Afterward, as I lie in Lennox’s strong arms among the rumpled covers on his bed, where we migrated to after our first round on the sofa, he says, “Hey, I just had an idea.”
Curious, I lean back slightly and look up at him. “Yeah? What is that?”
“Well…” He adjusts his arm so that he can toy with my hair as he holds me. “We’re both off tomorrow, right?”
“We are,” I confirm.
“So, let’s go on a date.”
Wait, what?
I frown up at him, and his hand stills in my hair. “We can’t,” Ireply sadly. “With our luck, someone will see us, and our secret will be out.”
Resuming playing with my hair, he shrugs and says, “Around here, yes, that might happen. But, as luck would have it, I happen to know of a great little Mexican restaurant way out in the desert. It’s about an hour or so drive from here. It’s tiny, and not many people know about it—at least, I know my teammates don’t—and the food is outstanding.”
“Hmmm…”
I think it over. This may actually work. And Lord knows I’d freaking love to go out on a date with this man. Funny, I once didn’t want to. But things sure have changed.
After a beat, I smile and say, “Okay, let’s do it.”
Pulling me back in close to him, and with his hand sliding down to my bare ass, he says, “That’s my girl.”
Am I his girl?
Am I becoming that?
I don’t know, because there’s no more talking then, just a lot of sexing.
And for now, that’s enough.
The next day, after showering—and some fantastic shower sex with Lennox—I throw on the cute little floral sundress and strappy sandals I packed in my overnight bag.
Lennox opts for khaki cargo shorts and a light blue polo-style shirt.
We then hit the road in his Navigator and “navigate” our way out into the desert, heading to the Mexican restaurant that Lennox swears by.
After we’re on the road for about an hour, with conversation flowing freely as it always does with us, he finally takes a lonely looking exit.
There’s nothing around, so I remark, “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This place really is out in the middle of nowhere.”
“It is a bit desolate,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I think the only thing that keeps the restaurant going is all of the regulars who know about it and make the drive, as well as people who get off the highway here in search of food and discover it’s their only option. But I’m certain once they find it, and if they don’t live too crazy far away, they come back again and again.”
“You really are talking this place up,” I say in a teasing tone. “It better be good.”
I’m just giving him a hard time, but, placing his hand on my exposed knee and squeezing, he assures me, “Oh, it is, babe. It is. You’re going to love it.”
After following some handmade signs and making a few quick turns, we reach the exalted restaurant.
It’s a small one-story blue-and-yellow building with a terra-cotta tile roof. And there really is nothing around it—just miles and miles of desert as far as the eye can see.
It’s after lunchtime, so there are only two other cars in the parking lot. It looks like we’ll more or less have the place to ourselves, which is perfect.
When we step inside, an older lady with dark hair streaked with gray is standing at the hostess station.
Her eyes light up when she sees Lennox.
“Mr. Foley!” she exclaims as she comes out from behind the podium. “Welcome back. Would you like your usual booth in the corner, the one by the window?”
