“I was going to go down to the lobby and play a round of Craps, naked, with a hooker on each arm, but I guess you’re telling me that’s a no-no?” He slowly turns his head to look at me and I blind him with a bright and innocent smile.
“You are your own worst enemy.”
“I know. Believe me,” I assure him.
We walk down the hall together. His room is the first one we hit. Mine is a foot away. I barely make it that foot when he says, “In the car you said you’ve never dated a man. Why?”
I shrug. “Never wanted to. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is great and the conversations are easy. I just haven’t felt a strong enough connection to pursue any of the men I’ve had sex with.”
“What about dates. Just, like, first dates?” I must look as confused as I feel because he continues to explain himself. “You meet someone, they interest you. You ask them for coffee or dinner or a movie and you get to know each other. Before the sex part.”
His description conjures up a whole bunch of scenarios I've seen on television, in movies, and read in books. But nothing I have actually experienced. I shake my head. "Nope. Never done that."
“You’ve never gone on a date?”
“Not with someone I haven’t already seen naked, no.” He looks positively dumbstruck. Maybe I should feel embarrassed about that but I don’t. “I guess you’re going to be my first date.”
“I guess so,” Axel says, awe still gripping his features in the cutest expression. He’s all wrinkled forehead and wide eyes.
“See you at dinner tomorrow night.” I press my key card to my hotel room door and twist the handle.
“Yeah. I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready to go.” Axel gives me another one of those brief flashes of a smile. “Be wearing more than a towel or bathrobe this time.”
He slips into his room before the laugh even escapes my lips. As I step into my suite, I tell myself that we’re good. He’s cool with me, and I’m going to be cool with him. Even though cool is something I’ve never been.
13AXEL
I gotmy wish last night. I ordered a Chef's salad from room service and was in bed by ten. Jerking off to thoughts of that sauna kiss, but still. It was an early night. Then I got to sleep in. Gabriel had a series of work events—a photo shoot for a sponsor, an interview with an F1 podcast, and a segment to film for Sky Sports with his teammate Sterling. He was busy with his trainer and a team meeting in the afternoon, so I researched Allard Couture UK, making notes on the events they held and attended last year, what their social media is like, and what Influencers promote them. And then I went over the contract Cordy (now Delia) emailed me for the sale of my loft. I ignore the line in her email that says 'I still haven't told you my second piece of good news!' I love my sister but it's going to be something like "I've found a new favorite nail polish color that goes perfectly with my business cards." Or something equally as absurd. Or something about my parents, who I'm currently kind of mad at. Anyway, my day was good. And I was feeling a little bit more like myself.
But tonight… tonight isn't going to be an early night. I come to terms with that the second Gabriel emerges from his hotel room. He's dressed in a simple V-neck shirt in a muted salmon color and gray linen pants. I feel suddenly very formal in my button-down shirt. Thank God I opted to forgo a tie. I'd thought about it, like the clueless dickhead I am. I don't know why I thought fancy would be better in a slutty town in the desert. Jesus, you'd think I was raised by dingoes in the outback and not by a film icon in a swanky mansion in Byron Bay. Something about Gabriel throws me off what little game I've managed to develop over the years.
I’m still berating myself for almost wearing a tie as we enter the restaurant. But when he slips his hand into mine it pulls me out of self-disparaging thoughts, like a record scratch. When I swivel my head to him, his inky eyes are, for the first time since I’ve met him, uncertain. “You said go hard, remember?”
I nod and swallow and try to smile, which probably makes me look like I’m on the verge of a seizure. At least that’s what I’m guessing from the furrowed brow of the host as he motions at our table, next to a plate glass window in the middle of the restaurant. Subtle, Louis, I think sarcastically. I clear my throat. “Actually do you have something… tucked into a corner? A booth or something less… see-and-be-seen?”
That’s a PR term I shouldn’t be using, but then again fuck it. When the press gets a hold of my name they’ll know what I do for a living. If they find out I used shop talk with the maître d it wouldn’t be a red flag. And theywillpay the guy to spill his guts. They always do. He gives me a pleasant smile. “I can arrange that. How about this?”
I tug Gabriel along by our joined hands to follow the host past the window, in between a row of four-seater tables and a set of two-seater booths, to the back left corner of the place. He motions to the last booth on the wall there. I nod and smile and slip him a ten for this trouble. I let go of Gabriel's hand, my fingers tingle from the lack of touch in protest. Gabriel slips into his side of the booth first and as I slide into mine, he leans forward, tanned forearms on the table cloth, and whispers. "Shouldn't we have stuck with the plan and sat at the most prominent table in the place?"
Before I can answer that question, a spark illuminates behind those blue eyes of his and he flashes me those perfectly white teeth. “Ah. Wait… better if we seem like we aren’t seeking out the attention. We’re just there for us. Smart. You aren’t just a pretty face.”
I grin. He winks. The waiter, a twenty-something named Fred, introduces himself and tells us the specials. Gabriel orders a bottle of a red I’ve never heard of and two appetizers, a warm Brie with baguette and a large garden salad with extra veggies, Dijon vinaigrette on the side. Something in the center of my chest blooms like night jasmine, fragrant and sweet. He remembered I wanted salad and made it happen.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully when the waiter leaves.
Gabriel waves a hand lightly and leans back in his chair. “Don’t thank me for salad. Thank me for the wine, though, after you fall in love with it. And you will. It’s French, luxurious and delicate all at the same time.”
I bite back the urge to say something coy like ‘so are you’ because I don’t think I could pull it off. Being flirtatious and cheeky is Gabriel’s superpower, not mine. It might lighten the mood, though, and so I almost say it. Because something has been off with Gabriel since the sauna kiss. I wanted him to take this more seriously, but I’m regretting that now. This feels wrong. He’s too serious and too quiet.
After a few tedious moments of silence, and the waiter uncorking the wine, which Gabriel tastes and approves, I pick up my glass, swirling it absently, and take a small sip. I don’t normally like red wine… except this is fucking good. Not bitter, or heavy like most reds. This is exactly as he said—luxurious but delicate. “Thank you for the wine pick. You’re right. I’m impressed.”
“I can do more than drive fast and push your buttons,” Gabriel replies as he sips his wine.
“You also do a shockingly accurate impersonation of a waiter on a yacht,” I say and his eyes widen and a smile tugs up the corners of his mouth.
“And you have a cheeky bastard side to you. Who knew?”
I chuckle under my breath. “Okay so let’s see what else we know about each other. Let’s play two truths and a lie.”
