“Is this okay?” she asks nervously, glancing down at her outfit. “I’ve never been to a restaurant opening before, and when you said it was an Oliver King place, I just… grabbed the nicest dress I had.”
Taking a slow step toward her, even though she’s wearing heels, I look down at her. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek knot, and I have to restrain myself from reaching out to wrench it free. As much as I’d love to see her hair down and loose, there’s something to be said about the delicate curve of her exposed neck… and my thoughts quickly drift to wondering what she would taste like if I kissed her there, the noises she might make if I tasted her there.
I need to get my shit together before I sport a full-blown erection like some teenage boy lost in lust.
“Bex,” I say softly. “You are the definition of perfection.”
She blushes and ducks her head. “You’re just being polite,” she mumbles.
I place two fingers beneath her chin and guide her gaze back to mine. “Sugar, if you knew all the impolite thoughts I’m having right now, I’d say fuck Oliver King and take you back to my hotel instead.”
Her blush deepens, and I see her swallow hard. She straightens her back and tilts her head at me. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Laughing at that, I reach for her hand. “Let’s go see Oliver.”
Dinner was incredible, and I can’t even remember what we ate. It was the conversation, the flirtatious glances we kept exchanging, and the lilt of her laughter when I shared some of the more outrageous experiences I’ve encountered in my industry. Every great moment about dinner was because of her.
Our entrees were cleared and, upon asking if we were interested in dessert, Bex shook her head at our server. “I prefer to drink my dessert,” she explains. “May I get a chocolate martini, please?”
The server nods, then turns to me. “Maker’s, on the rocks. Thanks.”
As he walks away, I catch a glimpse of Oliver making his way through the restaurant, stopping at tables occasionally to say hi and thank you to guests. On the ride over, she confessed she has a huge crush on the chef, so naturally, I waved himover.
“Corey, no! Oh my god, I didn’t think he would actually be here,” she groans. Her cheeks flush pink, and it makes me curious what other parts of her heat up when she blushes like this. I bite my lip, imagining bending her over my lap, her ass that exact shade of pink following a round of slaps from—”
“Corey, man, good to see you!” Oliver approaches our table, and I’m jerked out of my fantasy.
I stand as he extends his hand, giving him mine to shake. “Thanks for having us tonight,” I say, gesturing to Bex. “This is my date, Bex. This place is incredible. It’s, what? The tenth on the Strip?”
“Eleventh, you cheeky bastard,” he jokes. Bex stands to greet Oliver, and he steps forward, embracing her. When he pulls back, he places a kiss on her cheek, and it’s amusing as fuck to see her face burn. “You are absolutely stunning,” Oliver says, grinning as he nods in my direction. “What the fuck are you doing with a twat like this guy?”
“Corey is incredible,” Bex says, glancing at me, her eyes shining at that admission. My heart swells, and I smile at her. “And so is this place. I’ve been to several of your restaurants through Vegas and London, and this one is absolutely top tier. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, love, that’s so kind of you to say.” Oliver looks back at me before saying, “We’ll have to catch up another time. This soft opening is feeling more like a hard open, if you get what I mean. Lovely to meet you, Bex.”
I shake his hand again, nodding goodbye, before Bex and I both take a seat.
She stares at me and sighs. “That was… the coolest experience of my entire fucking life.”
Laughing, I reach across the table and take one of her hands in mine. “Cooler than meeting a world famous porn star?”
Playfully, she squeezes my hand and says, “Abso-fucking-lutely. Sorry, Corey, you may be the Brad Pitt of porn, but I’ve had a crush on Oliver for a long, long time. I simply can’t compare you two.”
I squeeze her hand back. “Brad Pitt of porn, hm?” Her eyes widen as she recognizes her slip up. “So, you did Google me?”
Bex pulls her hand back as she reaches up to tug at her earring. It’s adorable how nervous she’s getting, and I’m about to say this before the server returns with our cocktails and two glasses of champagne.
“Your drinks,” she says, placing them on the table. “And some champagne, courtesy of Mr. King.”
Shaking my head, I smile. Oliver is a rascal, but I’m sure he sent us some of the good stuff. Picking up my flute, I tilt it toward Bex. “Cheers?” I ask her, glancing at her flute.
Bex doesn’t reach for her drink, and she says quietly, “What are we doing, Corey?”
There’s something in her tone that has me bristling. “What do you mean? We’re having dinner. Drinks. A good conversation.”
She gives a soft laugh and shrugs, looking around the restaurant before back at me. “I mean, what are you doingwithme?”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
