Sweet Thing (Naughty Things 2)

“Very good choices.” The waiter smiles and takes the menus. Then he looks at Aria and says, “I’m sure you’ll love the grilled cheese, honey,” before walking off.

“What was that?” Aria says.

“What was what?” I ask, leaning in to her neck to kiss her. “I want to take you in the bathroom an—“

“Grilled cheese?” she says.

“What’s wrong with grilled cheese?” I ask, pulling away from her.

“Am I five?”

“It’s truffle grilled cheese, Aria. For grown-ups.”

She just makes a face.

“OK, so you don’t like grilled cheese. Noted.”

“I like grilled cheese, it’s just”—she makes a noise of frustration—“I feel five!”

“Aria,” I say, leaning back in to her neck. “I’m playing with your pussy in public. There is no reason to feel like you’re five.”

“Yeah,” she says, pushing my hand away from her leg. “Stop that. Everyone is looking over here.”

“No one’s looking,” I say, glancing around. No one is. Everyone is having lunch.

“I feel like… a toy. Like some plaything. And you know what? I’m not.”

“Uh… OK,” I say, calmly leaning back against the booth. “I thought we were playing around, so that could be the reason.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Why are you so upset with me? I’m sorry about the grilled cheese. I didn’t choose it because it’s called grilled cheese. I chose it because truffles are delicious and fancy.”

She makes a face and takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I want to be here.”

“Here?” I say, pointing down at the table. “Or with me?”

She looks away.

“OK,” I say, flagging the waiter as he rushes by. “Excuse me? Can we cancel our order? Our plans have changed.”

“Certainly, sir. And no charge for the water.”

“Thanks,” I say, getting out my wallet to leave a tip.

“We don’t have to leave.”

“Clearly we do, Aria.” I scoot out of the booth on one side and she scoots out on the other. We don’t hold hands as we walk back through the restaurant. She leads the way, chin up, stiff posture, hands holding her skirt close to her legs, and I follow, wondering why I bother with the young ones.

There is a reason people tend to date others their own age, right? Compatibility and stuff like that?

“Where should I drop you?” I ask her, once the valet delivers the car.

“Just… home.”

“Fine,” I say, pulling away from the hotel.

There’s quite a bit of traffic so this makes the awkward silence even more awkward. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Aria,” I say. “What’s the real problem? Is it my choice of food or the fact that you felt uncomfortable with what we were doing or—“

“You know what it is?” she says, looking straight ahead.

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“It’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong? My hands on your body in public? Because that’s kind of the point, right? We were just playing around. Having some secret fun. It’s supposed to feel wrong, and daring, and exciting, and—“

“That’s not how it felt,” she says.

“Well, it was until I ordered you truffle grilled cheese.”

She huffs.

“You were laughing, having a good time, and then—bam. You were pissed. So what’s wrong?”

“Why are you even here with me? This was supposed to be a one-night thing.”

“Right. We talked about this already. I changed my mind and you changed yours. And clearly, you’ve changed it again. So fine. You don’t want me around, I’ll drop you off and never talk to you again. That work for you, princess?”

She doesn’t say anything else the rest of the ride back to her sister’s apartment. When I pull up to the front of the house, she gets out without a word, closes the door, and walks away.

I sit there for a second. Watch her go through the door, and then shake my head and drive away.

This is why I don’t date eighteen-year-old girls.

But back at the office I can’t get her out of my mind. I messed up. I did something. Not the grilled cheese, that’s just what triggered her new feelings. I made a mistake somewhere. Misjudged her.

And even though I want to pretend that it’s all cool, just another one-night stand… I can’t.

I took her virginity last night.

And I liked it.

I might even like her.

“What’s up your ass today?” Ozzy says, coming into my office and flopping down on a chair. “We’re totally on track to purchase three more houses and one more building in the Gingerbread. And the festival is coming along nicely. July fourth is gonna be a blast. We’ll probably have sold several houses by then. Two are going on the market—“ Then he stops. “Are you even listening to me?”

I stare at him for a second. “You ever date a younger woman?”

He laughs. “All the time.”

“How young?” I ask.

He shrugs. “The girl I went out with last weekend was twenty-seven. Seeing her again tonight, in fact.”

“No, I mean young,” I say. “As in really young.”

“How young?” he asks, with a totally different tone.