me arching an eyebrow so I nod that I like it.
"Leave the bottle," Jake says.
I pick at my salad. I have a weird concern about eating in front of a guy I just met. Odd since most first dates are over a meal but I always feel like I'm being judged. How I eat, how much I eat, what I eat all being evaluated. I find it impossible to just relax and enjoy a meal. Might be part of the reason I haven't been dating.
"So what do you do Jake?" I ask pushing a slice of tomato aside on my salad.
"I'm in sales," he says stabbing a cucumber from his own and holding it before him examining it. "Very lucrative."
"What kind of sales?" I ask.
He looks over the cucumber at me and something dark moves behind his eyes. I don't know what it is but I see it clearly. My dad used to get that look, right before things would go bad at the dinner table. My dad drank, a lot. Eventually my mother left him and a couple of years ago he passed away from liver failure. A cold chill runs down my back and I feel goose bumps break out across my arms.
"Sales," he says with finality. "It pays well."
"I see," I say unable to look away from him.
Something between us. I'm drawn to him. A bit like a moth to a flame? I don't know what it is. There's more than darkness behind those eyes, there's pain. I want to take him in my arms and hold him close. I want to feel his heart beating against mine encircling each other in our arms and locking the world away.
"Why were you at the party?" he asks.
"Lace, my roommate you met, dragged me to it. I really didn't want to be there ..." but I'm glad I was.
Jake nods smiling. "Well I'm glad you did."
The butterflies in my stomach do flip flops over each other. His foot moves up my calf and touches the inside of my thigh and my panties grow wet as another shudder silently moves through me.
"Thank you," I say looking down at my salad unable to meet the intensity in his eyes. The raw desire he exudes.
"You're beautiful," he says. "More beautiful than any girl I've seen. Yet you don't act like it, you act like you don't even see it. The effect you have on men around you. Take our waiter for instance."
"What are you talking about?" I ask my face burning bright red.
"He wants you," Jake says softly. "Badly. He hasn't been able to keep his eyes off you. The entire time he was taking the order he was staring at you. He keeps looking at you from the wait station back there."
"No, you're just being silly."
"Jake!" a man says stumbling slightly as he approaches our table.
The man is dressed in a rumpled suit. He has a few days growth of beard darkening his already warm, brown skin and heavy bags under his eyes. He weaves back and forth staring at Jake. Jake looks over, his jaw tensing and his fist clenching on the table.
"Not now," Jake fairly growls.
"Jake, man I need to," the man looks around before leaning in closer to Jake. "I need to, you know, score."
Jake stands up from his seat placing an arm around the man's shoulder.
"Follow me, now," Jake says. His voice has a hard edge that feels dangerous.
"Sure man, ow, ease up," the stranger says.
Jake leads the man away from the table and out a rear door. I look around hoping no one notices the commotion. I pick at my salad debating if I should just leave right now. Some part of me says stay. I won't say it's a rational part, that part is screaming at me to run for the hills. That part imagines I'm playing a role in some television crime drama. The rest of me, the part I'm listening to right now, says that can't happen to me. That happens to other people. It also says how hot and amazing Jake is and how I can heal that pain I see in his eyes.
Of course I can. The right woman can fix any man, no matter the issue. I have to believe that. I have to believe that my dad could have been saved if he'd found the right woman. It wasn't my mom and that's okay but for Jake it can be me.
Jake comes back in tucking his shirt into his pants as he walks. He takes his seat, scoots
"Leave the bottle," Jake says.
I pick at my salad. I have a weird concern about eating in front of a guy I just met. Odd since most first dates are over a meal but I always feel like I'm being judged. How I eat, how much I eat, what I eat all being evaluated. I find it impossible to just relax and enjoy a meal. Might be part of the reason I haven't been dating.
"So what do you do Jake?" I ask pushing a slice of tomato aside on my salad.
"I'm in sales," he says stabbing a cucumber from his own and holding it before him examining it. "Very lucrative."
"What kind of sales?" I ask.
He looks over the cucumber at me and something dark moves behind his eyes. I don't know what it is but I see it clearly. My dad used to get that look, right before things would go bad at the dinner table. My dad drank, a lot. Eventually my mother left him and a couple of years ago he passed away from liver failure. A cold chill runs down my back and I feel goose bumps break out across my arms.
"Sales," he says with finality. "It pays well."
"I see," I say unable to look away from him.
Something between us. I'm drawn to him. A bit like a moth to a flame? I don't know what it is. There's more than darkness behind those eyes, there's pain. I want to take him in my arms and hold him close. I want to feel his heart beating against mine encircling each other in our arms and locking the world away.
"Why were you at the party?" he asks.
"Lace, my roommate you met, dragged me to it. I really didn't want to be there ..." but I'm glad I was.
Jake nods smiling. "Well I'm glad you did."
The butterflies in my stomach do flip flops over each other. His foot moves up my calf and touches the inside of my thigh and my panties grow wet as another shudder silently moves through me.
"Thank you," I say looking down at my salad unable to meet the intensity in his eyes. The raw desire he exudes.
"You're beautiful," he says. "More beautiful than any girl I've seen. Yet you don't act like it, you act like you don't even see it. The effect you have on men around you. Take our waiter for instance."
"What are you talking about?" I ask my face burning bright red.
"He wants you," Jake says softly. "Badly. He hasn't been able to keep his eyes off you. The entire time he was taking the order he was staring at you. He keeps looking at you from the wait station back there."
"No, you're just being silly."
"Jake!" a man says stumbling slightly as he approaches our table.
The man is dressed in a rumpled suit. He has a few days growth of beard darkening his already warm, brown skin and heavy bags under his eyes. He weaves back and forth staring at Jake. Jake looks over, his jaw tensing and his fist clenching on the table.
"Not now," Jake fairly growls.
"Jake, man I need to," the man looks around before leaning in closer to Jake. "I need to, you know, score."
Jake stands up from his seat placing an arm around the man's shoulder.
"Follow me, now," Jake says. His voice has a hard edge that feels dangerous.
"Sure man, ow, ease up," the stranger says.
Jake leads the man away from the table and out a rear door. I look around hoping no one notices the commotion. I pick at my salad debating if I should just leave right now. Some part of me says stay. I won't say it's a rational part, that part is screaming at me to run for the hills. That part imagines I'm playing a role in some television crime drama. The rest of me, the part I'm listening to right now, says that can't happen to me. That happens to other people. It also says how hot and amazing Jake is and how I can heal that pain I see in his eyes.
Of course I can. The right woman can fix any man, no matter the issue. I have to believe that. I have to believe that my dad could have been saved if he'd found the right woman. It wasn't my mom and that's okay but for Jake it can be me.
Jake comes back in tucking his shirt into his pants as he walks. He takes his seat, scoots
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