Page 84 of Hot Mess
“And we’re ready to order our food.” She blinked at me hopefully. “Aren’t we?”
Cute. She was trying to move this along.
“We’ll start with the roasted Brussels sprouts, then the crab cakes,” I told the waiter, not even cracking my menu open. Figured I could draw this out with enough courses. Was pretty bent on getting Danica Vola between the sheets before the night was through, but I didn’t mind feeding her first. Seemed like she needed a little time to get comfortable with the idea that we were gonna fuck, anyway. “Unless you want to add another appetizer to that,” I told her.
“Those sound good,” she said, reluctantly.
“And you want the albacore tuna or the smoked prosciutto pizza or the buttermilk fried chicken,” I informed her. “Trust me. Unless you’re veggie…?”
“I’m not.” She smiled at the waiter. “I’ll have the tuna, please.”
“Chicken,” I told him, handing over our menus. “We’ll keep the liquor menu.”
“You come here a lot?” Danica asked, after he’d walked away.
“My favorite restaurant.”
Her eyes widened a little.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, deadpan. “I didn’t choose it because I’m falling in love with you and I want to create a special memory or something. I chose it because the food is the fucking bomb. I really didn’t expect you to whip out a ring.”
A tentative smile played at her lips. “Don’t tell me I’m really the first girl who’s ever done that.”
“You are, actually.”
She sipped her water and made no move to take the ring back.
Neither did I.
“Can I, um, ask you a personal question?”
“You can,” I said.
“How do you stay so… fit… and still manage to drink beer and eat fried chicken?”
“Gym, mountain bike, surfboard, wakeboard, snowboard.”
“Oh.”
“And when I’m touring, the stage eats up a lot of it.”
“Right.”
“Do you work out?”
“I do a barre class,” she said, fiddling with her bracelet again like she was embarrassed by that or something. “You know, like a ballet barre.”
“You’re a ballet dancer?”
“God, no. Are you kidding? I’d have to lose about thirty pounds and keep it off, forever. Not happening. Plus, I am not that graceful. It’s just a fitness class.”
“Cool.” I wasn’t sure thirty pounds was accurate, but either way, she clearly had a lower opinion of her body than I did. From where I was looking, she’d be hot as fuck in a leotard. “Anything else?”
She shrugged. “I like going for long rides on my bike and exploring the city, when the weather’s nice. It’s a cruiser, though. Not so good for mountain trails. I’m not that hardcore.”
“You look like you’re in great shape.” And yes, I took the opportunity to check her out when I said that. Not that I could see much, but my imagination was pretty good at filling in the blanks. “You ever want to lift some weights, I can train with you. Got access to a private gym we can use.”
She didn’t seem to have a clue what to say to that offer.
