kind of deal.
For fuck’s sake.
I don’t know whether to be offended, annoyed, or defensive.
