Velvet Devil

I’m ninety nine percent sure this is the worst date in history. “You said you studied literature?” Reggie asks in the voice of a man who wasn’t aware that womencan in fact read. “Isn’t that pretty useless? Did you just dream of being a McDonald’s cashier, orwhat?” Make that one hundred percent sure. Since we sat down, Reggie’s eyes have spent roughly equal time divided between my cleavage andthe ass of the girl refreshing our water glasses. I heave a bitter sigh. I shouldn’t have listened toBrianna when she told me to go with the little black dress. I shouldn’t have listened to her about the choice of venue, either. This restaurant is fancy, whichmeans the service is slow, which means I’m stuck here for way longer than I’d like with Prince Not-So-Charming. Strike two for my dear sister. “There are plenty of good jobs out there,” I say to Reggie. “Teaching, for one—” “Yeah, but who in their right mind wants to be a teacher?” I bristle instantly. “Well, I do.” He laughs out loud. At least he has the decency to realize—a few seconds late, but better late thannever—that I’m actually being serious. And also that laughing in the face of someone’s hopes anddreams is a pretty dickish thing to do. I glance at my fingernails and sigh again. Thirty-five bucks plus tip wasted on a manicure for a guywho pronounces “Françoise” the same way you say “Boise, Idaho.” My life is a cosmic joke. “You look really sexy tonight,” Reggie says, changing the subject abruptly. He grins with wine-stainedteeth. “No, seriously. That dress is, y’know… God fuckin’ damn!” The older woman with the pearl necklace at the next table over snaps a disapproving glance in ourdirection. I duck her eye contact—and as I do, I catch sight of someone reclining in the corner boothover her shoulder. Instantly, it’s like being hit by a lightning bolt. A head-to-toe jolt of crackling heat. Even though the man is sitting down, he’s obviously tall. And that face—all angular and cruel, withsharp cheekbones like a fashion model, plus a Superman jaw. His suit moves fluidly with his languidmotions. It’s not hard to tell that the fabric is ludicrously expensive. He has the gleaming watch tomatch. I can’t look away. That is, until he glances over at me and catches me gawking. Shit-s**t-s**t! Turning away a little too fast, I feel like a complete moron. I can only hope that theblush on my cheeks isn’t too obvious. “I’m fine!” I screech, way louder than I mean to. Luckily, I’m saved when the waiter comes over withour meals. He sets the plates down in front of us. I stare down at my squid ink ravioli with no appetite and thestrange inkling that someone is watching me. “Smells great, eh?” Reggie asks, digging into his steak immediately. He saws off a big piece anddevours it before I’ve even picked up my fork, then continues chattering with a mouth full of food. I take the moment to glance across the restaurant. Partly so I don’t have to watch Reggie’s molars atwork, and partly so I can sneak another surreptitious glance at the man in the booth. But it doesn’t turn out to be so surreptitious after all. A fissure of electricity rushes up my spine whenI realize he’s still looking over here at me. His gaze is direct. Unapologetic. Unmerciful. I turn away with a shudder and try to concentrate on my pasta. Reggie is yammering on about thehardware store he co-owns with his two older brothers. I nod and smile, hoping he doesn’t catch ontothe fact that I’m not paying the slightest bit of attention. You’re acting like a lovestruck teenage girl, I scold myself. Get it together. The ghost of Susan B.Anthony is probably going to haunt me for the rest of my life for giving up on all my feminist leaningsthe moment a handsome guy deemed to glance in my general direction. But what he’s doing to me isn’t ideological—it’s biological. It’s bypassing every part of my brain thatknows how to think. Talking straight to the heat low in my belly. It’s strangely thrilling. Oddly unsettling. I turn to Reggie. I don’t like the fact that he’s used the pet name my sister and her family call me by. Itfeels way too intimate and familiar coming from him. But I’m too focused on finishing this dinner asquickly as possible to bother offering a correction. “Sorry. What was that again?” He sets his fork down with an irritated clank. “Is something distracting you?” he asks. “It’s pretty rudeto ignore your date, you know.” “No, sorry, nothing,” I