"Then, it’s me who should be getting you the thank you present," I slipped back onto my stool and untied the gold bow. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. "A set of golf gloves embroidered with pink flamingos. You shouldn't have!"
"Just a reminder of your victory on the mini-golf course. If I hadn't missed that flamingo hole, I would have beaten you," he told me.
"Well, there's always tomorrow. Or are you busy?" I asked.
He tugged me off the stool, took my arm, and wrapped it around his. "Oh, that's right, the big golf tournament. According to my coach, I have a curfew tonight. For you, I think I might make an exception."
No sooner had we been seated than I felt Jackson's palm slide up my knee and rest on my thigh. He winked and gave my leg a squeeze as the waiter appeared. Jackson ordered for me again and as soon as the waiter retreated his fingers began lazy circles that dipped down to my inner thigh.
I shifted in my seat. "Early curfew, it is, then. I don't want to get my new client in trouble with his coach," I said.
"I'm not your client tonight and don't worry about the curfew, unless you want to skip dinner and just head back to my room right now," he said. He pulled my leg over to his and my stomach lurched.
He was handsome, charming, successful, and had a sterling reputation, but I suddenly wished I was anywhere else but at our table. I had to figure out a way to let him down easy and escape without compromising the endorsement deal. I had dealt with rejecting clients before and their egos were unpredictable.
That was why I felt a wave of relief when I first spotted Fenton weaving his way to the front door of the restaurant. He immediately had words with the doorman, standing toe to toe with him, his chin jutting out at a dangerous angle.
"Oh, no," I said, pointing to Fenton. "Looks like someone never should have left his room."
An ugly scowl covered Jackson's face, until he realized I was looking at him. "The pressure gets to some athletes. He lost a few days ago, and now he's facing a harder opponent. I wouldn't be surprised if he flamed out completely now."
I wanted to tell Jackson that Fenton was the last person I could imagine crashing and burning, but before I could defend him, Fenton shoved the doorman back and started yelling. His words were slurred and the crowded sidewalk gave him a wide berth. He noticed the space and turned in a slow circle, as if he had forgotten where he was. Then he looked up, saw the restaurant sign, and nodded to himself.
What had looked a moment ago like a coincidence created by the universe to help me choose Jackson, now looked like Fenton was moving with purpose. Had he followed me to the restaurant? Did he know I had a date?
Fenton marched right up to our table, cementing the fact that he had come there specifically to ruin my evening. He snatched up the wine the waiter had just poured me and spun it wildly in the glass.
"An expensive vintage, no doubt," Fenton said. He stuck his nose in the air and did his best to appear like a snobbish man wearing a monocle and suspenders. "Though I do believe you could find a better pairing."
"You're drunk, Mr. Morris, and not making any sense," Jackson said.
"Then, let me be clear. The lady can do a lot better than you."
"The lady can speak for herself," I said. "Where are your friends, Fenton? There was quite a party looking for you earlier. A bunch of dancers wanting to take you out dancing."
"Friends? Those are my sister's friends," Fenton said. His blue eyes crashed into mine. He reached out and grabbed a handful from the salad the waiter had only moments ago slid into place. "Ugh, bitter and too lemony. Let me guess, the lady that can speak for herself let this joker order for her?"
"This joker is asking you to leave," Jackson said. He stood up and flagged down the maître d' and security.
"Come on, Kya, you're an order-for-yourself kind of a girl. You're not all of this. And, you certainly don't want to be with him," Fenton said.
The whole restaurant was looking. My cheeks were bright red flames, but I kept my voice steady. "What did you mean those were your sister's friends?"
"So, you really didn't know?" Fenton asked.
"Sir, come with me," the security guard interrupted, latching a large hand on Fenton's arm.
Fenton yanked his arm free easily and turned back to me. This time, the security guard grabbed both his biceps and tried to turn him toward the door. I stood up to stop him, I needed to hear what Fenton had to say, but Jackson shielded me from the scene with one long arm.
"Don't worry about Mr. Morris, Kya. He was just leaving," Jackson said. "Maybe you should have taken me up on my earlier offer of room service."
"Sure, golfer, let security take care of your dirty work while you try to work your game on her," Fenton said. "I should have known you wouldn't stand up to me yourself."
Jackson's jaw clenched. "Don't listen to him, Kya. He's drunk and doesn't know what he's saying."
"Oh, so now you're telling her what to listen to and what to think?" Fenton asked. "How about she hears a story about this woman I once knew. I knew this woman who slipped into an underground bare-knuckle boxing match. And instead of getting scared and trying to get out, instead of freezing up and waiting for someone to help her, she was just fine."
"Come on, Kya, let me take you back to my hotel. We can get a bite to eat in peace there," Jackson said.