Page 19 of Tap Left
She’s hesitant. And I’m anxious, waiting for her reply.Finally, she gives me a little nod. I want to fist pump. I want to give her a celebratory fuck, right here and now.
I need to chill.
“Okay,” she agrees. “How will this work?”
“I’ll send a car for you. Seven sharp.”
“Alright. So, we’re like really doing this. I should dress up and everything?”
“Yes.”
Hell yes.
She reaches up on her toes and gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder.“Daire?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
6
Lola
After leaving Daire’s office, I called into the shop and told Britt I wouldn’t be back for the rest of the afternoon.If I’m going to treat this like a real date, then I need to prepare for the occasion.Which means a new dress.
It’s hard not to think about Daire’s reaction when I pick it out. I know he loves little black dresses. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the way his eyes lit up in the dressing room that day.I’m not deluded enough to believe it was me. Sometimes, guys just have a thing. Stilettos, lacey panties, red lipstick. Daire’s just happens to be little black dresses. And I’m sure he’s seen more than his fair share of them on his bedroom floor. It’s hard not to wonder if I’ll measure up to the rest of them. It’s a silly notion when I already know I don’t.
We’ve already established that Daire doesn’t see me that way, and that’s for the best.I don’t know why I care who he dates or what I look like in comparison. As usual, I’m overcomplicating something that should be quite simple.
As it turns out though, you can find the perfect little black dress for under fifty bucks. I buy a pair of red pumps at the sales woman’s insistence.She tells me they make my legs look freaking amazing.
And I want my legs to look freaking amazing.I want my date to feel something when he looks at me, andI’m not entirely sure if that’s a blanket statement, or it only really applies to Daire.
I spend time on my hair and my makeup. Pinterest tutorials are not for the faint of heart, and when I’m finished I’m fairly certain mine looks like the after picture that usually gets turned into a meme. But I don’t let it discourage me. I practice what I'm going to say. I research interesting topics of conversation. And then I have several panic attacks all before seven o'clock. This feels like a real date, and I don't know why.
It's just Daire.
But that thing he said about acting like strangers? I can't get it out of my head. It scares me and excites me. There have been so many times that I wished we could just erase our history. That we could forget every bad thing that has ever stained our lives. If only life was that easy.
When Daire sends a car for me, I’m surprised to see he's in the backseat, waiting for me. There’s a single rose in his hand, but not just any rose. It’s a chocolate rose.
It's sweet and simple and so unlike Daire.
"You look good enough to eat.” He gives me a wicked smile.
"Thank you," I whisper. "So do you. I mean... you look good, too."
The car ride is quiet but comfortable. He takes me to Trattoria No. 10 this time, and when we step inside, it’s like all my dreams have come true. It smells like fresh bread and roasted garlic, and I am such a sucker for carbs. He knows I love Italian and he isn’t playing fair. It's intimate and romantic, and the waiter doesn’t know him by name here. But he gives us a private table in the corner anyway because Daire looks like the kind of guy you give a private table to. I order prosecco and gnocchi, and Daire opts for a strip steak and water. Then it's just the two of us, bathed in soft candlelight.
We aren’t the only presence at the table tonight. There’s a riot of tension between us. The pressure to forget everything and play our respective roles is at the forefront of my mind, but Daire seems to be doing just fine. He’s staring at me. Really staring at me. I cross my legs, and he notices. He notices everything. And he's never been so attuned to me. Has he?
There are too many variables in this scenario that I don’t know how to handle, so I focus on the list I made before I came here. "Want to play a game?"
Daire drums his fingers over the table. "What did you have in mind?"
"An icebreaker of sorts. I ask a random question, and we both answer. Then it's your turn. But it can't be any of the normal, boring questions."
He gives me a crisp smile, and I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time we were at dinner. He told me I was boring and quiet and a lot of other things that hurt, but I took them to heart, and I want to show him I’ve learned.
