Page 38 of Crashing Into You

But at the same time, I feel awkward. I’m not used to this type of intimacy. But when Claire sees me, her ocean eyes lighting up, I relax. She practically runs into my arms, lifting her face for a kiss. Yeah, I could get used to this.

“Hey,” I say, once I lift my head.

“Hey.” She smiles, but there’s something in that blue gaze of hers, and as she presses against me, I can feel she’s tense.

“Everything all right?”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Shall we go?”

But as we head down the street together, hand in hand, she looks over her shoulder as though expecting to be followed. What the fuck is going on?

She’s back to her smiling gorgeous self by the time we sit down in the restaurant. It’s on the main street, with views across the trees towards the water. Cockatoos swoop like seagulls outside, stealing food from tables, shrieking and playing. We order drinks and food, then the waiter leaves us alone. The place is busy, but not super full, and there’s enough space around us that it feels almost private.

“How was your day?” Fuck. This feels weird. I don’t do the dating thing very often, tending to just meet girls at parties or bars. And Claire, her tits straining against the low-cut V of her top, is utterly distracting. I feel as though I’m thinking with my dick, and I try to pull it together. But there’s a fine gold chain hanging between her breasts and I just want to take it in my teeth, want to lick her, taste the soft skin there, see if it smells as good as the rest of her.

Maybe we need to fuck just so I can have an actual conversation with her. But that seems like a bullshit move, and not anything I plan on laying on her unless she’s into it too.

“Yeah, it was all right. Busy enough. You?”

“Okay. Had a couple of surfs.” I shrug. “Felt like a long day, to be honest.”

“Oh my god, me too.” The words burst from her, and she giggles. And then it all feels normal between us again. “Such a long day.” She rolls her eyes. “I was really looking forward to seeing you.” There’s a faint blush of pink on her cheekbones.

“Yeah.” I grin. “Me too.”

The waiter returns with our drinks. Soda water for me, and some sort of deep pink cocktail for Claire. I’m driving, and I don’t imagine she has a high opinion of drunk drivers. I also want to keep my wits about me.

Claire picks up her cocktail and takes a long sip through the straw, closing her eyes. She puts it down with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I needed that,” she says. She glances outside, her fine dark eyebrows drawing together slightly.

“Hard work selling all those dresses to assholes like me?”

“Oh, there’s no one like you,” she says. “I don’t usually go on dates with assholes I meet at work anyway.” She softens the words with a grin.

“This is a date then, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” She looks troubled for a moment.

I reach across the table, taking her hand, my fingers playing on her smooth skin. “It is. I’m just messing with you.”

She narrows her eyes. “Maybe my initial assumption about you was right.”

I laugh, clinking my drink with hers. “I aim to please.”

The waiter returns with our food, putting it down in front of us. Claire and I just watch each other. I can’t take my eyes off her, the smile playing around her lips, the way her hair falls in smooth waves either side of her delicate face.

“So tell me,” she says, putting her napkin on her lap and picking up her knife and fork. “Where’s the best place you’ve ever surfed?”

“I thought you didn’t like surfing.” Delight curls through me.

“I’m coming around to it. Thought it might be worth finding out a bit more about it, now I’m officially dating a surfer and all. Just in case anyone asks.” She purses her lips, raising an eyebrow. “So, hit me with it. Best wave, or whatever you call it.”

I laugh again, and start telling her about the places I’ve been to, where I’ve surfed. And as I watch her expressive face, her mouth as she talks, I want to take her to each and every one of them. She interrupts me every so often, challenging me, asking questions about what makes one place better than the other.

But at the same time, there’s a wariness about her. Not directed at me; rather, she keeps glancing outside, and every time the door swings open to admit more people, she jumps in her seat. Just a slight movement, but I’m attuned to her enough that I notice it. She doesn’t order any more cocktails, either, switching to soda water like me. Like she needs to stay alert for something.

Finally, after the twentieth worried glance outside, I put down my knife and fork.

“What’s going on?”