Love to Love Her YAC (14 page)

“Coming!” says a muffled voice from behind
the door. I hear a crash like something has fallen over, and my
hand immediately moves to the doorknob.

“Rhiannon?” I jiggle the knob, but it’s
locked. I can feel the panic rising in my chest, but before I have
a chance to act on it the deadbolt clicks and the door is flung
open.

“Sorry, I tripped,” says a sheepish voice. I
start to open my mouth to ask if she’s okay, but all thought
processes grind to a halt as I take in the vision before me. The
beautiful, blushing girl I’ve gotten to know over the past few
weeks has been replaced by the sexiest, most stunning woman I have
quite possibly ever seen.
Fuck
.

Rhiannon steps back to allow me space to
enter. I can’t take my eyes off her as I step around her. She’s in
a tight silver dress that forms to her every perfect curve and dips
just enough in the front to display some cleavage while remaining
tasteful. And fucking hell, those legs. Long, slender and creamy
white, they look even more gorgeous in a pair of strappy high
heels.

I pivot to shut the door behind me, trapping
Rhiannon against it in the process. I move my right hand further up
the door over her shoulder and jam my left in my pocket, not
trusting myself to keep from touching her. “You look amazing,” I
say, only somewhat surprised at the way my voice comes out in a
husky whisper.

“Thank you,” she whispers back. She reaches
up to tug lightly on my tie and keeps her hand wrapped around it as
she says, “You look good, too…I like your tie.”

I gaze intensely into her honey colored eyes,
like if I just stare long enough I’ll finally know what to make of
the nightmare I’m living these days.

At first Rhiannon seems to melt into me, but
then a visible shift occurs in her eyes, and her stance becomes
more rigid. She clears her throat. “I just need my purse,” she says
before ducking past me to snatch it off the back of the couch. When
she turns back around the expression of heavy-lidded desire has
been replaced by her familiar toothy smile.

My lust-addled brain scrambles to keep up
with the sudden change. A dull ache blooms in my chest when I
realize she’s effectively knocked us back into the “friend” zone. I
can’t tell if the twinge is more an indication of guilt or
frustration.

Rhiannon moves toward the door as if to
leave. “Are you coming?” she asks when she notices I have yet to
budge.

“Don’t you think you should put something
else on over that?” I ask, choosing my words carefully so as not to
offend her. “It’s pretty chilly out there.” Truthfully the frigid
evening air has nothing to do with my suggestion – I wouldn’t mind
it one bit if I was called upon to protect Rhiannon from the
elements with my own body heat. However, it’s easier to blame my
concern on the weather than on my streak of unjustified
possessiveness. I inwardly cringe as I calculate the probability of
Rhiannon being hit on and checked out by other guys all
evening.

“Oh yeah, my jacket,” says Rhiannon. Relief
floods me. She disappears down the hallway and returns a moment
later with a short sleeved jacket that fastens over the front of
her dress. Her legs are still on parade, but I don’t suppose I can
force her to go put on a pair of pants over her dress, so I just
nod my quasi-approval.

“After you,” I say.

Rhiannon – 7:45 PM

W
e’re taking a taxi,
knowing it’s open bar tonight and neither of us feels up to being
the DD. We slide into the back of the yellow sedan, and Blake pulls
the door shut behind us. I rattle off the address Corinne texted
me, and we’re off.

I can’t get over how amazing Blake looks. His
shaggy hair is neatly combed and parted down the side. And, while I
think I still prefer him in a t-shirt and jeans, I have to admit he
looks hot in his ironed shirt and tie. The snug fit of his shirt
showcases his broad shoulders and lean, hard torso, and his tie
even matches my dress. I only wish his tattoo wasn’t covered up by
his shirt sleeve.

During the thirty minute ride I do my best to
explain the situation between Corinne and Vince. I also tell him
about the restaurant, which is called Solace and specializes in
Mediterranean and Italian fare. Critics have been raving about it,
and the grand opening is expected to be a resounding success.

When we pull around the circular drive in
front of the restaurant, Blake and I are both rendered temporarily
speechless. It’s a rustic stone and wood structure that could
almost pass for an elegant ski lodge, and strategically placed
lights ensconced in the ground throw dramatic shadows on the
exterior walls. A lit footpath leads around the building to the
back side facing the water.

