He is spectacular today, wearing a dark gray suit with a blue power tie. It’s tailored so well, I can practically see the muscles in his shoulders straining against it.
Matt takes his right hand and skims his fingers along the side of my neck, all the way around to the base of my skull. I feel his hand open wide and then he grabs a handful of my hair, twisting it several times around his wrist. When he has me well and truly captured, he pulls slightly, causing my head to tilt back and expose my throat. Bending over, he places light kisses along my jaw, all the way to my ear, where he murmurs, “I take that is a yes to my invitation to go out tonight?”
I nod my head, even though he has my hair tightly fisted.
“Good,” he says roughly against my ear and then pulls away, releasing his hold on me. My knees are shaking slightly, and I guarantee you I have an utterly stupid look on my face. Yes, with just a few whispered words and light kisses, Matt has rendered me the village idiot.
“I’ll pick you up at eight. The restaurant I’m taking you to is dressy,” he says as he opens my office door to leave. “Oh, and Mac?”
“Huh?”
Yup… still the village idiot.
“Do me a favor… wear those white, lace boy shorts tonight under your dress. You know… the ones that drive me crazy?”
I just nod at him, the power of speech gone… obliterated… destroyed.
I almost collapse when he shoots me a radiant smile, which causes his dimples to pucker deep. He gives me a quick wink, and then he’s gone.
He told me Sunday to have patience with him… that he wasn’t sure that he was very good at this dating thing.
Who is he kidding?
He’s fucking fantastic at it so far!
Our first date could not have gone off any better if a Hollywood screenwriter had choreographed it.
When Matt picked me up at my apartment, he didn’t bring me flowers. Instead, he had a full carton of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Peppermint Crunch, because I had made some obscure reference to it one night after we had sex. He walked into my kitchen and put it in my freezer, telling me that it was for dessert later.
He then took me to a lovely restaurant that was quietly intimate. I’m not sure if he arranged it ahead of time, but we got seated in the back in a tiny corner that sort of cut us off from the rest of the patrons. The wine was spectacular, the waiter unobtrusive, and the conversation flowed with such ease that I felt like I’d known Matt for years.
I was worried about it honestly. Whether or not we could have normal conversation that didn’t revolve around phrases such as, “That feels so good” and, “Harder, please.”
Turns out, we converse quite well. We laughed, we joked, and most special of all, Matt told me about his son, Gabe. He spoke with such pride, such love… such unconditional emotion, that I almost had tears in my eyes. Matt the Cold-Hearted—which would have been his Viking name if, well if he were a Viking—had the squishiest, warmest soft spot for a little seven-year-old boy.
He didn’t say much about his ex-wife, Marissa, other than she had primary custody of Gabe, but he had liberal visitation. In fact, he reminds me of the day I had asked him if he had plans one weekend, after we had returned from Chicago. He reminds me with a soft laugh that I looked green with jealousy when he had told me that he did, in fact, have plans all weekend. He assured me tonight that said plans were with a little, brown-haired boy, and that was the only thing that would have kept him away from me.
My skin went all warm when he told me that, and my heartbeat hummed out in appreciation.
Now dinner is done, and we are back at my apartment. I unlock the door and open it, stepping into the foyer. Matt grabs ahold of my wrist and stops me.
“This is where I give you a kiss and say goodnight,” he says as he pulls me close to his body, wrapping his arms around my waist.
My hands dig into his chest muscles slightly with surprise. “What?”