Page 21 of Chasing Lynda

“Hmm, how much is it for the locker? I don’t have much cash and I think I left my card at home, because it isn’t in here—”

I smile, as reassuringly as possible. “Don’t worry about that. Like I said, tonight’s my treat as an apology for ruining your croissants. Plus, I kinda work here. So really, it’s on the house.”

My explanation seems to appease her and we walk out of the locker room, after she puts a Gucci red t-shirt over her bikini top.

We walk off the beach and toward the lights of the heart of Pleasure Beach in comfortable silence.

“So, what do you feel like eating?” I ask. “There’s a great Chinese place, a more than respectable BBQ restaurant or we could get the biggest burger you’ve seen in your entire life.”

She looks serious, as she weighs her options. “I don’t know what to choose. I love all the things you just mentioned. But the burger is calling my name right now, if you don’t mind.”

I chuckle, liking her even more than I already did for choosing the same thing I’d have gone for.

Being friends and business partners with the resort’s owner has its perks for sure.

We get ushered into the restaurant and seated at one of the best tables out on the deck, despite the waiting line in the reception area.

This is in no way a test, I invited Lynda to have dinner with me on a whim; because she’s pretty and because I honestly felt sorry about dumping her backpack onto her food.

But if this was a test? She’d pass it with flying colors. She doesn’t order a salad with the dressing on the side. She orders a double bacon cheeseburger and asks for a fried egg on top; she chooses skin on fries, totally ignoring that salad is an option as a side.

I’m so fucking impressed that I ask the waitress to make it two of the same.

“What?” she asks, noticing my smile. “Zane, if what I chose is too expensive, I—”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I’m sorry if my reaction to your order made you uncomfortable. You can choose whatever you want. To be honest, I’m pleasantly surprised. You have no idea how many times I’ve had dinner with girls who order a salad minus everything fun on it and then spend the entire dinner moving the lettuce around their plates, allowing themselves to eat just a few forkfuls. That’s obviously while they eye-fuck my dinner. But God forbid I offer them any of it, I’d get a lecture on calories and how fat they are.”

She smiles, more relaxed. “Oh, no. I like food. If anything, I was debating ordering a milkshake with dinner, but I want to save some room for that award winning funnel cake you were talking about.”

Her enthusiasm is contagious. “How about we split a milkshake?”

The way her blue eyes light up, make me want to order her twenty milkshakes, let alone share one.

Lynda pours over the menu, looking at the different flavors. “They all sound delicious,” she muses, setting the menu back on the table. “But there’s really only one option that makes sense.”

Now I’m intrigued. “Which option would that be?”

She giggles, rolling her eyes at what she must consider a silly question. “Chocolate of course! What other flavor would you want for dipping your fries?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “I think you might be right.”

When our food arrives, I almost let mine go cold, too rapt looking at Lynda practically demolish her food.

“Oh, God!” She sighs, sitting back in her chair. “This was the best meal I’ve had in about a year!”

She sounds serious and I feel so at ease with her, that I don’t think how she might take it when I let my gaze wander from her face to the slender column of her neck, her full, perky tits that stretch the cotton of the tight t-shirt she has on. Her breasts are the only real curvy asset in her otherwise skinny body. Ok fuck, also her ass.

She notices my perusal and stiffens, suddenly uncomfortable. “Zane, what’s up? Did I spill something on me?” she asks as her gaze follows mine.

Shit! I really did lose any game I’ve ever had since my last girlfriend and I split up. “No, no. Sorry, I was just being rude, I guess.”

She narrows her eyes, her smile now totally gone. “Rude how?”

I know I have to tell her what was going through my mind, or I doubt she’ll be comfortable with continuing our date. “I’m sorry, Lynda. I promise I can be a gentleman and I don’t always act like a mannerless caveman. I—I was just wondering where do you put all that food. You’re pretty skinny. That’s why I assumed that you’d be a salad kind of girl before.”

To my surprise, she seems to calm down at my admission. “I guess that’s fair. I don’t always get the chance to eat this way, Zane.”

I want to ask her why is that. The question is on the tip of my tongue but I hesitate, not wanting to dig a deeper hole for myself.

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