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“I like you for being you. Funny, caring, boyishly handsome, and the fact that you went traveling just to make your dad happy tells me what type of man you are.”
His eyebrows spring up.
“A true family man. You love your family. You love your job. You have a strong work ethic and you are actually pretty together for someone whose mother left him as a little boy. I visit the foster home I fund once a week and I’ve witnessed mental damage beyond repair for those little souls. But you. You are pretty special. And strong.”
“I have my father to thank for that.”
“You do, and he did an excellent job raising you. You’re different and I want to have more date days and nights with you while you are here in California.” I give his hand a firm squeeze. “The food here wasn’t so great tonight. I’ll let you pick whatever we do for our next date.”
“I don’t care about the food. The company made up for it.”
“I don’t want tonight to end,” I openly admit to him.
“Neither do I. Can you dance?”
“I love to dance.” I get excited.
“No, I mean, really dance?”
“Like ballroom dancing?”
“Kinda. Do you trust me?”
“After today? Always.”
Lincoln pulls his platinum credit card from his wallet. After learning more about him, it was only ever going to be gold or platinum.
He summons the waiter over, pays our bill quickly, and we promptly leave the restaurant, excited at the prospect of dancing.
As we make our way out of the restaurant, I feel Lincoln’s warm hand at the base of my spine. Ushering me out of the glass door, we are hit by a wall of warm evening air.
“Are you not hot wearing those leather trousers?”
“Nope. I’m a born and bred Cali girl. It hasn’t been that hot today.”
“It was seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit today.” He moves his hand to the side of my waist and gives it a squeeze. I cringe, knowing he’s probably felt my flabby bits.
“Meh, that’s cooler than most days,” I tease him, trying to push down all my insecurities.
Almost at the car, a voice from behind us calls my name. I turn and spot Chad confidently striding toward us. I’m sure he follows me everywhere I go.
“Who is that?” Lincoln asks through the side of his mouth.
“Ex-boyfriend.”
He stiffens beside me, straightening himself up, and I’m sure he grows a few inches taller and broader. “Doesn’t look your type.”
“He’s not.”
“Preppy.”
“Male chauvinist.”
“Missionary position?”
“Every time. Like clockwork, once a week.”
“Once a week? Fuck, once a day is too little. How boring.”
