Love at The Bluebird
“How long have you had baby Sheila?” I inquire, knowing these cars are very expensive.
“Just a couple months. When ‘Thief of My Heart’ went platinum, I decided to treat myself.”
“You deserve it. The song is amazing.” Despite my dislike for Tori, I can admit she does add something beautiful to that song, even though I know he was the mastermind behind the production and writing of it.
He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles, his warm lips branding my skin. “Thank you, darlin’. That really means a lot coming from you.”
He tells me I’m in charge of the music, so I find a playlist of ‘80s hair bands to torture him with. To my surprise, he actually likes some of the songs and sings along. I’m learning that even though Gavin prefers to sing country music, his musical tastes are just as eclectic as mine are.
Our drive is short, and we pull into the valet parking of one of the ritzier hotels in downtown Nashville. Once we leave the car, Gavin grabs my hand and we walk into the hotel to take the elevators up to the rooftop restaurant. The doors slide open, and as soon as the hostess sees Gavin, she hands our menus to another hostess, who escorts us to our table.
The restaurant is beautiful with windows all around for a 360-degree view of Nashville at night. The hostess drops us off at one of the tables by the windows. We sit down, and while the nighttime view is magnificent, I can only imagine how breathtaking it is during the day. She hands us our menus and tells us our waiter will be with us shortly. We thank her and open our menus, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the prices. Even though I knew by the looks of the restaurant that it was expensive, I wasn’t expecting it to be this expensive.
“Is the menu okay for you? I didn’t even ask if you eat steak,” Gavin questions while studying me intently, his menu already closed and put down on the edge of the table.
“The menu is fine, thank you.” I lean in closer to him across the table. “You know I don’t need fancy restaurants, right? I’m pretty laid back when it comes to food.” I’m such a homebody that sometimes I will take a bowl of cereal over going out to a restaurant.
“Darlin’, I know you don’t, but if I want to take you out to fancy restaurants, please let me.” He reaches his hand out, and I place mine in his, loving how well our hands fit together. “Okay?” He raises his eyebrow at me, a sexy smirk playing on his lips, and I know the topic is over.
“Okay.” I sigh with a smile back at him. I get lost staring into those eyes and want to pinch myself, still not believing this is real. That this amazingly kind, hot-as-sin man is sitting here across from me and wants to be my boyfriend. Me. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I will never take him or our relationship for granted.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby? There are various emotions playing out all over your face.” He smiles gently at me and he reaches underneath the table to caress my knee. His touch distracts me, making me momentarily forget the question he just asked.
“All I’m thinking about is how hot you look tonight and how very, very grateful I am to be here with you.” I decide to be honest with him, because I need him to know my hesitation about us is slowly diminishing. My instincts are screaming at me to trust him, to take this leap of faith with him despite my uncomfortableness with his fame and all of the scrutiny that comes with it. I feel if I let all my doubts and worries go, then something beautiful is going to come out of this.
Something beautiful that just might last forever.
He looks around and leans in closer, his hand sliding up my thigh. “Baby, if you keep looking at me that way, we’re not going to make it through dinner.”
I give him a sexy smile and lean in as well, my hand strategically placed on his inner thigh. “Just to warn you, if your hand keeps traveling any farther north, it will discover that there is no barrier stopping you from touching me.”
His smile falters, an intense hunger shining from his eyes. I gasp when he squeezes my thigh, his fingers on my bare skin making me wet all over again. If it wasn’t for the table in between us and the absence of a tablecloth, I have no doubt that Gavin would finger me right here, right now, in front of everyone.