Page 65 of So Wild

He stood up from the table as though this were the eighteenth century and she was fucking terrified she was here. “Hey,” she said, feeling sixteen. Feeling likeNicoleat sixteen.

“Hello, Samantha.”

The waiter pulled out her chair and as she sat, so did Scott. His gaze lingered on the pale blue top. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

He tugged at his collar. “Thanks. I was worried this place was a bit uptight for a first date. I didn’t want you to think I was being vulgar.”

“I have a tattoo of a naked nun on my back. My vulgarity bar is pretty low.”

He grinned. “Do you really have a naked nun tattoo?”

“I never lie about ink, Galahad.”

“Good to know.”

They smiled stupidly at each other and Sam had the urge to leap across the table and kiss him all over his face. God, they were going to fuck tonight. A shiver ran the length of her spine and spilled inside her underwear. At the last minute, she’d changed from black cotton to red lace. The sexier set hugged her intimate areas in a way that was very distracting, a thing she deeply regretted now she had to eat food and act civilized in public. Why couldn’t she and Scott have just gotten more Maccas and fucked in his car?

“Would you like an aperitif?” the waiter enquired.

Sam blinked. She had only the vaguest idea what an aperitif was, and if it didn’t mean ‘a drink that tastes like apricots’ she was screwed. She looked pleadingly at Scott.

“We’ll have two Kir Royales,” he said and the waiter ducked his head and zoomed away.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Scott said, then ducked his head. “Sorry, that sounds like we’re colleagues here on business, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, are we not here for a consultation? Because I was sure you wanted me to give you a tattoo.” Sam pulled out the pen and notebook she carried on her at all times. “So what were you thinking? I’m leaning toward something finance themed? Stacks of cash and graphic calculators?”

He looked surprised for a split second, then grinned. “If you’re going to give me a tattoo, it should probably be West Ham related.”

“Ah but I don’t do sportsball tattoos.”

“Yes, I remember from your sign.” He rubbed a knuckle over his chin. “Tabby told me she could give me a rainbow Grim Reaper.”

Sam felt an odd squirm of jealousy at the idea of her sister laying her art on Scott’s body. Thankfully, the waiter returned carrying two champagne flutes before she could say anything stupid, like ‘if anyone’s going to tattoo you, it’ll be me’ or ‘I’ll murder Tabby first—she already owes me from when I let her fuck Declan Harris in our tent at Summerdaze.’ It would be hypocritical of her to say that stuff, especially when tattooing Scott would violate her own strictly upheld pact.

The waiter placed the glasses of lavender-colored liquid in front of them. “Have you decided what you would like to order?”

Sam hadn’t so much as glanced at her menu. She looked at Scott. “Can you order for me? I promise I’m not fussy.”

“Of course.”

Sam barely understood the next few words that came out of his mouth, but she trusted him to pick the right things, at least better than she could. She looked around the restaurant trying to remember the last time she’d been on a date to somewhere this nice. Never, she realised. It wasn’t that her exes were stingy, they just ran in the same circles and their dates tended to revolve around shared social occasions—house parties, gigs, festivals and trips interstate. This was just about her and Scott. As she supposed most dates should have been, but it was strange and a little grown up to her.

Scott finished ordering then held up his purple drink. “To us.”

“What?”

“To us finally going on a date, I mean. Nothing else.”

“Oh right,” Sam said, with relief. “To us going on a date.”

She chimed her glass against his and took a sip. The drink was fizzy and sweet. Champagne and something else.

“So, where do you want this tattoo? Back? Thighs? The ass is a popular area these days.”

“How do you know I don’t already have one there?”

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