Only Ever Yours
Yasmin glances over at me from applying her eyeliner and grins. “You look perfect. Like a fairy tale princess.” Her phone chimes with an incoming text. “It’s the call service. The driver is here to pick me... you up.”
Suddenly, a pack of butterflies attacks my belly. I’m really going to do this. I haven’t been on a date in almost a year, and now I’m about to go on one with a wealthy man who’s expecting a professional escort.
“Stop,” she says. “I can see it written all over your face. You’re freaking out. Just pretend like it’s a blind date. These men only want a woman to have on their arm. I’d be surprised if he says more than two words to you the entire night. Enjoy yourself. Eat the expensive food, drink the expensive alcohol.”
“I’m not even twenty-one!”
She waves me off. “You will be in a couple weeks. Besides, you’re me, and I’m twenty-seven.”
“Oh, God. This is going to go so badly,” I groan.
“It’s going to go perfectly,” she says slowly, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Take a deep breath.”
I do as she says, inhaling and then exhaling slowly.
“There. Now go. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
I nod once and take another deep breath. “Okay, do I need your phone for anything?”
“Nope. At the end of the night, the driver will drop you back off here. Once you’re home, text me and let me know how it went and then I’ll check in with Lucinda and she’ll never know any different.”
“All right.” I wrap my arms around her. “Good luck on your date.”
“Thanks. You too.”
Grabbing the clutch Yasmin lent me, I toss my phone inside of it in case of an emergency—like if this guy turns out to be a creep and I need to call for an Uber—along with my keys and head downstairs.
I spot the black limo, which stands out like a sore thumb in the poverty-stricken neighborhood we live in, and saunter over with my head held high, reminding myself I’m going to make enough to pay almost an entire month’s rent in one night by doing this.
I expect the driver to get out and greet me, so I’m a bit taken aback when the back door opens and a man, dressed to the nines in a sexy black tux complete with a bowtie, steps out. Even in the dark of the night, I can make out his features: chiseled jaw with neatly trimmed stubble covering his face. His brown hair is short but messy in that sexy sort of way only men can get away with, and as I walk closer, I notice he’s sporting a tattoo. It’s a simple, elegant scrawl going vertically down his neck, maybe a quote of some sort. On some people it might make them look hard, or even trashy, but on him, it only adds to the appeal. I briefly wonder if he has more ink hidden underneath his attire.
When I reach him, he extends his hand, silently asking for mine, which I give freely. Only a few inches from him, it’s clear he’s much older than me but has aged well. His eyes, a light brown—look like warm drizzled caramel when the light hits them—meet mine, and his mouth curls into a smile that nearly takes my breath away. His lips are supple and pink and his teeth are white and straight. He’s masculine, but also kind of… pretty. He looks like he could be on a Calvin Klein ad or on the cover of a business magazine.
“I’m Isaac,” he says, bringing my hand up to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss to the top of it. “Thank you for joining me this evening and on short notice.”
My heart flutters in my chest like the wings of a hummingbird during flight and my skin prickles with goose bumps, and the apex of my legs—holy shit, it’s like the moment a man touches you in just the right spot. I’m all hot and bothered and worked up, yet all he’s done is kissed the top of my damn hand and murmured a few words to me.
“And you are?” he prompts when I say nothing in response.
Shit! Who am I? The way he’s staring at me is making it hard to think. When his thumb massages a circle across my knuckles, the sensory overload becomes too much, and I abruptly jerk my hand away, needing to break the connection. His brow furrows, causing lines across his forehead to appear, making him look several years older, but he doesn’t question me. Instead, he raises a single brow, which confuses me, until I remember he just asked me for my name.
My name... I’m... Jesus, why can’t I remember my name? His gaze sears into me, and I worry I’m going to have a panic attack, right here, in the middle of the parking lot.