“A woman complimenting another woman. Usually it’s claws out the moment a woman sees another beautiful woman.”
“I hate to break the news, Brandon, but it seems as if you attract jealous women.”
“I won’t deny it.” He chuckled, flashing his pearly white, surgically enhanced teeth. “They can be a bit jealous.”
“From the sound of it, you find out later than sooner.”
“That, too, is true.”
“All of them?”
“All of the ones I’m truly interested in. The others, I don’t care enough to tell.”
“Sounds like you have a type.” I chuckled.
“Maybe so. I see now that you’re different.”
“Maybe.” I lied. He was accurate. I was unlike anyone he’d encountered, unless he’d bumped into a Childers other than me.
“Nah. I, for sho, ain’t met nobody like you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You should, because that’s exactly what it is and that’s exactly why I’ve been patient. Waiting you out, hoping to wear you down until you agreed to a date with me.”
“Now that I’m here–”
“I’m hoping this isn’t the last date. I’m hoping you enjoy my company. I’m hoping tonight goes well enough for you to start picking up the phone when you know a nigga on the other end of it.”
My heart fluttered with anticipation, waiting for the words to fall from his lips one after the other. I was genuinely smitten by people who could hold a conversation. Good conversationalists could hold my attention for hours. Nothing more was required of Brandon tonight.
If he could capture my attention with his words, there would be no trouble on my part. It didn’t mean I’d answer the phone when he called or agree to a second date. It meant we’d get through this one just fine and see what the future held.
“I’m going to enjoy the night, Brandon. And, so will you.”
“No doubt about it. I’m already having the time of my fucking life.” He laughed, forcing me to do the same.
His smile was contagious, and so was his laughter. I rolled my eyes upward, wishing I could admit to hating everything about him like I did most men. But, I didn’t. If nothing else,I knew Brandon was decent company. The rest was still up for debate.
“A French Tart and a chilled tequila.”
Our drinks were set before us. Instantly, I began wishing I’d chosen a glass of champagne instead. Though I loved a good mixed drink, it was champagne that allowed me to sip more slowly and not overly indulge. Martinis were tasty. Champagne wasn’t.
“And, our house water.”
“Your name–” I asked, peering up at the waitress as she poured water from a glass bottle.
“Amanda. I apologize. I thought I started with that.”
“You didn’t, but I understand. Busy night?”
“Yes. I’m swamped. Can you tell?”
“By the beads of sweat on your forehead and the breathlessness, yes,” I confirmed.
Chuckling, nervously, she continued. “This uniform. I still think short-sleeved collar shirts should be an option.”
She paused, taking a deep breath.
