Page 15 of Hooked on a Feeling

Starr fretted over what she was going to wear that night a little more than she normally obsessed over things. Who was she kidding? She never worried about what she wore. It had been two years since her last date, so God knew what she had been thinking that long ago. Two years. She trembled at the thought that she hadn’t been out with a man in two whole years.

She’d been on a break from men. It had been a break that was long overdue. It had been a real break, too, until she met John.

She’d had plenty of boyfriends. Some quick and fun in relationships that went absolutely nowhere and some that she had hung on to for the wild ride. But none of them had lasted, for various reasons. Corey Chapel had been her last real boyfriend. He’d turned into her fiancé, but that had only lasted two weeks. She glanced at her bare ring finger. It was the one and only time she’d allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She’d fallen in love with Corey hard and fast, and he was nothing like she’d thought he was.

When she’d walked in on him having sex with his ex-girlfriend, Starr had thrown his engagement ring at his eyeball and had never looked back. Asshole. The best thing she could do about tonight—and the next week while she stayed in Emerald Port—was remind herself to put herself first. No matter how well she and John got along or how attracted she was to him.

And that was exactly what she did while she spent an hour searching for the best Friday-night outfit with a beach-chic vibe that she could find in her suitcase. She finally found some black shorts that looked sort of business class and paired them with a tie-dye tank top she’d bought at a funky shop back home. Sexy but totally laid back. And who didn’t love tie-dye?

Her phone lit up, and the Beatles’ “Let it Be” began playing. She practically dove headfirst onto her bed to see if the text was from John.

John: My condo is on the other side of the bridge. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. That work?

Starr: Yes. I’ll be waiting on the docks.

She ran like hell into the bathroom to double-check her complexion. She spritzed herself with one of her essential oil blends, lavender and lemongrass. She inhaled the calming-but-very-uplifting fragrance. Stay calm. Smell the lavender, Starr. Relax. “It’s one evening out. No big deal.”

Fifteen minutes went by faster than they should have, and despite the large amounts of lavender fragrance she’d smelled, her heart bordered on tachycardia. Every time she lifted her hand, it trembled. The water lapping at the docks helped lessen her anxiety more than her essential oils, and if she blocked out the sound of the traffic, she was able to hear the waves crashing down at the beach.

John pulled into the parking lot, and Starr’s feet twitched to take off. It’s one date. Just for fun. Nothing more. The car rolled to a stop, and John stepped out, looking as dazzling as he always did. Tonight, he was wearing black shorts like she was and a blue-and-white checkered shirt. The button below his collar was open, and she tried not to imagine how his chest hair would feel beneath her fingers.

“Hey there,” he said.

Her stomach soared. “Hi. Where are we headed to?”

“I thought you would want to pick. We can walk along the boardwalk and find a place, or you can search up some place on your phone. I’m in no hurry. It’s whatever you want to do.”

Starr swallowed, not used to so much thoughtfulness from a date. Usually she was fine going anywhere, but since he’d made it a point to have her to pick, she took him up on his offer. “I saw a place on my way from the airport. It didn’t look like a chain. El Puerto? You like Mexican? Will that work?” she asked as he walked her around to the passenger side of his car and opened the door. “It wasn’t there the last time I was here. If you don’t mind.”

He gave her a tight smile. “Sure.”

She got the impression that he wasn’t entirely thrilled with her choice, but surely the food would be phenomenal since the restaurant was on the main highway that ran through Emerald Port. When he parked and they entered the restaurant, it was everything Starr expected. The smell of chips permeated the air, and Spanish music blared through the ceiling speakers. A sign told them that a pitcher of margaritas was on special for tonight. Crowds of people loitered in the waiting area as well as in the bar and dining room. She already felt a million times better, and she hadn’t even had a drink yet.

“This is fabulous.”

“This is sketchy,” he said.

“Let’s go to the bar. We might be able to find seats there.” She tugged John along, and by luck, there were three seats just being vacated by some younger kids. “Here. Sit. What do you mean by sketchy?”

John looked around the bar, and she followed his gaze. Was he seeing something she wasn’t? It was a perfectly normal place. The floors were clean. The bar top was wiped to a shine. The food smelled amazing.

“I don’t trust it,” he said. “It looks a little…”

When he struggled to find the right words, Starr’s brain fast-tracked, and it finally dawned on her that perhaps he was thinking of something more high-end for dinner. “Is this kind of place beneath you, John Davenport?” She took a closer look, and he did look uncomfortable. A little too… stuffy. Out of place. “You don’t eat at regular restaurants?”

“No. I mean, yes. I do. Sebastian’s. Brother Scott’s. The Lampshire. And the country club, of course.”

He left Starr momentarily speechless, and the bartender set out paper coasters and asked for their drink orders. She found her voice. “I’ll have a margarita. On the rocks.”

“I’ll just take a beer. That local bottle there is fine,” John said.

She followed his finger to some kind of craft brew with a large alligator on its logo.

“You guys know what you want to eat yet?” the bartender asked while he pried the top off the beer for John and started mixing her margarita.

The music died, and she found her ears and inside voice. “We’ll take chips and salsa to start. And then let you know.” She smiled when the bartender set her drink down. “Thank you.”

“You must think I’m spoiled,” John said when the bartender left to attend to another customer.

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