Page 131 of Ruthless Chaos
We continue our journey at a slower speed, and in comfortable silence.
He isn’t taking the same route Tara took the day we went shopping. Even though I’m in the dark about our destination, I followed his instructions—I’m wearing a cashmere jumper, soft jeans and plain white sneakers.
It was a struggle to leave our dorm room wearing this, as Tara was hellbent on a miniskirt when she found out that we were going out together. If the way Alexander’s eyes have lingered on me is any sign, though, I think this was enough.
“Can you give me a hint of what we’re going to do?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I enjoy keeping you in suspense.” Then he adds, in a low rumble, “Well, maybe if you beg me, I’ll tell you.” He gives me a devilish grin, and my cheeks heat. “You’re almost irresistible when you beg.”
Heat skitters over my skin, and I clench my fists to stop the tingling in my fingers.
I knew he would bring this up eventually.
I have no idea what came over me—it could’ve been the stress of the night, plus seeing that other side of him when I confided in him. It should have been embarrassing, to beg him like that.
But I would do it again. I liked the way it felt, kind of turned me on more.
The conversation between us for the rest of the drive is sparse.
I’m a little relieved that neither of us is talking the other’s ear off, to be honest. I’m still not sure if this is arealdate, like the kind girlfriends have with their boyfriends.
Alexander hasn’t sought to clarify either.
So, the lack of conversation is a happy medium—I can think of him as a friend.
A friend I want to fuck.
I shove the thought away. In case the mood shifts though, earlier this morning while Tara did my hair, I saved an article titledFifty First Date Questions.
We pull off the main road and on to a narrow, bumpy dirt lane that leads to a quaint little town. It looks like the kind you would see on a postcard, with log cabins and weathered brick roads. Alexander’s car stands out like a sore thumb as he parks it between two trucks from the 1950’s.
He rounds the vehicle quickly and helps me out.
There aren’t many people around, but we get curious looks.
Well, Alexander more than me. I think I fit in. He looks like he doesn’t belong here. He’s dressed in full-black—sunglasses, tailored short-sleeved shirt under a denim jacket, designer jeans and leather dress shoes.
He takes my hand, his big one enveloping mine. It’s a simple action and he’s held my hand before, but this time it throws my world off its axis.
My stomach flutters. I hope my hands don’t get clammy.
Alexander leads me along the main street, oblivious to the looks we’re getting, or the one I’m giving him.
I know I shouldn’t make it so obvious, but I can’t stop myself.
The mid-morning sun picks up the brown highlights in his blonde hair and the golden highlights in his blue eyes, but I can’t stop myself.
I don’t think I want to stop either.
If he’s doing this to give me the experience of having a first date, then hell, I will enjoy it. Even if it doesn’t mean the same things to him—I can save these moments for myself and revisit them in secret.
He never has to know what I’m thinking.
We come to a stop in front of what seems like a restaurant. There’s no one seated on the terrace outside, and the door is shut tight.
“Are you sure this place is open?” I ask, peering through the glass door, looking for a sign with their opening hours.
Alexander ignores me. He pulls out his phone and makes a call. I hear the faint ringing of a phone inside. He has a brief conversation, then a few moments later the door opens.