Blake pays the cab driver before offering me
his arm to escort me inside. The restaurant’s interior is equally
as impressive as the outside of the building, with vaulted
ceilings, teak finishes and votive candles flickering on each of
the tables, which are bare polished mahogany. I leave my jacket at
the coat check in exchange for a numbered tag, and I walk away
exposed and slightly self-conscious of my bare neck and shoulders.
Blake protectively cups my waist and guides me to the hostess
stand.

I give our names to a pretty girl about my
age in a black wraparound dress, and she beckons for us to enter.
“Cocktails are available at the bar, and the dinner service will
begin at 8:30,” she says before turning to the next couple.

“It’s pretty in here, huh?” I say.

“Not as pretty as you,” Blake says coyly. I
roll my eyes and laugh at his corniness but relish it
nonetheless.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he
asks.

“A grasshopper, please,” I tell him. He steps
away to place our order and returns with my cocktail and a bottle
of beer.

“Oh no, I can already tell how this evening
is going to end…We’re schmoozing with high society tonight, and my
date is drinking
beer
,” I tease him drily. “Now everyone
will see us for the interlopers we really are.” I pretend to glance
around nervously.

Blake stops before taking a pull from his
bottle. He points at the little green shield icon on the label and
says, “Oh don’t worry – this isn’t just any beer. This shit costs
like 85 bucks for a six-pack. I am classing it up.” He winks at me
as he proceeds to take a swig.

“Whew, glad to hear it. I’m trying to
blend
, ya know? Can’t have you cramping my style.”

Blake laughs and shakes his head as my phone
sounds, and I tap on the incoming text message from Corinne.

Are you here yet? We’re out on the deck.

“Ruthie and Corinne are outside,” I tell
him.

“Lead the way, you charlatan,” he says,
waggling his eyebrows at me. I marvel at how well his hand fits
against my waist, wishing I didn’t like it so much, as we swim
upstream against the burgeoning crowd of people.

Just as we reach the doors I meet the gaze of
a man I would guess to be in his late twenties. His glassy eyes
have a predatory gleam to them that surprises me. As I pass him he
grabs hold of my elbow and jerks me backward away from Blake. I can
smell the whiskey on his breath as he presses close to me.

“That’s quite a dress you’ve got on. Come
find me later, and I’ll see if I can’t help you out of it,” he
growls.

I’m more amused than offended at his failed
attempt at a pickup line, but I don’t even have time to object
before Blake pushes in between us, swatting the guy’s hand off my
arm.

“You don’t speak to her,” he says, his voice
deepening to the level of a thinly veiled threat. “You don’t even
look at her. She’s with me, you got that?”

The man just laughs as he takes a step
backward. “Chill, dude. Duly noted, okay? I don’t poach.” He takes
another step before adding, “You’re one lucky bastard, though, you
know that?”

Blake clenches his hands into fists as he
whirls back around, clearly livid. He doesn’t even look at me
before lacing his fingers with mine and pushing aggressively
through the remaining crowd, pulling me along in his wake.

“Thanks, but I could’ve handled him myself,”
I call to him as we reach a quieter spot near the fringe. He
doesn’t answer, just squeezes my hand more tightly.

Once we’re free of the swarm I stop to
process our surroundings and crane my neck to scan for a familiar
face. Seating is available on two levels of a sweeping deck, which
has been built to wrap around a massive alder tree. Its leafy
branches, which are lit with tiny white paper lanterns, form a
canopy over the lion’s share of the tables on the upper tier of the
deck. On either side of the deck, a set of five steps leads down to
another seating area with space heaters interspersed that is open
to the stars. The view of the mountains and the lake dotted with
boats from the nearby pier is incomparable. For this evening, a
portion of the lower deck has been cleared to make room for
dancing, and a few instruments litter a small makeshift stage,
where presumably a band will begin playing sometime after
dinner.

“Wow,” I breathe. I glance over at Blake, but
he still seems distracted. I study him for a moment, assessing the
situation. I decide to let him stew in his own juices for a bit –
he’ll get over whatever is eating at him.

