Page 11 of Forever Summer

The waiter approached, ready to take our order; he looked at me, under the assumption of ladies first (what service), and I was about to tell him that I would have the salmon when Rory spoke.

“We’ll have one steak, well done, no sauce, and a duck, thanks.” He all but whacked his menu into the waiter’s hands, before he winked at me. “You gotta try the duck.”

Um, okay.

I honestly thought that that kind of stuff only happened in the movies. I actually felt that I had been transported back to the 1950s, where I smiled and nodded my head.

Yes, dear.

But in true Rory Franklin style, he redeemed himself by a mouth-watering smile and a compliment. “You look really beautiful tonight.”

I could almost see the gleam twinkle from his bleached white teeth.

Just. Breathe.

“Thank you.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and inflaming my cheeks. I hoped it wasn’t visible, although the restaurant was dark and moody, thankfully, with its dark, glossy surfaces and bird-cage, twig-like structure for lighting.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” I smiled coyly. “I just need to use the restroom.”

I should have said something like ‘going to powder my nose’ like they do in the movies; after all, nothing about this seemed real. This was not your average Saturday night outing for me.

In true gentlemanly fashion, Rory stood as I stood, his impressive six-foot-five muscled frame towering over me.

“Won’t be long.” I smiled, broad and sexy. I wanted him to remember me in my absence; his searing gaze that locked with mine flickered with a secret, dirty promise as he flashed a wolfish grin.

“I’ll be here.”

I could feel my heart drumming in my chest as I tried to remain cool and calm, breaking away from his intense eyes. I weaved my way through the dimly lit restaurant, swaying my hips and walking with an assured confidence, smiling a little smile with the knowledge that all the onlookers were eyeing my table with interest.

That’s right, bitches: Rory Fucking Franklin.

It still didn’t seem real.

I veered down a hall, tracing a long path toward the back of the building lit only with dull down lights and glimpses of mirrored panels. I was still smiling as I pushed my way through the very end door that had the silhouette of a lady. I had never felt more alive, more feminine, my belly aflutter with the workings of a thousand butterflies dancing with the memory of Rory’s smile. I dodged a woman retreating from the basin and through the door. I locked my eyes on the real reason I excused myself, not for the necessity of the ladies’ room per se, but to check my makeup and tame any flyaway hairs that might mortify me. Smoothing over my brow and pressing my glossed lips together, I was relieved for the grounding moment of alone time I had in the secluded toilets. I turned from side to side, running my hand down the seam to smooth over my black dress. I grabbed my clutch resting on the granite top basin, delving to find the lip-gloss cylinder to reapply my lips, when as if by some coincidence my mobile chimed to attention. The interior of my silk clutch illuminated just as I opened the clasp.

Thinking it was my nightly text from Tess on how my date of all dates was faring, my smile broadened to blinding proportions when I quizzically stared at the screen.

Rory

1 Message

Wow, was he missing me that much? I mused, thumbing the mobile to retrieve my message with interest.

My smile faltered before falling away completely, as did the contents of my clutch as they spilled across the counter and into the sink when it fell from my hand.

Little did I care for the clattering of my contents—compact, tampon, lipstick, perfume, and condom—that spilled into the basin. No, my eyes were too readily fixed on the illuminated screen in my white-knuckled embrace. My eyes ticked over the text, over and over again.

A bit dumb but nice ass.

My gaze may have been mystified to begin with, but as the weight of Rory’s words gained traction, you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out exactly what had happened. Heck, I had almost done it myself a hundred times before; it was the number one nightmarish mistake you could do in the tech world.

Accidentally messaging the person you were talking about. Rory had obviously made this very mistake, and now black-and-white proof lay in my palm of his exact impression of me in a nutshell. Any confidence and feeling of grandeur and smugness had been wiped away.

My attention snapped with the swinging of the ladies’ door, the sound of high-powered giggles assaulting my peace as two women walked in.

The interruption jarred me to attention, to not think about much more than to scoop my belongings quickly up from the sink and get the hell out of there. Caring not a second for what I might look like, I scurried my way toward the ladies’ door, juggling to close the clasp to my clutch, all the while knocking into one of the women.

“Hey,” she cried out. “Watch it.”

---