Sure Thing

“Wow. You let me pick you up at the door and disclosed which state you live in. I’m feeling quite chuffed.”

“Don’t get overconfident. I can still fake an emergency and take a cab back to the hotel.”

“Duly noted. I’ll do my best to entertain you well enough that you don’t need to pull a runner.”

“Naperville, Illinois,” I offer because there can’t be much harm in telling him that much. “I’m from a city called Naperville. It’s a suburb of Chicago and it’s very… suburban,” I offer for lack of a better description. I try to picture bumping into a guy like Jennings living in Naperville and find that I can’t. If I could find a guy like Jennings in Naperville he’d already have a wife and two kids. They’d have a Bugaboo stroller for the toddler and the baby would be strapped to his chest in a Tula and they’d have a nice house within walking distance of the riverwalk and I’d hate them a little.

“My aunt Poppy married an American. Their children were born and raised in the US,” he explains. “I’ve got relatives all over though. It’s fairly normal in our family, I suppose.”

“But you’re close with your cousin?” I question. “Growing up so far apart?”

“We spent summers together. Alternated between the UK and the US.”

“Huh,” I say, not attempting to be subtle. The car makes another turn and I wonder where it is we’re going. I squint out the window, trying to place us. I think the tour bus was on this road earlier.

“Dare I ask?” He sounds amused and I bring my eyes back to his.

“I was just imagining you visiting during your teenage years…” I trail off while resting a hand on his knee.

“And?”

“And I’m thinking about all those American girls who didn’t know what to do with it.” My voice is soft and neutral given we’re not alone in the car, but I slide my hand higher as I speak.

In retrospect it might have been more effective if I’d been bold enough to go farther than mid-thigh, because instead of being seduced Jennings laughs.

“Are you still thinking about that?” He places his hand on top of mine and runs the pad of his thumb softly over the back of my hand. I think he’s done more to seduce me with this one simple unthought move than I did with my intentional slide up his leg.

“No…” I draw the word out. Maybe. A little bit. Yes. The answer is yes.

“Are you jealous, love?”

“No!” I scoff. “Of course not.” I shake my head a little. “But I mean, how big is that number exactly? The number of women who didn’t know what to do with it? Because I assume the number of women who did know what to do with it is much larger than the women who didn’t know what to do with it. So the number of women who didn’t know what they were doing with it can’t be that large. Like as a statistical pool.”

“Wow.” His face is unreadable for a moment as he just stares at me. “So jealous,” he says slowly then starts laughing again.

“So where does your cousin live?” I ask to deflect my odd possessive moment. Also because I’m wondering how often he visits his cousin and if he might want to visit me too. What? I’m a thinker. And O’Hare is a major hub. I could meet him at the airport for a quick layover. At the Hilton.

“He grew up in Connecticut,” he begins and I almost groan out loud. I cannot catch a break. There cannot possibly be one flight pattern from London to Connecticut that routes through O’Hare. Not even the shitty cheap flights with crap layovers. “But he’s in Las Vegas now,” he adds. “Living there, for work.”

Praise Jesus.

“Do you visit often?” In my head I imagine I’m asking this super-casually, but Jennings smirks with a brow raised and I’m pretty sure he’s calling my bluff on this one.

“You’re a big fan of Vegas, are you? Big gambler? Blackjack? Poker? Roulette, maybe?”

“I’ve never actually been.” I pull my hand out from under his and pick nonchalantly at a piece of lint on my dress. “But I imagine myself to be fantastic at the slot machines.”

“You’re good at pushing buttons, that’s for certain.”

I flick my eyes back to his and place my hand on his leg again. Higher this time. I’m sitting near sideways on the seat so I can look at him while we talk and it gives me the leverage to slide my calf over his. Lightly. I inch my hand a bit higher and keep my eyes on his while holding his gaze for three seconds and smiling, because if it worked in a bar it most surely works in a backseat. I’m not entirely sure what I’m trying to accomplish though since I’d bet real Vegas money that I’m not going to bed alone tonight and I’m way too old to go at it in a backseat with someone else driving the car, even if I’m pretending to be someone I’m not this week. A girl has her limits.

