Page 11 of The Widower's Girlfriend
Her cheeks flush and she looks at me briefly before looking around the restaurant. “Thank you.”
“Coat?” I gesture to her jacket, before she spins around and lets me help her out of it. A wide expanse of creamy skin is unveiled as the jacket comes off her back. I start coughing and nearly drop her jacket.
“You okay?” She looks at me over her shoulder, concern in the lines on her face, not realizing she’s the cause of my choking.
I pull at my collar and swallow hard. Time to change the subject. I take a seat and nod toward the seat next to me. “Should we get our back story straight before they show up?”
She sits and looks at me puzzled. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “Well, if we’re going to pass our relationship off as believable, we need to know some basic facts about each other, don’t you think?”
Her face clears and she nods her head. “Gotcha. Let’s see. How about we’ve been dating for six months and we met at that annual outdoor music concert in Huntington Beach?”
“Sure. What’s your favorite color? Pet peeve?” This is somehow more fun than I thought it’d be.
“Turquoise and entitlement. You?”
“Royal blue and judgement with no context.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What does that mean?”
“I hate it when people are too quick to judge others when they don’t know anything concrete about the other person with which to base their opinion. It’s a natural habit for us humans to judge, but the problem is when people judge with no context. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She lifts her eyebrows and tilts her head, her long, blonde hair lying on my arm. What I wouldn’t give right then to have my jacket off so I could feel that silky curl against my skin. “Who’s to say that prior experience doesn’t provide enough context for someone to make snap judgements without truly knowing that particular individual? Making quick judgements is a way of protecting one’s self, right?”
A smile finds its way onto my face. I wasn’t expecting that thought-out response. Which is quite a touché moment considering I’d judged her as being too shallow to have a philosophical discussion. “Valid point. Why entitlement?”
“Everyone wants something for nothing. They want the best paying job without actually having to work hard to get it. They want the privilege without the accompanying responsibility. Life doesn’t work that way, or at least, it shouldn’t.”
Interesting that that’s her biggest pet peeve. “What about talent that comes naturally without a lot of hard work? Should that be—”
“Ma’am? Sir? We need to seat you now or we have to release your reservation since it’s twenty minutes past.” The hostess looks uncomfortable delivering this news. Like she hates to point out that we got dumped by our group. I don’t want Jemma feeling bad so I jump up and take control.
“We’d actually love to be seated and order an appetizer.”
“Wonderful. Right this way.” She spins and walks away.
Pulling Jemma up by the hand, I lace our fingers together and follow the hostess. I can feel Jemma staring at the side of my head, but if we’re going to act like boyfriend and girlfriend this weekend, we might as well get started as we mean to go along. Her hand feels soft, my heart enjoying her touch more than I like to admit.
When we reach our table, I let go of her hand reluctantly, pulling back her chair for her. She smiles shyly and sits down, letting me scoot her in. I place her jacket on the back of her chair and take the seat to her left, on the end, so she can sit next to her friends.
Jemma stares at the menu, her cheeks a delightful shade of pink. My arm goes around the back of her chair, my hand dangerously close to touching her exposed back.
From my vantage point, I can see the front of the restaurant, so when I see a group of three women, dressed like a night on the town is in their future, I know the group has arrived.
Placing my hand on Jemma’s back, she jumps, but I pull her toward me anyway. Her eyes widen as I lean in close, our noses just inches away from each other.
“I’m going to kiss you. Okay?” I whisper.
Her eyes widen further, but she gives a quick nod, the permission being all I need to make my move. A move that feels remarkably rusty yet perfectly inevitable. Like she and I were always meant to wind up here, sharing breath, making each other’s hearts race in this restaurant in downtown Denver.
The moment my mouth descends to hers, the sound of the diners around us dims, all four non-imperative senses taking a back seat so that all my awareness can focus in on the feel of her lips pressed to mine. The way her body trembles at my touch. The way she gasps, the soft intake of air pulling me in and gripping my chest. The way I feel her move beneath me, actively participating in this kiss to end all kisses.
And just when I think I could stay there forever, feasting on her mouth and breathing her air, someone jostles her and her lips break away. The chair is still under me, but I’m tumbling, adrift without a compass, a game plan, or a coherent thought.
“Jay! How are you?” A tall brunette wraps her arms around Jemma, her perfume nearly choking me.
“Ahhhh!” A high-pitched squeal behind me gets my head swiveling, taking in a short, dark-haired woman with the sparkliest dress I’ve ever seen. She swoops in and nearly tackles Jemma, pushing the brunette out of the way.
