Play Me (11 page)

“We’ll see.
Who knows.” Dakota winked at me. “Maybe we’ll go on
a double date with you and Ella sometime soon. If you’re
lucky.”

Ella

I should have asked to
borrow some clothes from Nina, I thought, as I stared at my
monochromatic wardrobe. Sure, black was still the best thing to wear
if you didn’t want to think about putting together an outfit
each morning and you really didn’t want anyone to focus on what
you were wearing (something that was encouraged in classical music).
And this philosophy had served me well ever since high school, when
disappearing had been more than just a personal choice; it had been a
survival tactic.

But now, I didn’t
want to disappear. Tonight, I wanted Jake to look at me, to see me.
And I was starting to rethink my shopping preferences for the past
ten years.

Not only was everything
in my closet black, but also it was draped or flowing, a more
fashionable way to say shapeless and sexless. There was something
terribly ironic about my current situation—standing in front of
hangers of plain black dresses while wearing a bright red lace bra
and panty set complete with thigh-high stockings and garters. Why
couldn’t I own a dress as sexy as what I put on underneath it?
I thought back to the red dress that Nina had practically begged me
to buy last week. Back then, I couldn’t even imagine a
situation where I would have worn something like that. But right now,
I was wishing I had a whole closet full of dresses like that—each
more sexy than the last. I wanted to knock Jake’s socks off,
but with the arsenal I had, I would be lucky if I could untie his
shoelaces with the power of my sex appeal.

I pulled out my
favorite of the black dresses—like all of them, it fell just
below my knees and had elbow-length sleeves, but this one was a bit
more loose in the front, which made it unpredictable when I was
leaning forward. Usually I wore a black tank top under it, but not
tonight. I also took one of my scarves—black, of course—and
used it as a makeshift belt, drawing the dress a little closer to my
body and showing that yes, I actually had a waist under there. My
only heels, black kitten heels, probably wouldn’t set anyone’s
libido on fire, but they were better than the flats or booties I
usually wore.

I looked at myself in
the mirror. I looked . . . okay, I supposed. The
neckline of the dress wasn’t as daring as I had remembered, but
then I leaned forward and caught a glimpse of red lace. That was
good. For a moment, I thought of leaving my hair down, but it just
seemed to make me look scared—my big eyes peering out behind a
mess of hair. So I put it back in my usual bun, wishing I had my
sister’s wild locks and the confidence to wear it that way.

Then, on impulse, I
went to my jewelry box—mostly plain silver hoops and
bracelets—and dug out the box of crystals my mother had been
giving me for years. I picked one, a bright, vibrant red, almost
matching my lingerie, and strung it onto one of my simple silver
chains. It sparkled when I put it on, the long, thin crystal resting
on my throat, almost like an arrow pointing down. Down to where there
actually was something seductive. It wasn’t much, but it was
better than nothing. At least it was some color. Something bright.

But when I looked back
at the mirror, the girl reflected there still looked like she was
going to a funeral, rather than on a date. I should cancel, I
thought. Cancel and buy myself that red dress. Or cancel and just
hide in my bed for the rest of my life because what was I doing? No
one would ever call Ella Thomas sexy. This was ridiculous!

I felt a panic attack
begin to rise in my throat, and I sat down on my piano bench, willing
myself to take long, deep breaths. This was fine, I thought. It’s
just a date. You’ve been on dates before. But none with guys
that made me want to rip their clothes off and then my own and do the
naked horizontal mamba. I thought about Jake, his scruffy, dimpled
face and chest chiseled by the gods, and knew that I had never been
on a date like this.

But before my panic had
the chance to reappear, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find a
clean-shaven Jake, wearing a neatly pressed button-up shirt and
extremely well-fitting dark jeans. My heart pounded like a Timpani
drum. Boom. Boom. Boom. Holy cow, he was handsome. My mouth watered
at the sight of him standing there and I wondered if the whole “going
out” thing was really necessary.

“Wow,” I
said before I could stop myself. My face went immediately hot, but he
just grinned and that perfect dimple of his deepened.

