Naked Truth (4 page)

Well, shit.  I’m standing in the rain, soaking wet, with this child-sized umbrella because I can’t take my eyes off Violet’s disappearing car. Once I’m confident that she is safely on her way, I turn on my flooded heel and head into the bank to make a quick deposit.  I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get the opportunity to ask Violet out properly, and I almost fucked up by telling her to call me Pike, but I played it off, and now I am flying high from our little contact.

I shake out the umbrella then fasten the Velcro, trying to not drip everywhere. I am soaked to the bone, but feel hot as hell on the inside.  I greet Cliff at the door as I do every Wednesday, and with a little extra pep in my step, I make my way over to the line. With one person in front of me, I have the perfect amount of time to come up with a great idea.  It’s genius, actually.

My turn to walk to the windows, and with a smile maybe too wide, I step up to the window.

“How do you do, Susie Q?” I ask in a singsong voice.

“Mr. Taylor, how nice to see you this evening,” she answers with a coy smile then bites her lower lip.

Dammit!  I cringe as I realize the shitstorm that I’ve just created for myself. I hand her my cash and try to pull my hand back quickly, but luck not being on my side today, she brushes her fingers over the top of my hand as she retrieves my money.  At that exact time, the air-conditioning kicks in and my body gets a chill, causing goose bumps to run down my arm. Of course, she takes that as another sign that I enjoyed her cop-a-feel. Fuck me.

“Sure is cold in here,” I overemphasize, then roughly rub both of my arms. Hopefully that’s enough to get her to understand why I have the bumps.

“Yeah? Raining hard out there?” she inquires as she processes my deposit. With that comment, I totally remember my big plan.

“Hey! Violet loaned me her umbrella earlier. Any way I can leave it for her?  I wouldn’t want her to get caught without it tomorrow if it decides to monsoon out there again.”

“Sure,” she says with an eye roll. Like me mentioning Violet’s name puts a damper on her day. “Give it to me and I will leave it on her chair,” she adds blandly.

“Okay, thanks. Just give me a sec, I want to write a quick thank you note.”  I look around for a piece of paper and see the blank deposit slips on the table behind me. So I grab one and scratch out a quick note.

As I hand the note and umbrella to Susie, she gives me her best flirty look, which to any other man would be considered sexy. But for me, I find her beauty too obvious. She looks like every other woman I have ever unsuccessfully dated.

“I’m about to lock up for the night. Interested in a nightcap…at my place?” she asks, not so subtly.

Trying to not offend her, I try to think of an excuse quickly. “I would love to, but I already have plans with the guys tonight.  Have a nice night, Susie,” I say, hopefully letting her down easily.  I am flat out lying, but I still want to be able to come to this bank to see Violet, and I don’t need any extra drama.

“Rain check?” she asks.

I don’t answer.  I don’t want to lie or give her false hope.  I just smile as I retreat.  “Night,” is all I offer, and make a run for it.  Not literally.

-4-

Driving to work this morning, I am feeling a little lighter. I must admit, I am exhausted from lack of sleep.  My
tête-à-tête
with Jordan replayed in my head the entire night, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  It also helped that I slept in his coat jacket. A little obsessive maybe, but whatever.  Rose is even talking to me a little, albeit curt.

I purposefully get to work earlier than usual because I was so distracted yesterday; I want to make sure I closed out my drawer correctly. Plus, I don’t trust Susie completely. I mean, I have known her for a few years now, and I would consider us “work” friends, but I can see her cattiness come out from time to time with other women, so I just want to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. The bank is dark and quiet when I enter.  I only turn on the lights that I need to take care of my business. I head to my window to drop off my purse and notice that my chair isn’t pushed all the way in. And obviously, I remember how I left my window.

I approach cautiously, as if a wild animal is going to jump out at me. Then I laugh at myself. “Get a grip, Violet,” I say to myself, out loud, knowing there is nobody else here to hear me talking to myself. Can you imagine how much crazier people would think I am? I’m already the weird memory girl to those who know or have heard about me.

