Page 61 of Love Resurrected
Well, shit, that was easy. I’ve practically got a date already. What’s lower key than the Farmers Market? It makes me happy to feel my plan coming together.
Not one to waste time, Nessa claps her hands for our attention, much like a teacher with her students. Tenley and I both take our seats and class is in session.
We bounce ideas back and forth, and Nessa watches us like it’s a tennis match, with a small smile on her face. I preen, fucking preen, each time that Tenley tells me that my idea is a good one, like a fucking sap. I’ve got to ignore this effect she seems to have on me. Figure out a way to turn off my receptors to it.
We take a brief break for lunch. Tenley sets out cookies and sandwich makings, and then we go back at it for another few hours. Everything seems to come together in exactly the way the girls want it to. I’d include myself in that, but I doubt I’m as invested in the outcome as they are, even though my career relies on this being a successful event.
I mentally scoff at my job being a career. I’ve FUBARed it enough at this point that I’ll be lucky to continue receiving a paycheck until my pension kicks in at the rate I’m going.
By the time we finish for the day, it’s approaching early evening and I’m hungry again. I’ve been waiting all day for Nessa to fix my life—even though I told her I had it covered—but she has yet to do anything, which has me more curious than anything else.
“If I dare say so, I think we are close to being finished with everything we can be this far in advance,” Nessa says with a grin on her face.
“I agree,” Tenley says.
“What do you say to happy hour? My treat,” Nessa continues.
“Sounds good,” Tenley and I both chime in at the same time.
“Bradley.” Nessa turns to me. “Can your truck provide adequate seating for all three of us?
“Of course,” I tell her.
“Wonderful.” Nessa packs up her things and Tenley does the same. I didn’t bring much with me—depending on the girls to already have anything I may need—and instead make sure we’ve not left a mess in Tenley’s dining room or kitchen.
Next thing I know, we are seating ourselves in a small, rounded booth atThe Crazy Burro, everyone’s favorite, and the only Mexican restaurant in town.
21
Tenley
Brad has been treating me differently today. All I’ve wanted to do all day is text Sadie about it, but I couldn’t make up an excuse to be messing with my phone for that long, and there wasn’t really an opportunity to slip away from Brad and Nessa. Somehow, I now find myself wedged between the two of them in a booth at the downtown Mexican restaurant, a large, salt-rimmed margarita in front of me.
We order the typical happy hour fare of nachos, rolled tacos, and fresh guacamole to go with our drinks. Me with my margarita, Nessa with her dry martini, and Brad with his beer. I had a feeling Nessa would be a dry martini kind of person, I’m not sure why, but it fits with her. To me, she’s a woman of class and refinement—the epitome of a dry martini. Though, I can’t imagine it tastes good with the spicy salsa they offer.
The server flirts with Brad when she delivers the food, but it doesn’t even phase him. I can’t tell if it’s because he so used to being desired that it doesn’t register, or if being desired is so far from his mind that it doesn’t register. Either way, she walks away disappointed when he doesn’t reciprocate.
It makes me think of the kiss from last night, and it’s all I can do to push it back out of my brain. The last thing I need is to dwell on that. Part of me is still embarrassed that he’s the only person who I had to call last night for a ride home. How is it I’ve been living here over a year, and I still have no more friends than Sadie and her inherited crew?
Someone makes an announcement over the loudspeaker, interrupting my thoughts.
“Just a reminder folks, tonight is our first night of salsa lessons here at The Crazy Burro. And it’s coming right up.” Whoever is speaking, draws out the wordsalsawhen he says it.
“Oh my,” Nessa says. “That sounds fun. You two should try it.”
I glance at Brad. Seeing the look of dismay cloud his expression. I answer for both of us. “Oh, I’m not much for Latin dancing.”
“Then it’s good that they’re giving lessons, isn’t it?” Nessa replies.
Brad has yet to say anything; instead, tilting his head back and draining his beer. He signals the server for another round.
A nicely dressed couple heads to the clearing in front of us, where the dancing will take place. The music starts and the sound of guitar strings plucking, backed by the trumpets blaring, fills the surrounding air. The low tenor of the singer is smooth, blending seamlessly with the music. The man and woman begin by circling one another, fast then slow. His gaze on her is so direct, so focused, and how he touches her, it’s like everything she does is a direct line to amplifying his sexual attraction for her. The way they move together, in synchronicity, is so in tune to the other’s body. His hands glide across her body and she leans into his touch.
It makes me squirm in my seat. The heat between them so palpable. I wouldn’t be surprised if this couple snuck off for a quickie in the broom closet right after this. I can’t get past the way he keeps his eyes on her. And when they aren’t on her, his gaze is turned down. So far, I think I love everything about this dance. It’s so erotic.
We finish our appetizers and are quickly sucking our way through the second round of drinks as the dancers begin their third dance. I want to fan my face, it’s so sexy, so carnal. It would shock me if the dancers didn’t affect Nessa and Brad in the same way that they affect me.
The song ends and the couple finishes with flourish, legs pointed, hands in the air. The fluidity in their bodies is elegant and magical. Dancing is something I’ve always wished I could do well. Sadie could pick this up quickly; that is, if she doesn’t know how to do it already. She’s tried to teach me to dance multiple times, but I lack that bendy quality that makes movement look effortless and appealing.