“Wow yourself,”
he told me, and I wouldn’t have believed him, but the
expression on his face—the darkening of his eyes, the heat in
his gaze and the way he practically licked his lips as he looked at
me—kept my questioning tongue in my mouth. If he had a thing
for shapeless black dresses and the women who wore them, I was not
going to argue.

“Like I said.”
He reached out to play with the sleeve on my dress. “Sexy
Sister Ella.”

I couldn’t help
but laugh.

Jake offered me his
arm. “Are you ready for our date?”

Oh yeah.

He took me to a parking
lot. Well, not just any parking lot. A parking lot that was full of
food trucks.

“Since I know
you’re not really a foodie, I thought we’d just try a
bunch of different stuff. Figure out what kind of things you like,”
he told me, my hand still wrapped around his arm. I hadn’t
wanted to move and he had made no indication that he wanted me to, so
I just let him lead me around the circle of trucks, the smell of
spices and meat and sugar and so many things I couldn’t
identify nearly overwhelming me. A few weeks ago, if someone had
invited me to try a bunch of food from trucks, I would have very
quickly found an excuse and gone home to my chicken noodle soup.

But like I had been at
my parents’ house, confronted with Chinese food I had never
really been interested in, I was suddenly ravenous.

I gave Jake a smile—one
that he returned.

“Okay,” I
told him. “What’s first?”

He led me to a picnic
area, set off a little from the major areas of foot traffic and on
the other side of a large tree, and I was surprised to find a blanket
already spread out with a bottle of wine already open and two wine
glasses balancing on what seemed to be a mini makeshift table. A
teen, no more than sixteen, was standing there, waiting patiently.

“Ella.”
Jake made the introductions. “This is Michael. Michael, this is
Ella.”

“Hi, Michael.”
I shook his hand.

“Hey,” he
said, shuffling on his feet a little, the way that most teenage boys
did when confronted with adults they didn’t really know.

“Michael is going
to be the next great San Francisco chef,” Jake told me. “After
me, of course.” He gave the teen a playful jab in the side.

“Naw, man.”
Michael kicked the ground.

“You know the
first lesson of cooking,” Jake reminded him.

“Clean as you
go?” I offered, recalling what Jake had said back in his
kitchen.

“You remembered?”
Jake looked surprised but pleased. “Okay, then, the second rule
of cooking?”

But Michael just
shrugged, still looking down at his tennis-shoed feet.

“When someone
tells you you’re going to be great, believe them.” Jake
gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze. “Alright, clearly I’ve
embarrassed you enough. Can you go get our first course?”

“Yep.”
Michael nodded his head and took off before any more praise could be
lavished on him.

We settled onto the
blanket and Jake poured the wine, passing the glass to me. I took a
small sip, remembering what I did to him when I drank too much too
quickly. Though, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind a repeat of
the other day’s events. Especially when there was less of a
chance of the same interruption.

“So,” I
couldn’t help asking, “do you know a lot of teen
protégés?” I thought of how encouraging he had
been with Jeremiah—clearly this guy had a knack with kids.

“Only a few.”
Jake gave me a wink. “I sometimes volunteer at a local high
school. Cooking lessons, that kind of thing. A lot of the kids seem
to enjoy it; some of them think it’s girly stuff so they don’t
want to even try. It took a lot of convincing to just get Michael to
admit that he liked eating.” He smiled at me over the rim of
the wine glass. “Like someone else I know.”

I blushed but said
nothing.

Jake took a sip of the
wine. “But he’s a natural. Really, really talented. I
want him to come intern at the restaurant during the summer, but he’s
still resistant.”

“Yet, he’s
here, helping you out,” I noticed.

“Yeah, well.”
Jake looked a little embarrassed. “A lot of the girls in his
class kind of have a crush on me. He gets a lot of girl cred when he
does this kind of stuff—and if one of them sees him
tonight . . . ” Jake let out a whistle,
“Well, that could bode very well for him tomorrow in school.”

