Page 39 of Desperate Needs

Together, we were the perfect mix of innocence and wisdom, wonder and knowledge, curiosity and experience.

It was like this, I wasn’t ready to give her up just yet. And I wasn’t a man who gave much consideration to denying my wants and needs.

Yes, I wanted her. But it was beginning to feel like maybe I needed her, too.

Only, that line of thought was hazardous to us both. I pushed it out of my head.

Have your bit of fun, boyo. But don’t fuck it all up over a skirt, the old man’s voice hissed inside my brain.

I ended the kiss. Next, I held her chair out, pleased at the way she followed my unspoken direction.

I’d asked for a private table, and this old building had one spot all the way in back of the main dining room behind a sort of partition where I assumed the owner placed his VIPs.

“Well, that was a nice hello,” she said, and her smile stole the breath from my lungs.

“Good evening, what can I get you to start?” the server asked.

“Bring us a bottle of red, Sergio. Something good. That okay with you?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Sure. Can I also have some sparkling water over ice with a slice of orange? Thank you.”

Fucking oranges. Of course.

This woman was driving me insane.

I wanted to laugh out loud, but I didn’t.

“Of course, miss,” the server replied.

He was polite. But apparently, I was territorial. I didn’t like another man’s attention on her, and I excused myself to have a discussion with the hostess.

Ten minutes later, a different server, this one was an older woman, came to our table with our wine and Clementine’s sparkling water.

“Are you ready, sir?” she asked.

I ordered the house specialty cheese souffle and salad Lyonnaise to begin.

“You okay if I order the rest?” I asked her.

It was bullish of me, but I wanted to feed her. I had a good idea of what her likes were already.

“Sure, I already love what you’re ordering,” she replied, and fuck, I liked hearing that.

Almost wish she was saying she loved something else.

Me. Love me.

What the fuck?

I stared at her for a moment longer, basking in the glow of her happiness and wanted to beat my chest in pride. But those things I ordered weren’t guesses. They were things I watched her eat without her knowledge.

Of course, she didn’t know that I’d been stalking her for a year. And really, was it so bad? It was like doing homework, would anyone fault me for studying for an exam?

I should tell her. But why fuck it up now?

She didn’t need that information to enjoy the evening or share a meal with me, did she?

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