Page 78 of Come Back to Bed
She gives me a long, slow once-over. “Hot damn, you do look good in a suit, you bastard.”
“You’re slightly overdressed for the rave,” I say with a straight face.
She laughs. “Fuck you. Let’s get this date over with.”
I clutch at my heart. “The eight words every man dreams of hearing at the beginning of the night.”
“Do I need a jacket? Are these shoes okay?” She hikes up her skirt to expose a pair of strappy heels, and painted toenails to match her lips.
“Those shoes are more than okay, and I don’t think you’ll need a jacket.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I better not, buster.”
I hold her arm as we walk down the stairs. She uses both hands to hold up the hem of her dress.
“Is this dress the result of one of your drunken online shopping sprees?”
“Yes. You like it?”
“Did I not mention that I fucking love it? If I weren’t such a gentleman, my head would have disappeared up that skirt as soon as you opened the door.”
“If I weren’t such a lady, I’d mount you right here on the steps.”
We both freeze when we reach the landing and see Mrs. Benson and her poodle standing there in the third-floor hallway.
“Well, don’t you look like a fancy lady and gentleman tonight?” she says, with that grin of hers. Alessandro starts barking, so she rushes to get him inside her apartment, and we’re spared an actual conversation.
We both have trouble holding in our laughter until we reach the second floor.
When she sees the stretch limo and chauffeur that awaits us outside the building, Lady Bernadette groans. “Oh brother.”
“I knew you’d love it.”
“I could kill you,” she says to me under her breath, but she smiles graciously at the driver who holds the back door open for us. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, ma’am.”
He winks at me.
I open the chilled champagne bottle as soon as we’re seated, because I’ve gotta get this show on the road.
I hold my glass up to hers in a toast. “To fucking first dates and the assholes who take you on them.”
She drops her head as she laughs. “To fucking first dates and the assholes you take on them.” She polishes hers off in two gulps. “Will you please tell me where we’re going?”
“Will you please enjoy the ride?” I open the sunroof. “You ever driven around in a limo before?”
“Not since prom.”
“Baby, you ain’t lived until you’ve driven around Manhattan in the back of a limo. Sit back, relax, and look up.”
“That’s what she said,” my date mutters.
I had instructed the driver to play Sinatra, because I had a feeling it would drive her nuts. I was right. She just shakes her head and laughs until the chorus of “I’ve Got the World on a String,” then she stares at me.
I smile. “We’ve gone from no-strings to a string. Get it?”
“Yeah. I get it. If you were really clever you would have played Vivaldi’sFour Seasons. That’s a lot of strings.”
