Does she have any idea how fucking sexy she is?She’s not like the toned, practically plastic women who normally chase my teammates and me during the season. The ones who zoom in on you the minute you walk into a bar, giving you “take me home and fuck me” vibes.
No, this woman is soft. Her strawberry blonde hair is up in a clip, but loose tendrils fall on the sides of her face, and she keeps tucking them behind her ears. She’s got a light smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are a bright blue. She’s curvy and lush, and the V of her sundress highlights the crease of her cleavage. But it’s her full lips, and the way they turn up at the corners when she talks, that have me mesmerized.
“What do you do when you’re not flying planes?” she asks, but it’s a question I’d like to avoid.
“I’ve been out of work for a while with an injury.”
She nods, and it’s clear that she’s curious but not going to push. I don’t ask her what she does for work.
“And do you have a name, my poor injured friend?” Her cheeks push up with a smile that lights up her whole face as she taunts me and her shoulders relax. I love the way she smiles, the way her whole body changes when she does. I want to see her do it more often. When I don’t respond right away, she says, “Or do I need to guess?”
“Guess my name?” My chuckle rumbles out of me as I lift my drink in a mock toast and say, “Go right ahead.”
She tilts her head to the side and chews on her straw before taking another sip of her drink. “Nicholas.”
“Why Nicholas?”
“I don’t know, you look like you could be Greek? Or maybe from somewhere else in Southern Europe. Nicholas feels like a catchall name that could work anywhere.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Sure, Nicholas works.”
“What about me?” she says, with a slow bat of her eyelashes. “What should my name be?”
Oh, this is a fun game she’s inviting me to play. No names means no strings, just how I like it.
I take in her creamy skin with a very light tan, and the softness of all her features. Somewhere under all that softness, I suspect there’s a toughness to her—not physically, but emotionally. I don’t know why, but I feel like she has more life experience than she lets on.
“Amy,” I say decisively.
“Why Amy?” Her eyebrows dip as she looks down at her drink.
I reach over and tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I don’t know, it just felt right.”
With my knuckles bent under the point of her chin, my thumb strokes the smooth line of her jaw. I run the pad of my thumb over her lips as a promise of what’s to come. The way her breath hitches before her lips curve into a sly smile makes me think we have the whole night ahead of us.
“How old do youthinkI am?” she asks, later, in response to my question. Her eyebrows lift and she blinks at me, those dark lashes descending over her blue eyes.
The sensualness of her curves, the air of flirty self-confidence, and the success she’s already had in her career make me think she’s got to be older than she looks. “Well, with college and an MBA under your belt, not to mention owning your own company... My guess is at least thirty?”
She huffs out a small laugh and says, “Sure, thirty sounds good.”
It’s amazing how many times we’ve used that “sounds good” phrase over the course of the last hour, as we’ve chatted and created stories about each other that may or may not be true while eating dinner.
According to her, I’m a thirty-two-year-old dentist named Nicholas, and I live in New York City but my parents are originally from Greece and own a Greek restaurant in Brooklyn. The scars on my left hand are from a freak accident with a dental tool, which kept me out of work for the past few months.
According to me, she’s a thirty-year-old from Chicago. I was originally going to go with a flight attendant, until shementioned the accelerated online MBA she finished over a year ago. Now, I’m trying to work out her background.
“I think you grew up in the suburbs, and then after college you couldn’t wait to start your life in the city.”
With her elbow resting on the bar, her chin is propped up on her hand, but I don’t miss the small smile behind her curled fingers. She tilts her head slightly and says, “Idolove the city.”
“I’m thinking you’re in project management. I could see you being very bossy,” I say with a wink.
Her tongue curls up as she runs it along her top lip. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
It’s not something I normally enjoy, but with her, I bet it would be fun. “Maybe we should find out.”
Her lips part, but I’m left hanging there, waiting for her response, because the lights go out and the entire restaurant is bathed in darkness. The silence that descends in the room only accentuates the sound of the wind roaring outside.
