Page 65 of Games We Play
“That is SO CUTE!!! OMG! Where did you get it?”Melissa sent more emojis than Leah knew existed.“Wait, don’t tell me. Is it Charlette Russe? That totally looks like a Charlotte dress. I saw one at the Lloyd Center a few weeks ago. I think. Maybe?”
Karlie did not respond. She was probably still in class.
“You are positivelyglowing,”the stylist said beside Leah. The car slipped through traffic, ensuring that they would arrive at the restaurant before the reservation was up. “You make me wish I had a date tonight.”
Leah sputtered in embarrassment. “What makes you think I’m going on a date?” She realized how silly that question sounded and shook her head. “Never mind. I look like I’m going on five dates tonight.”
“That, and I was told to dress you up for a date at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Chicago. Honestly, I don’t know how Ms. Sloan got a reservation there, unless she’s piggybacking off someone else’s or… never mind.”
“No, what?”
The stylist looked as if she should have never said anything. “Or, perhaps, she has a standing reservation whenever she cares to use it. That’s not uncommon for people who can afford it.”
“I see.” No wonder the stylist didn’t want to suggest that. She made it sound like Sloan planned to go on a date with any woman tonight, as long as she enjoyed her Valentine’s Day in decadence.If it weren’t me, would it be an escort?That was rather sad, wasn’t it? Valentine’s Day was supposed to be for real couples, or maybe best friends enjoying Singles Awareness Day.I could see hiring an escort for some private company, but taking her out to dinner? That doesn’t make sense to me.But, based on what Sloan had said about her private life, it was unlikely she would take a woman she intended to date forreal.
Whatever that meant. Did that include Leah.Unlikely.Damn, why did she have to put herself down like that before she went on her date?
“We’re here,” the driver announced.
Leah almost jumped out of her dress when the stylist leaned over and offered to shake her hand. “Pleasure meeting you today, Ms. Vaughn. Have a happy Valentine’s Day.”
She thanked the stylist for her hard work before getting out of the car. Leah was deposited in front of the restaurant’s revolving door, where the host popped out to ask if she was the woman he awaited.
“Ms. Sloan sat down a few minutes ago,” he said with a slight French accent. Leah still had yet to catch the name of this place. “Please, follow me.”
Leah held her sweater closer to her body as she gawked at the elegantly ostentatious designs of the dimly lit restaurant. Sapphire blue walls stenciled with black fleur-de-lis were accented with gold sconces and original paintings by modern French artists. (Not that Leah would discover that wholesome tidbit until she looked this place up later.) The tables were segregated by glass partitions until they reached the back of the gallery, where a whole section was dedicated to more private tables at least ten feet apart. The pricier tables were almost fully enclosed by partitions. A few, however, were out in the open. Leah passed someone she swore was a famous athlete, although she couldn’t tell from what team – her father watched ESPN every day, so who, besides him, knew?
The host brought Leah to the rear of the gallery, where a raised dais housed only two tables, separated by a frosted glass wall. The table on the right was still empty. The table on the left?
Leah’s breath was gone. Stolen from her the moment she saw Sloan sitting in the corner, elbow propped up on the table and fingers drumming next to a humble floral arrangement – if five red roses bunched together could be calledhumble.
Sloan’s outfit matched the roses. A bright red tie-front crop top neatly tucked its knot beneath her breasts, and a crimson camisole was the only thing keeping her stomach hidden from the rest of the world. Black trousers that could go with any outfit elongated her already impressive legs, and a pair of black ankle boots kicked toward the bottom of the table.
She could have worn any wig that night and been a goddess to behold.The black ones would’ve made her look like a softer version of herself, though.Sloan rarely went for that. If she were wearing a red and black outfit on Valentine’s Day, then she was wearing her blond wig with the side-swept bangs, and Leah would appreciate it. Constantly.
Her face lit up when she saw Leah in her baby pink dress. “My, my,” she said with that inescapable purr. “I see you went with the pink one. I hoped you would.”
Leah waited for the host to pull out her chair before approaching the table. Her ballet flats touched the dais the moment the host bowed out of her way. “You knew which dresses the stylist had chosen?”
Sloan snorted. “She originally had five dresses. I picked the final two. Thought you should give mesomesurprise tonight.”
“Soyouwere the one who actually decided what I should wear?”
“When you put it that way, you make it sound much less romantic than I intended.”
“You intended this to be romantic?”
Sloan looked around their corner of the gallery. “Do you think I would bring you to a place like this if Ididn’twant to be romantic? I have it in me, you know.”
Leah didn’t turn down a glass of red wine. The bottle had been tucked behind the roses, the perfect Instagram photo if Leah had been rude enough to take out her phone now. “Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe that someone would want to be so romantic with me.”
“If I’m dressing you up to look like the pretty,prettyprincess you are, then I’m not opposed to some romance.”
“Who says you’re the one dressing me up?” Leah almost burst to already reach this level of flirtation on their Valentine’s date. “I don’t remember you zipping up this dress.”
“No,” Sloan said with a heavy sigh, “but I’ll be the one unzipping it later.”
They placed their orders before Leah could continue the banter. Sloan was impressed that Leah already knew so much about French cuisine. When she reminded her date that she had attended culinary school not too long ago, Sloan begged her forgiveness and said that she wasn’t used to dates who knew how to pronounce the items on the menu, let alone what they entailed.
