“You look radiant.”
He said to me. Sitting across from me at the table, which was drapped in white linen, and accented with candles, dripping with desire, much like that which I was exchanging with him at this present moment. I could hear the music, it was soft in the background of it all, and it all had me weak in my stomach, anticipating the moment this night would reach the inevitable point where I could ask him to come in, or leave him desperate for more on my doorstep. I knew that wasn’t what I wanted, not at all. I needed a night of restless behavior, tossing in the sheets, clothes carelessly spread all over my bedroom floor while the two glasses of Chardonnay that I had poured to break the slight discomfort when we first stepped foot in my place, sat untouched.
I blink back to focus, drowning my mind and all its passionate wanderings out. I trace the rim of my cocktail glass with my perfectly manicured finger, and I glance up at him. He is so handsome. I admire his dark eyes, his dark hair, while he sits with good posture, yet still looks relaxed, comfortable and completely chill. It’s his confidence that get’s me every time. He has mastered the ability to be confident but not cocky. Nothing is worse than cocky. The server comes by and asks if we will have another drink. He tells her to bring another round and then present him with the bill.
He reaches into his coat pocket, looking deep into my eyes, talking about his last business adventure in Paris and how he wants to take me there. That sounds lovely, but all I’m thinking of is getting out of this restaurant and getting closer to him. He pulls out a cigar, puts it to his beautiful, full lips and begins to puff while holding a flame to the end. As I watched him attentively, pull smoke through his cigar, exhale slowly, and seduce me with every masculine thing he does, the server returns. She explains that smoking is not allowed in the restaurant and that he would have to go outside. He sat and looked at her for a minute, smiling, so coy, and told her not to get her panties in a bunch, that she only wishes that his attention was on her, instead of the exotic sophistication he was smoking while he sat across from my stunning beauty. Although he paid a compliment to me, I was slapped in the face by his blatant, sudden, cockiness and everything that I had entertained as a possible conclusion to the evening was history. In one moment, he had crossed the line of confident to cocky and that was enough. I had to get out of that restaurant. I stood up, set my napkin on the table and said, “Call me next weekend.”
I didn’t want to throw in the towel too quickly. What’s a little cocky anyway? Isn’t it exactly what I wanted in the first place?
~ J. Lefever ~