I smiled, imaging a
whole room full of teen girls swooning while Jake taught them how to
bake a cake. “So you help my students learn how to make
brownies, you teach high school students how to cook, and you’re
also a dating coach? Is there anything you don’t do?”

“I can’t
play piano,” he said, and clinked his glass against mine.

Before I could say
anything else, Michael returned with his arms full of little baskets
of food.

“Round one,”
Jake said, taking them from Michael and placing them on the table.

“Round one?”
I asked, looking at all the food in front of us. “How many
rounds are there going to be?”

“As many as you
can stand,” Jake said with a grin. “You say you’re
not really a food person, but I bet I can find something here that
you like. Something, dare I say it, that brings you pleasure.”

I had no doubt that he
would succeed, but at that moment the kind of pleasure I was thinking
about had nothing to do with food.

I tried everything.
Sushi, kimchi, falafel, banh mi, tacos, pierogis, dumplings, samosas,
and then for dessert, Jake insisted on maple butter custard. Even
though I thought I could barely eat another bite, I was enticed by
the rich scent and ended up eating practically the entire thing.

“So . . . ”
Jake leaned back, taking stock at the food we had devoured. “Looks
like the winners were falafel, samosas and, of course, the custard.”

I looked down at the
empty custard cup in my hands, too full to be embarrassed. I had
never enjoyed eating so much in my life. Jake had given me a mini
culinary lesson with each dish, telling me about its history and the
variety of methods used to make it. On occasion, I had been so
distracted by what he was saying that I hadn’t even taken the
chance to really notice what I was eating, just how it tasted. And
after every different item tried, Jake would ask me a series of
questions about what I liked or didn’t like about it. How did I
feel about the texture? About the flavor? About the presentation? The
combination of spices? Could I taste the ginger? How about the
paprika? I began eating with a new awareness, searching for flavors
with each bite. It became almost like an adventure.

Michael returned a few
times, to help clear the small table or bring us new food, but for
the most part we were alone, practically hidden from the crowds by
the large tree we were sitting beside. I had never imagined being
outside in the city could feel so intimate.

“Thank you,”
I told Jake after the mini table had been cleared. “This was
really lovely.”

“I’m glad
you liked it,” he said. “It’s always fun to watch
people discovering things they enjoy.”

“You were a great
teacher,” I told him and leaned forward for my last sip of
wine. I wasn’t drunk, but I was feeling very warm and happy. I
touched the crystal necklace that felt heavy against my neck and I
saw Jake’s eyes automatically go to where it was hanging. When
his eyes widened, I realized that the neckline of my dress had
probably leaned forward with me, giving him a front row look at my
red bra.

“So,” he
said, his eyes quickly returning to my face, though I could hear a
slight strain in his voice. “What next?”

I felt emboldened by
the wine and by his reaction, so I leaned forward further. “Why
don’t we go back to my apartment and I can show you something
else that
I
enjoy?”

Ella

My hand trembled as I
tried to fit the key in the lock. What was with these doors? My
brashness had begun to wear off the closer we got to the apartment.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to rip Jake’s clothes
off and devour him like the frozen custard, but with each step, my
insecurities began to replace the sense of confidence I had begun to
feel sitting on the blanket with him. Maybe it was easier to be fun
and flirtatious in a public place, but now that we were alone . . . 

None of my past
boyfriends had ever used words like “sexy” or “hot”
to describe me. If anything, I was “nice” or “pretty.”
I certainly wasn’t someone who was lusted after. And what if,
when it came down to it, I was just as boring in bed as I had found
my exes? I knew that I bore part of the responsibility for my dull
sex life—but what if all of it was my fault?

It wouldn’t
really matter, though, if I couldn’t even get the front door to
my apartment open. I guess we’d just have to sit out here until
Jake got bored, went home, and left me to wither away because of my
incompetence with keys.

Instead, his warm hand
wrapped around mine and gently took the keys from me. I was too
nervous to look back up at him as he smoothly and quickly slid the
key in the lock and opened the door. He handed my keys back, and
whispered in my ear.