But as soon as he texted me and asked what I thought of the idea, I got goosebumps. Everything about him has appealed to me so far, and this ticks another box for me.
I find myself walking a little faster in anticipation. I’m early, but I’m always early. My idea of late is being on time. I glance down at the phone I have in my hand to check the time. Perfect. I can see the restaurant up ahead, and I should be ten minutes early. I’ll be able to take a breath, fix my hair, and try to act nonchalant as I wait for Brady to show up.
I reach the door of the restaurant, which is painted a vibrant red, pull it open, and adjust my eyes to the dim lighting inside. I see flickering candles in small lanterns on wood tables. Vietnamese-style birdcages and beautiful colored paper lanterns hang from the ceiling in an artful cluster over the main dining area, and the walls have a beautiful bird-and-floral pattern on a charcoal gray wallpaper. Black chairs and booths complete the sexy vibe.
I am about to approach the hostess stand when my eyes fall upon the raised bar.
Brady is there waiting for me.
My heart leaps when my eyes discover him. He’s taken a seat and is scrolling through his phone, a glass of water parked at his side. I stand completely still, simply drinking him in. He’s wearing a rich plum sweater with the sleeves pushed up, revealing his beautifully inked arms. Even from here, I can see how massive his shoulders are, how broad his chest is a—
Brady suddenly lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. A huge smile lights up his face, and now my heart is beating in overdrive. He rises from his stool, unfolding his tall frame. I see he has dressed up for me, wearing charcoal gray pants and a pair of black oxford loafers.
I feel my pulse quicken with each step he takes toward me. Finally, he’s standing before me, and I feel woozy from his presence. My God, he’s so handsome.
I’m going to need to draw more checkboxes on my list. Because by being early and dressing up and picking this cool restaurant to eat at?
I’m going to run out of boxes by the time we select appetizers.
I watch his pale-green eyes appraise me as he approaches. I feel this energy run through me, a mixture of anticipation and excitement, as he stops a few steps in front of me.
“Addison, you look gorgeous,” Brady says. He lets out a deep breath. “Wow.”
His eyes take me in again, moving over my chiffon, long-sleeved black mini dress and my tall black boots. I threw a double-breasted, rich-red wool coat over the top and matched my lip color to it. Thank you, Dior, for your shade called Red Smile. I swept some of my hair up, but in a loose twist, allowing some wispy locks to frame my face.
“Thank you,” I say, happy that he likes how I look.
“Damn, girl,” he continues, raking a hand through his hair. Then he flashes me that crooked smile. “You are merely at the hostess stand, and you’re already throwing fastballs at me.”
My stomach flips at his words. I think he’s using pitches like I use checkboxes.
And I’m pretty sure I just threw a strike in his book.
He pauses for a moment, then flashes me a grin. “I have a reservation for us,” he says. “This way.”
Brady inclines his head for me to walk ahead of him to the hostess stand, and as soon as I move in front of him, I feel his fingertips graze the small of my back to escort me. I nearly gasp from the sensation of his hand touching me.
I’m with more than a grown-ass man, I realize.
I’m with a gentleman.
We reach the hostess stand, and Brady leans in closer to me so he can speak to the hostess. His body brushes against mine, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Reservation for Jensen,” he says.
The hostess marks it on her screen and picks up two menus. “Follow me, please.”
I fall in behind her, and Brady once again places his hand lightly on the small of my back.
How is it possible for him to tick this many boxes on my man chart before we even sit down to dinner?
“Here we are,” the hostess says, placing menus on a table near the back of the restaurant. One side is a low-slung booth, and the opposite side is a chair.
“Where do you prefer to sit?” Brady asks.
Tick!
“The chair is fine, thank you,” I say, taking my Longchamp nylon tote and draping it on a corner of my chair back. I begin to take off my coat, and Brady steps in to help me out of it.
“Allow me,” he says.
Is there anything sexier than a man with old-school manners?
Yes. A gorgeous, tattooed man with retro manners.
Two more boxes are ticked on my list.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he drapes the coat over the back of my chair. I take my seat, and then Brady slides into the booth across from me.
“Hien will be your server tonight,” the hostess says, placing our menus down in front of us. “Enjoy your evening.”
Brady picks up the beer and wine menu and begins reading it. My eyes, however, are nowhere near the menu as I take in the tattoo sleeves on his arms. I study his right arm, which is holding up the wine list. There are contrasting shades of black ink on his skin. Ooh, this is fascinating. I see what looks like seaweed and the tentacles of an octopus wrapping around his forearm and his wrist bo—
“Addison?”
I jerk my eyes away from his arm to his face. Brady is staring at me, waiting for my answer.
To a question I do not know.
“Um, I’m sorry, what?” I ask, hoping he didn’t realize I was fascinated with the marine life art inked on his arm.
He raises an eyebrow. “Am I boring you already?”
Okay. I’ll confess.
“I’m sorry, I was studying the tattoo on your right arm. Is that an octopus?”
Brady sets the menu down and stretches out his arm on the table, his fingertips lightly tracing over the inked skin. “It is. The tentacles go all the way up my arm,” he explains, trailing his fingers up until they meet the sleeve of his pushed up sweater, then over the fabric of his bicep, and stopping at the shoulder, “and the actual octopus is up here.”
“I’ve never seen one like that,” I say, fascinated. “Why did you choose an octopus? What is the meaning of it?”
“Well, for one, I love the water,” Brady says. “I surf in the off-season. I love swimming in the ocean, staring at it, listening to it, smelling the salt in the air. It’s the one place I feel at home, if that makes sense. If I’m near water, I’m happy. Last year I played in the minor leagues and was lucky enough to be in Louisiana, on the Gulf of Mexico. When I thought I was going to Chicago, at least I’d have Lake Michigan. Here, I have the Potomac and the Chesapeake Bay.” He flashes me a lopsided grin. “I’ll take it.”
I laugh, and he continues.
“So I did some research and thought about what would best represent my connection to the water. I grew up a few blocks from the Pacific, and the ocean is what I love. I wanted to represent some of the sea life down there, but it had to represent me, too.”
“Hmm. So you pick a creature that has long tentacles?” I tease.
Brady immediately holds both hands up. “I promise to keep my two arms to myself tonight.”
Ooh, he’s cute, I think, that swoony feeling drifting over me again.
“But the octopus, with eight arms that can grab nonetheless, is like me in some ways.”