Anyway, a few more steps and I’m pulling out my chair to see none other than my umbrella. The widest smile graces my face.  That is until I see a little note leaning against it; the corners are still a little wet from how it was left over night. My heart begins to race.  I flip open the deposit slip – so cute – to see the craziest chicken scratch.  I run my fingers over his words, not reading anything yet, but just soaking it all in. Taking in the fact that he wrote this for me. He left this for me. Susie must have had a shit fit. Excuse my French. I take a deep breath then try to decipher and decode:

Beautiful Violet,

Thank you for your tiny umbrella.  (I have to chuckle aloud at that. It is kinda small.)

Have dinner with me Friday.

No excuses.

305-555-0603

Mr. Taylor
  

Jordan

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! I hold the note to my chest for a few seconds before pure elation hits me and I start to squeal and dance around like a teenage girl who just saw Justin Beiber. Am I really going to do this?

I arrive at the Brewery House a few minutes early, which helps to tamper my obsession with punctuality.  Jordan wanted to pick me up, but since we live an hour or so apart, it was easier to pick a place in the middle. Also, this way, if I feel uncomfortable or anything, I know I have an out. 

Scanning the parking lot, even though I have no idea what kind of car he drives, I catch a glimpse of him waiting by the entrance way.  I am so impressed that he arrived early to meet me. And he looks freaking delicious.  He told me to dress casually, so I decided to wear a maxi dress with a green and navy design on it, which hugs my Puerto Rican-mother-given curves perfectly and makes me feel sexy, along with navy espadrilles. I’m not really a high heels kind of girl. My Irish-father-given strawberry hair is up in a high pony, and I have very little make up on, allowing my freckles to shine.  Jordan is wearing faded jeans, which look like they were molded to his body, a black button down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black combat looking boots. You wouldn’t think that it would work, but it is a spectacular sight.

Before I get the chance to check myself in the mirror, Jordan is already opening my door and offering me a hand. I accept his outreached hand and my skin feels like it is on fire where we are touching.  Even though I try to pull back a little, he beats me to it by threading his fingers through mine. When I look up at him, he just offers me a sexy wink, then leans down and kisses me on the temple again.  I’m starting to think that it is less “friend” and more “affection.” And I can’t lie, I’m starting to become addicted to it.

We head into the Brewery House, and like the gentleman he is, Jordan opens the door for me and waves me through first. It doesn’t look too busy, so I don’t think there will be much of a wait.  I am still really nervous, and don’t have Jordan’s hand to ground me anymore as he needed it to open the door for me. Damn chivalry.  As we approach the hostess stand, I have plenty of time to assess the hostess.  She looks to be about college age. Perky like a sorority girl, or maybe a cheerleader.  She is petite and is wearing the tightest, shortest black shorts I have ever seen.  Like something I would probably sleep in if I didn’t know that it would give me a yeast infection. That’s how insanely tight they are.  I guess she’s kinda pretty, if you like that look, but I actually think that my natural look is much more appealing. The reason I have ample opportunity to form these thoughts, is that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of Jordan. Not for a second. I’m not sure she even realizes that I am here.

“Table for two please,” I hear Jordan say, even though she hasn’t asked him a single thing yet.

She just giggles, which is what causes me to come back to my senses.  Is she really flirting with my date?  And what is he doing? I finally turn to face Jordan, and am completely surprised with what I see.  Although he is talking to her, he is looking directly at me. When he notices that he has my attention, he starts making silly faces at me.  I try not to laugh, but I just can’t hold it in.  A laugh eventually spurts out of my lips, then a snort escapes me, and I am utterly embarrassed.  I see Jordan’s eyes widen for a split second, and now knowing that exact moment when he registers my snort, I try to hide my face behind my hands.

“Absolutely not. Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he says sweetly then gently pulls my hands away from my face.  He crouches down to my eye level, since he is so freaking tall, then looks me right in the eyes. I try to close them, but I can’t.  His beauty mesmerizes me.

“Never hide from me. I like everything about you…snorts and all.”

“It’s warts, goof ball,” I tease.

He mock gasps. “You have warts? That’s from all of the frogs you’ve been kissing. And now…” I cut him off.

“Now I’ve found my prince?”

A throat clears before either of us is able to comment on what just transpired.

“Right this way,” the hostess says then walks away, not even concerned enough to look if we are following her. 

Screw her, she can’t bring me down.  I’m feeling confident and more beautiful than ever. But, of course, that doesn’t last very long.

