Cole’s hand moves from where it was rubbing my hand, up to cup my jaw. His touch is gentle, too gentle, as his thumb caresses my cheek and he looks me straight in the eye.
“Thanks for sharing that with me.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat, as Cole leans in and kisses me on the nose. I sit there stunned as he moves to get out and comes around to my side of the car to open the door. What the fuck is happening? Did he just kiss me on thenose? Maybe Cole’s awkward car talk is all I need, we don’t need to have sex, he just squashed my libido buzz with all the deep eye contact and weird feelings.
When Cole opens the door, I nearly spring out, dying to get out of the car, and away from all the yucky stuff that just happened in there. I liked the knuckle rub, that was nice, but everything else has got to go. I don’t want Cole to feel sorry for me, like he thinks I need attention or love because I don’t have parents anymore. I’m doing fine. Great, even. I’m about to do the most adult thing I’ve ever done, help my sister and brother-in-law have their baby, and I don’t need Cole messing with my emotions. They’re already out of control.
Cole extends his hand to me, but I pretend to be searching for something in my purse so I don’t have to take it. Enough with this hand holding stuff, dinner and sex—that’s what I signed up for. Cole is starting to try my patience. First, he demands a date, now he knows my phone number and where I live then extends our date to tomorrow, too. What’s next? Monogrammed pajamas? I think I need to remind him what is happening here. I thought it was pretty clear when I asked him to fuck me on his desk that I don’t need to be wined and dined. We could skip all the get to know you stuff and just keep this purely physical.
I know I’m being a bitch, but that’s just me, I guess—I can’t even blame it on the hormones. When I see where we are headed, I soften a bit. Barcelona. I’ve heard of this place. I’ve been dying to try it. It’s a new Spanish tapas restaurant everyone is raving about.
Cole holds the door open for me and I’m excited about what greets us. This place is definitely my vibe. Small and cozy, no wonder it’s hard to get in, there are like twelve tables. The lighting is low, almost an amber glow, from pendants hanging from the stamped ceiling. The floors are dark wood, and the walls are exposed brick. There’s no need for any wall décor, the hundred-year-old brick speaks for itself. There’s a small bar toward the back of the room, separating the dining room from the kitchen. I love all the historic charm.
It’s cool we got in, but now I’m curious to know how he got a table here on a Friday night, when he just demanded we go on this date eight hours ago.
The hostess motions for us to follow her to our table. Cole places his palm at my lower back, but his fingers are long, so I can feel the tips of them extend over the curve of my ass. As we walk, I can’t tell if his palm has moved lower or if it’s because I’m moving, but the way his fingers are gliding up and down on my ass is…everything. And there it is. One touch later and the primal need for me to slide his hand down and under the hem of my dress is back. The hostess shows us to our table, a two-top in a quiet nook by a window. In my lusty state I still manage to notice that every woman in the restaurant watches us walk by, and it isn’t because they think my dress is cute.
Once I’m seated, I immediately cross my legs, giving friction where friction is desperately needed. The hostess hands us the menus, and I immediately start looking for the drink section.
She knows what’s up and kindly hands me a separate small cocktail and wine menu.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” She smiles, then sneaks one last glance at Cole before beelining it back to the front of the restaurant.
Our waiter appears, his name is Charlie and he highly recommends the special, which I don’t catch because while he’s talking, Cole is listening and I’m staring at Cole. Whoops.
I can’t remember the last time I went out to a restaurant with a guy. My casual hook-ups are more relegated to Netflix and chill. Maybe drinks out and then heading back to his place.
We order drinks, a rosé for me and an old-fashioned for Cole.
“What sounds good to you?” he asks.
The way he rubs his jaw with his thumb while he studies the menu is so fucking hot. I squeeze my legs tighter. What sounds good is Cole’s head between my thighs, but I think he’s talking about dinner.
My eyes scan the menu, because I need to make food choices, not just because it’s a way to avoid looking at Cole. The printed paper menu is an indication that the menu changes frequently, or at the very least seasonally. My suspicions are confirmed when I see ‘week 6’ printed in the upper right-hand corner of the menu.
“Everything.”
The menu is set up as small plates, which I love, because I like to try a bunch of different things and not have to commit to one entrée. But there are no prices on the menu which bothers me because this isn’t a date-date, like there’s a future here…I don’t want Cole to be confused. I’ll have to explain to him later why I’m not a good investment. And it’s not just because of the surrogacy. I’m a wild card, and not the good kind, like in Uno where you can change to any color you want and it saves you from the draw pile.
“Have you been here before?” I ask.
“My buddy, Evan, is one of the owners. I was here for a grand opening cocktail party about two months ago.”
“I was wondering how you pulled off a reservation with such short notice.”
“Evan’s a good friend, we went to high school together. He went out east for culinary school, but came back to Denver to work his way up to executive chef at Rioja. Then decided to start up his own restaurant.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
Charlie returns with our drinks. I take a sip, hoping the chilled wine will help ease the fire burning in my lower region. Cole tells Charlie that we want his recommendation for selecting our dishes. Charlie lists off his top choices and Cole looks to me to approve.
“Sounds great.” I smile. I have no idea what we just ordered. Charlie’s reaching for my menu now, but I’m having trouble parting with the only thing shielding me from Cole’s intense gaze.
“Did you want to keep a menu for the table?”
“Um, no, I’m good.” I finally release the paper menu.
