Page 34 of The Plus Ones
“Well, surprise us. Bring us your favorite.” He winks at her.
She nods and does a little curtsy before turning and walking away.
“I hate rum,” I whisper.
“You’ll learn to love it.”
“Don’t ever order for me again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I just knew you’d never order a rum drink for yourself, and you need to try it at least once while you’re here. Get the full Caribbean experience.”
“I’m certainly enjoying island life so far. I think it’s safe to say this is the first time I’ve ever had dinner with a man who wears loafers and no socks.”
“Nobody wears socks with loafers.”
“It’s the first time I’ve had dinner with a man who wears loafers, I mean.”
He leans forward and places his hand on top of mine. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
His hand is big and warm, and I slowly slide my hand out from under it because it’s way more important for me to vehemently butter my dinner roll than pretend to be his girlfriend at the moment.
I chew angrily while staring at the most breathtaking sunset I have ever seen.
I don’t even realize Keaton is taking a picture of me with his phone until he’s probably taken a thousand of them. I cover my face. “Hey!”
“I couldn’t not take a picture of you with that sunset framing your scowling face.”
I scowl at him.
“I’m kidding. You weren’t scowling. Look.” He holds up his phone and shows me a few of the shots. Surprisingly, I do not look angry at all. I look serene. And pretty. Those may be the best pictures I’ve seen of myself in ages.
“You’re not allowed to post pictures of me on social media.”
“Again—I would not dream of it. I’ll send them to you. And keep them for my spank bank.”
I laugh at that. Because Keaton Bridges saying the words “spank bank” is funny. Not because he’s funny.
The hostess returns with two enormous glasses of a coral-colored liquid, each garnished with a giant slice of pineapple and an umbrella. “Caribbean Rum Punch,” she says in her deep, sing-song voice. “Pineapple and orange juice, three kinds of rum, fresh lime juice, and grenadine. My favorite and very delicious.” She smiles and nods as she places the glass in front of me. “Enjoy!”
Keaton and I both happen to order the same meal, only I manage to order without winking at the waitress, and then I’m left alone with this guy once again.
Keaton holds his glass out to clink against mine, just as I’m about to suck on the straw.
“Oh. Cheers,” I say.
“To warm breezes and sunsets and floral dresses with tasteful yet daring slits, and the fine-looking women who wear them.”
“To socks and the men who always wear them in public.”
He laughs at that. “Whatever, Socksy Roxy.”
“Is that my new nickname?”
“Nope. That’s just what I’m calling you right now because I’m so witty.”
This cocktail goes down smooth, and it’s not too sweet at all. I smack my lips together. It tastes even more fun than the margaritas at TGI Fridays. “I like it. The rum punch. Not the nickname.”
“It’s not your nickname, and I knew you would. Tell me about your family.”