I tug on his hand to lead him toward the
lower deck, where I’ve just spotted Corinne and Ruthie. Both girls
look amazing in their respective dresses, their hair twisted into
elegant updos. They give me brief hugs when we approach and ogle
Blake like the eye candy he is, brooding though he may be.

“You must be Patrick,” I say, extending my
hand to the tall football player type with the shaved head towering
next to Ruthie. He is most certainly not what I had envisioned, but
he’s certainly cute.

“Gah, where are my manners?!” exclaims
Ruthie. “Patrick, these are my friends, Rhiannon and Blake.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he says politely.
“Cool name,” he tells me as he shakes my hand.

“I wish I could take credit, but I didn’t get
to pick,” I reply, grinning at him when he turns to shake Blake’s
hand as well.

“Hey man, good to meet you,” says Blake. He
seems to relax marginally as he returns the handshake.

“So where’s Vince?” I ask, directing my
question at Corinne.

“Slaving away in a hot kitchen,” sighs
Corinne. “I have a feeling I may be solo most of the evening.” She
reaches to swipe another glass of wine off the tray of a passing
waiter.

“You should’ve asked Spence to be your plus
one,” offers Ruthie with a wink in my direction.

Corinne reddens, then shakes her head.
“Clearly you’ve already had too much to drink.”

“Which one of us is on her third glass of
wine, hmm?” Ruthie retorts.

Corinne ignores her comment and turns as a
server approaches us. “Would you care to join us in the dining room
for dinner?” he asks. We follow him back up the steps and join the
masses merging toward the doors. More smartly dressed employees
wait inside to escort groups to their tables. Ours is a circular
booth in the corner of the restaurant where seamless
floor-to-ceiling windows intersect to offer an unobstructed view of
the darkening landscape.

Ruthie slides in first, taking the center
seat. Patrick and then Corinne follow on the left, and Blake and I
file in to the right. The server stands by patiently, allowing us
to get situated before handing us our menus.

Blake orders a whiskey neat, and Corinne
catches my eye from across the table, a questioning look on her
face. I respond in kind, shrugging slightly at his sudden switch to
the hard stuff.

The waiter arrives with baskets of bread. We
order bottles of red and white wine for the table, along with
portabella fritters, steak tartare and Dungeness crab cakes for
appetizers. Blake stretches his arm out behind me as he melts into
his seat, no doubt relishing the warmth of the liquor coursing
through him. His legs move against mine as he lengthens them
beneath the table.

Corinne clears her throat. “I need to go
powder my nose,” she announces. “Come help me find the ladies’
room, Rhiannon.”

“Uh, okay.” I fold my cloth napkin and lay it
on my seat as I stand to walk with Corinne. Our heels click against
the gleaming hardwood floor as we make our way back toward the coat
check and the sign marked “Restrooms.”

Corinne opens the door and I enter the
tastefully appointed room, shocked to find we’re the only ones
here. Corinne strolls pointedly to the gold framed mirror and pulls
a compact out of her satin clutch.

“So what’s with your date?” she asks. “Did
you kick him in the balls before y’all showed up or what?”

I sigh, leaning back against the sink next to
her. “I wish I knew. We had a little incident earlier before we
found you all. Some guy tried to paw at me and made some lewd
comments, and he’s been a little off ever since.”

“Did he know the guy?” Corinne asks, swiping
powder across the bridge of her already flawless nose.

“Don’t think so. He just took it personally
for some reason. I don’t know why – it’s not like I’m his
girlfriend he’s sworn to protect.”

“No, he just wishes you were,” says Corinne,
snapping the compact shut.

Blake – 9:30 PM

W
e’re well into our
third course, which is being served family style for this evening
to allow everyone to try small portions of multiple dishes.
Steaming plates of veal piccata, Italian sausage risotto, grilled
scallops and ricotta and leek ravioli circulate around the table.
And, of course, the alcohol is flowing freely. I feel happy and
carefree, which was my goal when I ordered the straight up whiskey
and then chased it with another of the same. I’m anesthetized to
the point where I’m
almost
able to forget the way it made me
feel when that asshole came onto Rhiannon and I realized I had no
right to say anything about it. My responsibility in that situation
began and ended with prying his hands off her – I’m pretty sure she
didn’t want them there, after all, or at least I hope she
didn’t.