Jennings tips his head closer to mine and covers my lips with his own, one hand on the nape of my neck to hold me steady as his lips brush over mine. Softly. But his other hand drags the hand I’ve placed mid-thigh up to the juncture of his legs. He squeezes my hand underneath his, forcing me to feel him through the denim barrier separating us.

I whimper, a silly little mumble from the back of my throat, and he smiles into the kiss, his lips curving against mine before he breaks us apart and touches his forehead to mine.

“Later,” he promises with a wicked grin and one softly spoken word. Then he’s opening the car door because the car has stopped and we’ve arrived. I blow out a breath to calm myself because he’s just managed to work me up in the space of a nanosecond while I was attempting to seduce him. He threw that in my face, so to speak, didn’t he?

My door opens and Jennings is waiting with a hand extended to assist me. Such a gentleman. A filthy, dirty gentleman.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Jennings

“Where are we?” She’s exited the car and slipped her hand in mine, glancing at the building in front of us. She managed to miss the vineyard completely on the drive in, so focused on her task of seducing me.

She’s an enigma, this girl. So full of passion but so innocently naïve about getting it. A mixture of sweet and sassy that makes me hard in an instant. The way her thoughts constantly play out across her face makes her easy to read but somehow all the more captivating. I can’t get enough of her. How she tosses me a glare and rolls her eyes in my face when I’ve irked her. The way she bites her bottom lip and glances away while she thinks about how much she’s willing to tell me. How her nose wrinkles and eyes narrow when I’ve crossed a line and how her pupils dilate when I’ve whispered something unexpectedly filthy in her ear.

Jesus, the smell of her alone is enough to get me going. The softness of her skin and the silk of her hair. The curve of her bottom and the swell of her tits.

I’m fucked.

“Local vineyard,” I tell her. “They’ve a French restaurant that’s rumored to be lovely.”

She glances around, turning in a little circle to take in the property. We’ve been dropped at the entrance to the onsite inn, a charming building that looks like a house tucked away in the countryside. The vineyard stretches out in front of us, row after row of trellises covered in growing grape vines dotted by a perimeter of trees and open skies.

“Wow, you really go all out for first dates,” Daisy says after she’s completed her circle and returned to face me. “I’m impressed,” she says and I wonder what her face would look like if I brought her to a French vineyard. Or a Spanish one. Or, best yet, a remote Italian vineyard in the countryside with a pool and staff who left during the day. We’d do nothing but eat and fuck and lie naked in the sun. I’d dribble the finest vintages money can buy across her skin and lap them up with my tongue a drop at a time.

“Don’t get presumptuous about how good this date is. I could still ask you to split the bill,” I deadpan.

She throws her head back and laughs and I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed myself this much with anyone.

“I’ve never eaten French food before,” she admits once we’re inside sat at a table. Her fingertips are tapping the side of the menu and there’s a small crease marring her forehead as she studies the options.

“No? If you don’t enjoy it we’ll stop at I Jump on the way back.”

Her eyes fly up from the menu and she grins. “You’re an excellent listener, Jennings.”

“I’m a fast learner too. I already know three different ways to make you come in under ten minutes.”

“Oh, my God.” Her eyes widen and a blush covers her cheeks and I wonder if I can run an international travel business from Naperville, Illinois. Or, fuck it, perhaps I can retire at thirty-six and make my life’s work finding the rest of the ways to make Daisy come.

What in the hell did my life look like before this woman? It’s hard to recall.

The waiter collects our drink orders. I order a Manhattan while Daisy selects one of the Rieslings made at the on-site winery. She examines the interior of the restaurant, her eyes resting briefly on the wooden-beamed ceiling, chairs covered in a blue French toile fabric, and chandeliers hanging with their cords swagged from hooks in the ceiling. She doesn’t speak until the drinks arrive.