But none of that makes sense anymore … not after today's game.
After seeing Fiona.
Her blon
de hair, her perfectly gorgeous face with those wide, innocent looking eyes and sexy lips.
Those fucking tits. So fucking perky. That slender body. That fantastic ass.
No.
It's not happening tonight.
Not till I find out more about her. About Fiona.
Ignoring the looks of disappointment from the ladies in line, I turn around, and with a sigh, get back into the limo. I tell the driver to take me home.
143
Fiona
“You lucky girl,” Becca cries out so loudly that I have to push the cellphone away from my ear. “Danny Manning! I’m so jealous!”
It’s a quarter to eight, and I’m already on my way to the restaurant. I was such a nervous wreck that I grabbed my phone and called Becca, for moral support. She saw it all happen on live TV, and we already talked about it the moment I got home from the game, but every time Danny Manning comes up she acts like it’s the first time she’s hearing about it. I guess it isn't every day that a world famous athlete asks a regular girl out.
“Don’t be so jealous,” I tell her, looking out at the street through the windows of the car. “He’s a football player… It’s not like he’s going to have the manners of a prince or a billionaire,” I say, trying not to get my hopes up. I mean, I have to be realistic about the whole thing.
Manning is rich and famous, but he’s known because of his athletic prowess … not because of his manners, about which I know nothing. As far as I know, he might just be an asshole who wants to get inside my pants, and then I’ll never hear from him again. And that’s if I’m lucky. Nothing guarantees that he even remembers about our date. I wouldn’t be that surprised to find an empty table when I get to Per Se. Which would be a shame, since I spent almost two hours with Becca, picking the perfect dress, and another hour putting on the perfect makeup.
I might not be a top model, but I think that I’m up to the challenge. I’m wearing a classy black dress, and it hugs my curves like the hands from a caring lover. It ends right above my knee, and I’m hoping it’s the perfect combination of sexy and classy.
“C’mon, Fee, don’t act all depressed like you’re on death row. You’re about to have the time of your life!” She continues in that excited tone of voice, so loud that my Uber driver can probably hear the whole conversation. In fact, I notice that he has eyed me once or twice through the rearview mirror, and I’m pretty sure that he has already recognized me as the girl from the Nailers/MILFs game.
After the game ended, a lot of news stations had a field day. They started with the crushing defeat the MILFs suffered at the hands of the Nailers, and then highlighted Danny’s amazing performance throughout the whole game (I think they replayed his touchdown a gazillion times). To wrap it all up in a neat little bow, it seems that every segment about the game ended with the “lucky girl by the 50-yard-line.” That’s me, by the way.
If Danny’s touchdown got to be played on an almost endless loop, what's to say about the way he asked for my number? 2 million views on YouTube and counting, and it’s only been 24 hours. So far, though, I don’t think anyone has discovered who that “lucky girl” really was, or I’d suspect my cell phone would be ringing every single minute.
“I just don’t want to get my hopes too high, ya know? As far as I know, he might even be a jerk.”
“Oh, sure, but he’d be a hot jerk nonetheless!” Becca cries out, exasperated.“That’s just like you… You won the lottery and are complaining about it! Cheer up and enjoy it. Some women would straight up commit murder to switch places with me… And I have to be honest, I kinda would've done it last night if that placed me in the same room as Danny Manning.”
“Thanks, Becca. It’s nice to know that my roommate is a psycho.”
“No problem,” she laughs, “I thought you'd already figured that out by now.”
“And here we are,” the driver tells me, looking at me through the rearview mirror with a smile. I look out the window again, the Time Warner Center twin towers towering over the traffic. I thank him with a nod and a smile and, as the car halts to a stop right in front of the entrance, I step out onto the street. “Good luck with your date!” The driver waves at me before driving off. Am I some kind of celebrity for the day?
“So, I’m here. Which is the Per Se floor?” I ask Becca as I blend with the crowd.
“The fourth! You’re gonna love it, Fee,” she continues in that excited tone. She seems as excited about the fact that I’ll be having dinner at Per Se as she is about my date with Danny. According to her, it’s not that easy to get a reservation at Per Se.
I head straight through one of the elevators, my heart suddenly deciding to pick up the pace. Okay, calm down, Fiona; this is just a date, I try and tell myself, but I’m not sure if it’s working.
When I finally see the entrance to Per Se, I suddenly feel my heart sinking. The place is completely deserted and, for a restaurant as acclaimed as this, it can only mean that it’s not open for the public today.
“Becca, remember when I told you he might not even show up?” I start, feeling as if someone kicked me in the stomach. I mean, Danny has my phone number, but I doubt he’ll even bother to call.
I’m glancing at the empty dining area, and about to turn on my heels to leave, when I finally see him. He’s sitting at a table in the center of the room, wearing a tailored black suit that fits his built frame perfectly. In his hands there’s a rose.