Page 80 of Hot Mess
I assumed this was part of her whole pretense that she didn’t want to fuck me. You know, an excuse to go on a date with me and pretend to discuss my thoughts on her decorating plans. As if I had any.
So I took her to Starving Wolf Eatery. Or tried too. She insisted on meeting me there, since it was pretty much halfway between her place and mine and she said she wanted to walk. Right through cracktown.
When she arrived, I was already seated. Haz was at the bar. I was a regular, and I’d called ahead to the owner, had him set me up with a great table in the back corner.
The hostess brought Danica over, and Danica gave me a careful smile. She was wearing a shapeless dress that was kinda fitted in the waist, but otherwise was basically a white potato sack. Clearly, she’d worn it to give one message:This is a business meeting and in no way am I trying to be sexy.
Except she’d forgotten about her legs. The dress ended mid-thigh and from there on down… nothing but her perfect, gorgeous bare legs.
Unfortunately those disappeared under the table as soon as she sat down.
“Hi,” she said. The careful smile remained on her face as I sat back down. I’d gotten up when she approached, because maybe I’d seen it in a movie or something.
Wasn’t sure I’d ever done that for a woman before.
“Tell me you didn’t just come from Main and Hastings,” I said, and her smile faltered. Next time, I’d really have to insist on picking her up, or send her a cab or something if she didn’t want to drive, because the thought of this beautiful girl walking down junkies’ row gave me heartburn. Almost had to go out for a smoke while I waited.
“I took Pender,” she said, which was at least better.
“What part of Railtown do you live in?” I grilled her, leaning my elbows on the table and staring her down. It was like my eyes had forgotten how fucking pretty she was or something. Like every time I saw her she just got prettier. The curves of her cheekbones. Her gorgeous, soft-blue eyes. Her little chin and her soft lips.
“The middle part,” she said vaguely, looking uncomfortable about the attention, and focused on her menu.
I studied her.
What was it about her?
It definitely wasn’t that she reminded me of her sister. I didn’tknowher sister. They were both gorgeous, yes. I’d been drawn to her sister, too, in a drunken, horny sort of way.
But this was definitely something else.
I wanted to fuck her, yes.
I also wanted to figure her out a bit. So the fucking would be even better.
Because this girl wasn’t a one-night fuck. That much was obvious to me by now. She was a several-nighter, for sure. A woman you wanted to take a little extra time with, make the effort to try to blow her mind.
The waiter appeared, offering drinks, but I waved him away. “We need a few minutes.” When he retreated, I asked Danica, “Why do you live in the Downtown Eastside?”
She was pretending to read her menu and didn’t look up. “Because it’s more affordable than other areas, and there’s a community of artists, like me, and—”
“You’re an artist?”
Now she looked at me. Self-consciously. “Yeah. I, uh, make jewelry.” She fiddled with the charm bracelet on her left wrist. I looked at it, and at the necklace she wore with milky-pink stones on it, and the dangly gold earrings that peeked out through her long butterscotch hair.
“You made the jewelry you’re wearing right now?”
“I did.”
“You do metal work?” I had this sudden, white-hot vision of her over a blacksmith forge wearing a leather apron… and nothing else.
“No. I contract a company that provides the metals, according to my designs, and I source the jewels, and other elements from vintage jewelry, and then build everything.”
“That’s cool.”
She shrugged, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Definitely got the vibe she didn’t love talking about herself. “It’s just something I’ve always liked to do.”
“Always?”
