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I don’t ask any questions. Eric’s hair needs a damn committee to run it.
I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I am trying my best to follow my instincts, and the thing which worries me the most—it always leads to her.
The waiter leads us to a secluded part of the restaurant.
In a polite gesture, I pull Adriana’s chair out, ignoring her skin glistening under the dim lighting in this gorgeous black dress she’s wearing. W
ith her hair in soft curls and a touch of makeup enhancing her already perfect features, she looks absolutely breathtaking.
She thanks me for the kind gesture until we both fall into an awkward silence. I have no clue why this feels hard, and then suddenly, my gaze meets her, and we both laugh.
“This is weird,” she admits.
“I’m not sure if I should be offended, and you’re supposed to be pretending this is a real date. Now, start flirting with me or something,” I joke.
“Oh, I got it! I’m new in town, can you give me directions to your apartment?” She attempts to pull a straight face.
I almost spit out my wine at the cheesy pick-up line. “Keep going.”
“Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore, my face should be among them,” she continues.
I let out a huge roar, almost on the verge of tears. She can’t keep a straight face, and I love watching her so carefree and relaxed.
“I’m concerned about the size of my breasts now,” I say between laughs.
“Wait, one more…. I’ve saved the best for last. Drum roll, please…”
Tapping my hands against the table, I make a drumming sound.
“You’re just like my little toe because I’m going to bang you on every piece of furniture in my home.”
This time she’s unable to contain herself.
“Adriana, where on earth? No, wait… I think I know from who.”
“Oh, those were the G-rated ones. Trust me, I’ve heard crude in its finest form. Eric has the mouth of a sailor, although I think I’m immune to his dirty humor now.”
The waiter returns and takes our order. He leaves in a flash, allowing us more time to talk.
“Do you even know what you ordered?” she asks.
“Yes. I understand French, somewhat.”
“So, did I order something weird?”
“A gentleman never tells,” I tease.
“It’s brains, isn’t it? It is just like that episode when Donna says it is mushy, and Brenda tells her it is brains,” she complains.
“When she thought she ordered the veal?”
She raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Uh, yeah… okay, your 90210 knowledge may be a red flag at this part of the date.”
I grin, raising the wine glass to my lips. “Kelly Taylor. Biggest. Crush. Ever. Actually, I still have a thing for Jennie Garth.”
“A blonde. Interesting,” she says in a quieter tone.
I think about her comment. “Interesting because…”
