“I love it.” I beam with thanks as he opens the door for me, and I slide in.
As he walks around to his side, I settle into the soft leather seat and inhale. The car smells clean with a subtle undertone of his aftershave. I take my chance to look around, to learn some juicy gossip about him. But the car gives nothing away; there are no clues, no sweet wrappers or discarded bottles of drink or newspapers. Actually, there’s nothing at all, and that is telling in itself. The inside of his car is spotlessly clean. If it wasn’t for the bag of sugar-free strawberry boiled sweets tucked into the cupholder, I would assume this car was brand-new and unused.
He eases into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a sexy purr that sounds expensive. As he drives us to the restaurant, I squirm in my seat, my body hyperaware of how close his hand is to my thigh whenever he changes gear. My pulse is thumping in my ears, and I try to discreetly wipe my clammy palms on my skirt.
“So, how was your day? Did it get any better after some random bloke spilled coffee all over you?” he asks.
I shrug and turn a little in my seat, so I can watch him on the sly. “Nope. That was the highlight of my day actually.”
“Pretty shitty day then.” He purses his lips and nods solemnly.
“Pretty shitty,” I agree, though truth be told, it was one of my better ones.
I’d been dreaming about speaking to him properly for months, and today, I spoke to him, and we are now out on a date. This is easily the highlight of my year.
The drive is only a couple of minutes, and he expertly glides into a parking space a little way away from the restaurant. I smile up at the red awning over the restaurant door as I exit the car. I’ve never actually eaten in here before but heard it is good. I’ve been in the cocktail bar upstairs once though; Heather and I were blind drunk, and I vomited into the bin. Hopefully, they won’t recognise me.
His eyes meet mine as I wait for him to reach my side of the car. He’s so close; his hands fiddle with the keys as we walk towards the restaurant. He reaches out and opens the door for me, motioning for me to go in first, and a little thrill runs through me at the gentlemanly gesture.
As we step in, it’s like sensory overload. The smells coming from the place make my mouth water, the lighting is soft, and the music playing quietly in the background is subtle enough that you can talk. It’s a very romantic place.
Jared steps to my side.
The greeter smiles over at us as Jared tells him he’s booked a table for two.
“Follow me, please.”
The greeter heads off into the restaurant, and as we follow, Jared sets a hand on the small of my back. It’s such a small gesture, the tiniest touch, but I have to use all of my focus to keep myself walking in a straight line and to not turn and pounce on him. Screw food. All I want is to take him back to my apartment, strip him out of his clothes, and run my fingertips and tongue across every inch of him. My body is alight just from the barest touch. I can’t even imagine how I’d cope if he touched me for real. I’d probably spontaneously combust.
When Jared pulls out a swanky leather chair for me, I sink into it and suck in a ragged breath. He slips into the seat opposite mine, our eyes meet and hold as his lips part, and somehow, I can tell he’s feeling this too—this sexual tension that’s consuming me and causing tummy flutters. And the room fades away. I could be anywhere, and I wouldn’t care as long as those whiskey eyes never left mine.
The greeter sets down a menu in front of each of us, breaking the eye contact, and I’m back in the room again.
“Your waitress will be over in a few minutes to take your order. Can I get you some drinks, or would you like to look at the wine list?”
I clear my throat, hoping my voice won’t come out as a ball of lust as I order a large glass of rosé. Jared orders a Diet Coke because he’s driving.
Get a grip, Amy! Breathe.
I force myself to look down at the menu, trying to focus, but all I can think about is the warm spot on my lower back where his hand was. “Everything looks so good,” I say, trying to quash the lustful feelings I’m still having.
Jared nods in agreement, and when the waitress comes over with our drinks, he leans back, not even noticing that her eyes linger on him for a split second too long. We order our food—tomato and basil pasta for me, chicken parmigiana and a green salad for Jared.
When we’re finally alone again, I seize the opportunity to ask all the questions I’ve wanted to ask for the last five months.
“So, how old are you, Jared?” I pick up my glass and take a small sip, knowing I need to take it easy on the booze tonight. When I drink too much, I talk too much, and that really isn’t going to help my trying to keep it cool image.
“I just recently turned twenty-eight. You?”
Perfect. I guessed he was around my age.
“Twenty-four.” I smile. “You already know I work on the trains, but I don’t know what you do.”
I’ve always wondered this. He dresses impeccably for work, goes to London every other Monday, and always carries a briefcase. Now, I know he has an expensive, sleek car. I always assumed he’s some sort of architect, designer, or something that involves being arty because I’ve seen him scribbling drawings into a notebook on occasion.
“I work for Jenkins and Banner. They’re a PR company, and I’m chief advertising strategist. It’s mostly finance, budgets, projections, calculating marketing trends and return on investment—that kind of thing.”
Finance. So, he is math nerdy instead of art nerdy.
“Do you like it?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’ve only been there a year. It’s a little different to what I thought it would be. There are a lot of changes I want to make, but it’s hard to get anywhere when there’s a board of directors shooting your proposals down without even looking at them. Plus, we’re currently going through a huge company merger, so there are loads of negotiations and projections I’ve had to get involved in. Not really my job, but I’ve been drafted in to oversee things there.”
He takes a swig of his drink, and I watch his throat bob. It’s sexy. He’s talking about board members and mergers, and what can I say? I like that shit. It’s my sweet spot. Weird, I know.
“Sounds stressful. What do you like to do to unwind in your spare time?”
He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll be honest; lately, I’ve barely had any spare time. Things are just a little crazy with work. When I do get spare time, I guess I spend it with friends and family or watch movies. I go watch Cambridge United occasionally. I also like to learn different languages.”
Intrigued, my eyebrow rises at that. “Really?”
He nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah. TV in the evening can be a bit naff sometimes, and I get bored easily, so I do online courses. Comes in handy with my job too, obviously.”
“What languages can you speak?” My skin prickles with excitement as I wait.
“French, Spanish, Italian.” He counts them off on his fingers. “This year, I’ve been learning Mandarin.”
My stomach gives a little internal swoon, and my brain is instantly firing, wondering how I can get him to speak some French or Italian to me. I’m not sure I could think of anything sexier than that. He shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if teaching himself foreign languages in his spare time is a normal thing. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to him.