The restaurant is essentially a big square box.  There are booths set up around the perimeter, and then rows of tables.  There are half-walls separating the rows, but the tables are butt up against the walls, so it actually looks like you are sharing a table with other customers.

As we follow the hostess to our table, I quickly realize that she is heading to a middle table, and not a booth. I am slightly disappointed, because I would have liked the extra privacy.  Oh well.  As we approach our table, I see that there are two women sitting at the table on the other side of the pony wall.  One woman is talking to the other, trying to engage her in a conversation, but the other woman isn’t paying her much attention.  In fact, she is paying all of her attention to me.  Then Jordan, then me again. Then I see her give me the elevator eyes.  You know? When someone checks you out from top to bottom.  She then looks at Jordan again. I have a weird niggling feeling that she’s judging me, but I don’t let it get to me.  She turns back to the other woman at her table and says something to her about me in Spanish, I think.  It is kind of loud, and we are too far away for me to tell for sure.  I’m not being paranoid.  Now I know that she is saying something about me, because the other woman is looking at me then shakes her head.  I do a quick cursory glance at myself.  At least what I can see.  My boobs are covered, I’m not trailing any toilet paper.  I know I look adorable. What the heck?

Before I have the chance to give it a second thought, Jordan is behind me getting ready to pull out my chair.  He’s such a gentleman; he has me swooning inside.  I refuse to let two unkind ladies get to me. Jordan takes a seat across me, and I just have to reassure myself that my newfound confidence is warranted.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” I ask then show my teeth in an awkward smile.

Jordan just raises a brow. “No, clean as a whistle.”

“What about my hair? Is it out of control?”

“Nope, your pony tail is cute as a button.”

It’s gotta be my make up then from all the laughing we were doing. “Do I have mascara running down my face?”  I run my middle fingers under my eyes, but they come back clean.

“Violet? You look beautiful. Dare I say perfect?  What’s going on?”

I lean in a little closer toward him across the table, and he mimics my movements.  “I don’t know.  When we walked up here, those ladies over there…” I tick my head sideways, pointing to them. “…were staring at me.  Just wanted to make sure I look decent.”

Jordan laughs quietly and shakes his head.  “Violet, you look more than decent.  They were probably just staring at you because you are so stunning.”  He smiles at me so sincerely that it completely warms my heart, and I almost believe him. No, not almost. I believe him.

I lean back in my seat and blow out a deep breath.  “Thank you. And you look gorgeous tonight, by the way.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed so casually before. I really like it.” I smile fondly back at him.

“Thank you,” he says, unusually shy.

Before we get a chance to pick up our menus that the hostess not so gracefully tossed onto our table, our server arrives.  She looks to be in her mid-sixties, with her hair dyed a bright orange.  To say it is unflattering is an understatement.  But she has a friendly smile and a cheerful attitude.

“Good evening. I am Trish and I will be your server tonight.  Can I start you guys off with a drink?”

Jordan gives me a look signaling that I should go first.  I smile at Trish because I know what’s coming.  I’m sorta kinda picky when it comes to restaurants.

“Trish, can you tell me, do you serve Coke or Pepsi? I ask, knowing that my decision will be determined by her answer.

“We serve Pepsi products,” she answers easily.

Well, that’s disappointing. “Oh, okay. How about iced tea?  Do you have unflavored?”

“We sure do, darlin’. We have flavored, unflavored, sweetened, and unsweetened.”

“Perfect.  I’ll have the unflavored, unsweetened, please,” I request.

“Absolutely, and for you, Sir,” she turns to Jordan.

“Shoot! Sorry to interrupt.” But of course, I do.

Both sets of eyes turn toward me.  I’m such a pain in the butt. I chew on my thumbnail for a few seconds, nervous about upsetting either of them.

“Do you have Sweet-n-Low? You know, the pink packets?” I ask then shrug.  I just can’t get used to the yellow or blue sweeteners.

“Yep, we have all of the different brands.  I will bring it out to you with your tea,” she answers, unbothered.

“Thank you. Sorry.” I wince a little, but Jordan just winks back at me making me feel like I did nothing wrong.

Trish turns back to Jordan, but doesn’t ask again.  He just answers.

“Anything on tap will do.  You can surprise me.” 

Trish lets us know she will be right back with our drinks and to take our orders in a bit.  I need to figure out what I am going to eat. This may take a while.