Page 75 of Be My First

There’s a trellis on the side of the building. I think it can support my weight. Ihopeit can support my weight. I’m still wearing a sexy dress and heels. This is going to be interesting. The heels have to go – I kick them off. My purse is slung over my shoulder, and I put the straps of the heels in my mouth.

I say a quick prayer and throw my leg over the railing and shimmy my foot down until I feel the trellis.

Please hold me. Please hold me. Please hold me.

I slowly shift my weight from the balcony to the trellis and hold my breath the entire time.

Good news, I’m not flat on my back on the ground. I resume breathing and lower myself to the next tier of the trellis. I have to let go of the balcony entirely in order to reach it. Once I’m clinging to the side of the building for dear life, I scurry down until I reach the ground.

Once my feet hit the ground, I silently punch my fist in the air in celebration. Nice. I’m pretty proud of myself.

I quickly straighten my dress and pull on my shoes. After looking both directions, I scamper away from the house toward the village.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant. I’m giddy by the time I get there. I can’t believe I pulled this off. As soon as I walk in, I spot Justin.

“Juno,” Justin says, his face lights up as soon as he sees me. “Come sit.”

I flash him a big smile and take the seat beside him at the bar.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d really come back,” he says.

I give a little glance toward the door and says, “I was able to slip away.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” he says, leaning closer to me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Just some wine – red,” I say.

He motions for the bartender and then turns his gaze back to me. “How is a woman like you single?” he asks. He’s unabashedly staring at my body – more specifically my breasts. It makes me a little uncomfortable, and yet, that’s literally why I’m here. We both know it.

“Oh, I like being single,” I lie. Not that I hate being single. I just don’t feel like I’ve had much of a choice over it.

“Me too,” he says. He slides his hand onto my thigh.

As soon as the bartender sets down the wine, I pick it up and take a sip. I resist the urge to drink it quickly. I’m nervous, but I can’t get drunk right now.

“How did your gnocchi turn out today?” he asks.

I smile at him. “Perfect. I was really impressed with my own skills.”

He laughs. “I’ll have to get some pointers from you. Mine were a weird consistency.”

“What do you have going on this weekend?” I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

“Nothing really.”

I bite my lower lip and then say, “Tell me about where you’re staying.”

He holds eye contact with me for a beat and then says, “What do you mean?”

“Is it a hotel room or an apartment?” I ask.

“An apartment,” he answers before picking up his drink and taking a sip.

“Is it far?”

He sets his glass down and gives me a sly look. “No. Are you interested in seeing it?”

“Yes,” I say, quickly. Too quickly possibly, but I don’t care. He isn’t the perfect guy to do this with or anything, but he’ll do.

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