I look up and Bentley’s smiling face is right in front of me, separated only by the glass door. “Hi,” he yells through it and waves.
Angling my head toward the ground to keep him from seeing the grin I’m wearing; I shake my head. This man is full of surprises, and I’m not sure if that is a good or bad thing. Bad. Definitely a bad thing. If he worms his way into my heart, I’m not sure I can stop myself from catching feelings. Now that I’ve composed myself, I lift my head and open the door. “Hi.”
People are milling about, but as we walk in, they stare at us. I lean over and whisper in his ear, "Why are they looking at us?"
He shrugs his shoulders as if he has no idea. "Maybe they aren't used to seeing such a pretty face." He smiles at me as he says that, except I know a bull crap line when I hear one.
It’s part of the job as a flight attendant. So many men try to smooth talk their way into free alcohol or try to get in our pants. I've heard everything, and his statement does nothing but put me on high alert. "You should probably be a little more original."
"I am as original as it gets. I've never tried being something that I'm not." His voice is gruff with a bit of sadness mixed in.
I didn't mean to offend him, but come on who says that to a woman they've literally just met? "If you say so." He continues leading me through the throng of people until we are at a table in the back corner, just like he said.
"Which side do you want to sit on?"
"It doesn't matter to me. One side is no better than the other." He walks around the table and pulls out the chair closest to the wall, waiting until I sit down before going back around and sitting with his back to the rest of the restaurant. "It's strange that you picked that seat."
He picks up the menu and begins scanning it. "Why do you say that?"
I pick up another menu from the table and lift it until it covers most of my face. It's not because I'm nervous, well, not completely. I just don't want to give away too many facial expressions.
Shrugging my shoulders, I look over the menu. "I don't know, most of the men in my family, or even men I see at restaurants, rarely like to sit with their backs facing the door."
He smirks but doesn't lift his eyes from the laminated paper in his hands. "Normally, that would be true. But, since I began playing pro, it's a lot easier for me to get through a meal without being recognized if I'm not facing the entire restaurant."
Huh, I guess I never thought about it like that before. Then again, I've never gone out on a date with anyone that has celebrity status. Unless you count Braxton because he was popular with all the flight attendants. "That makes sense. What do you do when you are recognized?"
Now, he sets the menu down and looks into my eyes. "When it happens, I wait to see what they're going to do. Sometimes it is to talk or take a picture. Other times they will come up to me and ask for an autograph."
That has got to be annoying. I don't know that I would ever get used to that kind of life. "Do you usually give them one?"
"Yeah, usually. It won't do me any good to act like an asshole. Besides, it only takes a few seconds for me to sign a piece of paper or whatever they have on them."
So, he's not an asshole. He's just pushy as hell until he gets what he wants. "Do you know what you want?" The only reason I'm asking is to change the subject. This is the first, and most likely only date we will ever have, and I don't need to know his full life story.
"Not really. I mean pizza is pizza, right?"
I set my menu on the table and bring my hands to my chest in surprise. "No, pizza is not pizza. You're in Chicago. One of the best places in the United States to eat pizza."
Bentley leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, "Okay then, which one should I get?" I don't miss the way his shirt tightens over his arm muscles. And it feels like the temperature in here just went up 10°.
"That depends, what sort of things do you like?"
"As much as you probably don't agree, I'm actually a simple guy. Cheese or pepperoni are what I stick to."
While I am shocked by his choices, it seems a little boring. "Okay, you wait here and I'll go order the pizza."
There’s a line at the counter, and I walk to the back. As I’m standing there, two women break from the line and head straight toward Bentley. I guess his presence in the small pizzeria didn’t go as unnoticed as he hoped. A pang hits as they sit down, exactly where I just vacated, and start a conversation. I wish I could see him.
Even if this is only a one-time thing, it hurts that he’s talking to other women while he’s on a date with me. One of the women leans over the table, showing off her cleavage and I want to do something to let them know he’s here with me. I’m not sure where this possessive streak has come from, and I don’t know if I like it or not.
Before I do anything drastic, like turn around and stride right out the door, Bentley scoots his chair back. What’s he going to do? Leave with the beautiful women by his side? I’m seconds away from leaving, but he surprises me. He’s by my side in less than a minute. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I peer over his shoulder and notice the two women staring, wide mouthed. I guess they didn’t think he’d walk away from them. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.” My pizza craving will have to wait. He left those two who no doubt offered him more than I’m willing to, and now I want to see the layers this man has to be hiding. There’s no way he’s arrogant and sweet. Or, maybe, he’s trying to get more from me than I’m willing to give. Either way, I want to find out.
Nine
Bentley
