“Oh, fun, I didn’t know.” Once again interrupted by a delivery, this time it was the pickles, Bess reeled herself in. “That must be nice being near a beach,” she offered as we helped ourselves to food.
Remembering why I was supposed to be here, I tilted my head toward the retreating waiter and asked, “So, are most of the servers friends? Do you all hang out outside work? What’s it like when you’re not at work? Are you a big happy gang?”
I took in the way her chest rose and fell beneath her long-sleeved black shirt. The outline of her bra was lace, her skin was creamy, and her breath was raspy when she answered. “Some of us. I’m actually close with a few girls on the housekeeping staff, but not many of the dinner servers because I’m usually gone by then.”
“Right. Thanks, by the way, for staying to join me,” I said with a full smile, leaning back in my chair and smoothing my hair out of my face.
I would never part with my longer, shaggier style. It was the only feature that said “bad boy” about me. Except I was never a rule-breaker growing up, other than when it came to my hair. Probably because my dad kept his hair long and I remembered playing with it as a kid.
My mane.
Lane the lion, Bess the lamb.
Pulling out of my memories, I focused back on the subject of my last thousand nights’ fantasy. “I guess you get in pretty early in the morning? I feel bad to have kept you here,” I said, then mumbled mostly to myself, “The request for an early dinner time now makes sense.” Mentally, I kicked myself in the ass for not realizing this woman had been at the hotel since before dawn.
“Yeah, I do,” she said after she took a sip of her water. “I get up pretty early to head over here. I guess that’s why I know most of the housekeeping girls. I never used to be a morning person, but I kind of like it now.” Her expression grew wistful as she added, “It’s peaceful waking up before everyone else, taking in the dew while walking my dog outside.”
Enthused at the prospect of something else we could chat about before pretending to talk about more hotel logistics, I leaned forward. “So you have a dog? What kind?”
“A Lab.”
Our server came back to clear the pickles and refill our drinks. While he was there I ordered a burger, and Bess went with a salad.
“Your dog must love running around in this cool weather,” I said when we were alone again.
“He does. Keeps me exercised,” she said, her features relaxing and softening when she spoke about her four-legged friend.
And that was the way the evening passed ... with bullshit small talk about weather and morning dew, dogs, and hotel scheduling.
By telling a lie, I was on the dullest date ever with the only girl I ever wanted to win over. Except, it wasn’t a date. Starting with my little “business dinner” fib, I began a brand new bad habit of my own—deceiving young women. A habit I couldn’t change because I’d appear to be even a bigger asshole.
But I had no choice, so I spent the dinner perfecting Lane Wrigley, the overly involved businessman, getting to know Bess Williams, the unimpressed, fragile, mysteriously beautiful waitress, whose rapid breathing and racing pulse took my breath away.
