The door to Sylvia’s condo is unlocked, and I let myself in. “You here?” I call, my eyes sweeping the dim-lit condo. It’s warm and lived-in, but my girl is nowhere in sight.
“Make yourself a cocktail,” she calls from somewhere in the back of the place. “I’m almost ready.”
“You want something?” I step into the kitchen, opening cabinets, wondering where they keep the liquor.
“I’m good!” her voice is so light and clearly still happy, I want to find her and kiss her.
“I’m coming to find you,” I shout.
“No!” she squeals. “I want to surprise you.”
“Not happy,” I grouse with a grin, heading back to the kitchen. At the same time, I’m curious about being surprised. I’ve seen a lot of Miss Amy Knight.
I’m back in the kitchen when I hear the noise of heels on hardwoods. Turning, I see her just before she stops in a white halter dress with a flared skirt and bright blue Ming Dynasty print at the neck, bodice, and around the hem.
“I don’t believe it,” I laugh. “How did you—”
“It is pretty coincidental,” she nods, pressing her palms together and doing a little bow before skipping to me in a pair of platform espadrilles. “I picked this up in Barcelona last year, and I’ve never even worn it!”
Her hair is twisted up in a bun with two chopsticks crossed in the back. “I prefer your hair down, but this is cute.”
She makes a pouty face, and it’s too much. I can’t resist. My hands are on her hips, and I pull her to me, planting a firm kiss on her perky red lips. She exhales into me, melting as her mouth opens. Our tongues unite.
My hands move up to cup the sides of her neck, my thumbs caressing her cheeks as I kiss her, and I have to fight the urge to slide my fingers into her ha
ir, unwinding it around us.
Instead I straighten, releasing her. “We’d better take off before I forget you need food.”
“Who says I need food?” She slants an eye, and I can’t help a laugh. I love this playful side of her.
Something’s changed, and I look forward to finding out what.
* * *
So what exactly does upscale Chinese look like? I was wondering the same thing, and the answer is not too shabby.
The restaurant is all oranges and reds and low tables. Dark-wood Frank Lloyd Wright silhouette dividers separate the dining area, and golden lanterns fill the ceiling, creating an ambient glow. It’s beautiful. And fucking packed.
Valet takes the car, and I catch my beautiful date’s hand before we head into the restaurant. The first person we encounter is Amy’s friend from Studio O.
“Ceej!” She hops forward and hugs him. He’s dressed in khaki pants cuffed above his ankles and boat shoes, a white shirt, navy blazer and turquoise tie. Shaking my head, I can’t help admiring his flair.
“Bitch! I had no idea you would be here. Look at you!” His eyes flit to me, and an eyebrow arches. “Nevermind.” A slim hand extends in my direction. “I’m sure you don’t remember. Carlton Jeffrey Berman the Third.”
My eyebrows rise, and at his side, I catch Amy attempting to stifle her laughter. “Actually, I do remember,” I reply. “But I didn’t get the full moniker last time.”
“You can call me C.J.”
I don’t care what his name is or how sparkly his eyes get when I shake his hand. Seeing Amy this happy is something I can live with forever, regardless of who brings it—so long as she’s at my side.
Their heads are together as we make our way through the crowded bar. Amy’s hand is tight in mine, our fingers laced together. They over-invited tonight. I stop, exasperated, but my eyes roam the crowd. Evan is in the back corner leaning close to a pretty brunette. Our next stop.
We’re at the bar, and I lean close toward the harried bartender. “Three vodkas on the rocks.” She nods and just as fast three tumblers of ice are set up on the bar. Red plastic beaks top the clear bottle, and our glasses fill slowly. Three lime wedges, and I pass over cash. “Keep the change.”
Amy’s at my chest. “What did you order?”
“Vodka. It seemed the quickest.” Her eyes sparkle with her smile as she takes the drinks, handing one to her friend.