Page 120 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me
“Well, hello to you too.” He leaned his hip against the bar and appraised me. “I’m a regular. How about you?”
“First time. I’m not as fancy as you.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” His gaze roamed down my legs. “Those are some sexy shoes you’ve got there. I have a place right around the corner.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”
I stifled a laugh and put my hand on his chest, giving him a little shove. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
He stroked his jaw then held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. How about I buy you dinner first? Drink up.” I laughed as he held his martini glass to my lips.
I took a sip then reared back, pulling a face that made him laugh. If we weren’t in a public place, I would spit it out. Unfortunately, I had to swallow it down.
“Whatisthat?” I reached for his glass of water and guzzled it, trying to wash down the taste of green olives.
“A dirty martini. Gin and olive brine. I take it you’re not a fan?”
“The gin is fine,” I said, fishing the lemon slice out of his water and sucking on it. “It’s just the olives I have an issue with.”
“Have olives done you dirty?”
“They did me so dirty that I’ll never eat olives again.”
One time when I was on tour with Gabriel, we got food poisoning and spent the whole night running to the bathroom to throw up.So romantic.I don’t actually know if it was food poisoning or a stomach virus, but we’d been at a bar earlier and I’d eaten a plate of green olives. Now I couldn’t even look at a green olive without feeling nauseous.
But I remember the next morning when we were lying in bed, pale and shaky, feeling truly disgusting, and Gabriel looked over at me and said, “I feel like shit.”
I’d groaned. “Tell me about it.”
“No. I mean, I should have held back your hair. I should have done that for you.”
And I thought that was one of the sweetest things he’d ever said to me. That he would even think of something like that when he was suffering just as much as I was…well, that was just Gabriel.
The maître d’ told us our table was ready, right this way, and just in the nick of time. I didn’t want to spend my whole night tripping down memory lane.
Jack escorted me to the table with his hand on the small of my back and I squeezed between two tables and slid into the red leather banquette across from him.
The tables were small and right on top of each other, but the room was large and buzzy, like a bustling train station with soft lighting that made everyone look gorgeous.
Over chilled white wine and fruits de mer, an enormous silver seafood tower with raw oysters and shellfish, I told Jack the entire plot of a movie I went to see in London a few months ago. “I’m telling you this because you look so much like Jude Law, the actor who played Dickie Greenleaf that I think our waiter actually thinks youareDickie Greenleaf.” Another Dick. I laughed to myself.
“Thanks for clearing that up. I thought you were just trying to spoil the movie for me.” He arched his brows. “Or was it a cautionary tale?”
“Poor Dickie,” I said with a sigh. “The price you pay for being a millionaire playboy. Be careful out there.”
“It’s a jungle. Speaking of which, you were off to Bali the last time I saw you. How was it?”
“Magical. I did a lot of yoga and meditating in the jungle,” I said, guiding a piece of lobster to my mouth. “And you were off to LA. How did the Santa Monica hotel turn out?”
“Magical,” he joked. “I kept hoping you’d surprise me with a visit. I even named one of the rooms after you. Babalicious,” he deadpanned.
I doubled over laughing. “That is truly horrible. And you are such a dirty liar. You were dating that model.”
“And you were still in love with your ex. Have you gotten over him yet?”
I shrugged one shoulder and lowered my eyes. “Of course. It’s been three years.”
“Ahh yes, the magical three. And yet, you’re still very single and very much available. How do you explain that?”
“I’m selective.”