reply quickly. “Just… tired.” “I had a couple of job interviews I was preparing for.” Which is not exactly a lie. “And I was up latelast night.” Also not exactly a lie. Although “late” in this instance just means “late for me,” whichmeans 9:05 instead of 9:00 on the dot. “Job interviews, huh?” he asks. “Cool. Anyway, like I was saying, I…” I retreat beneath the surface of a perpetual smile-and-nod. “Putting my screensaver on,” as Briannacalls it. It’s easier that way, and Reggie doesn’t need much input from me to keep prattling on. “You know, I’ve always thought you were hot as hell,” he says, burping to punctuate his attempt at acompliment. “Real fuckin’ smokeshow. Girl like you needs a guy like me. Self-made businessman,you know? A go-getter. And I’m pretty good in the sack, too.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It’s at least the dozenth time tonight he’s mentioned how “self-made”he is. Although I’m pretty sure he inherited the hardware store from his dad. Before I can figure out how to wriggle my way out of this particular conversational impasse, Reggielooks up and snaps his fingers for the waiter. When no one notices him in the zero-point-two secondshe’s willing to wait, he raises his hand to his lip and whistles. “Hey!” I hiss, mortified at his behavior. “You can’t whistle.” He looks positively dumbfounded that I seem to have a problem with it. “Why?” “Rude?” Reggie repeats, as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “Nah, babe, it’s friendly. You justaren’t used to guys taking you to nice places like this.” I slink down in my seat, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Maybe if I scrunch my eyes closedreally hard, I’ll turn invisible. Worth a shot, at least. “You can clear our plates, hon,” Reggie orders the waiter when she comes to our tableside. “And getus the dessert menus.” “Actually, that’s not necessary,” I say quickly, giving the waiter an apologetic smile. Please don’thate me, I’m saying to her with my eyes. I want this to be over just as badly as you do. “Just the bill,please.” “What?” Reggie asks. “C’mon, party’s just getting started!” “I’m tired,” I explain with rapidly waning patience. “And I’m too stuffed to have dessert.” He glances at his watch. “It’s only eleven,” he says. “Fine, forget the dessert menus then. Bring usanother round of drinks.” The waiter nods and makes her escape from the dreaded Reggie Zone before I can protest. I cringe atthe prospect of spending another half an hour in this man’s company. “Hey, I’m gonna go hit the can, okay?” He burps again. “Don’t think that steak sat right with me.” I give him a wooden nod. The moment he clears the table, I sigh with relief and whip out my phone todial Brianna’s number. She answers immediately. “Hey, sis, how’s the date going?” “I am going to kill you!” “Woah there, hold your horses. What happened?” “He’s dull and boring and boorish and I’m going to end it all with the butter knife if I have to spendanother minute stuck here with him.” Brianna giggles out loud. “You’re not using words like ‘boorish’ on him, are you?” “We have nothing in common, Bree.” “The physics of magnetism aside, I beg to disagree.” Brianna groans. “You’re not even giving him a chance. When was the last time you were attracted toany man?” The question feels unfair, especially given the very real and very visceral reaction I’d just had to theman in the booth. Not that I’m about to admit to Brianna that I was just eye-f*****g some smug WallStreet douche in a pricey suit. She’d never let me hear the end of it. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means that you treat men like an invasive species.” “With good reason! Having a man in your life isn’t everything, you know.” “Life is not Little Women, Cami,” says Brianna with a long-suffering sigh. “You don’t have to get allJo March idealist on me. I’m not saying Reggie is your fairytale prince, but at least he’s… I dunno,call it ‘practice.’” “I don’t want practice. Right now, all I want is a cab out of here.” “Back to his place?” she teases. I shudder. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Ah, shoot, he’s coming back. Gotta go. Love you, bye!” I hear her saying something like, “Just smooch him and see if you like—” before I smash the “EndCall” button and tuck my phone back under the table. “Talking about me?” Reggie asks with a waggle of the eyebrows that I’m pretty sure is meant to beseductive.