Page 15 of Billionaire Romance

8

Weaver

It’s déjà-vu. Chris and I are walking down the street, hand in hand at midnight, his coat is over my shoulders. But we aren’t in Paris this time, and instead of heading to my rental studio to fuck, we’re walking in Manhattan to a diner to have a post-fuck snack. Regardless, it feels familiar. How could it be that a man I’d only spent a single night with four months ago can feel so familiar?

And then it hits me again, in a shocking wave: we know each other very well, I just hadn’t known that as I was getting close to WildCaptain, it was really Chris all along. It’s confusing trying to meld the two men into a single person.

I’m leading Chris to my favorite twenty-four-hour diner. It’s a twenty-minute walk from the club, and I’m relieved we walk in silence. I’m trying to get my thoughts straight, and I know talking to Chris before I do will just confuse everything.

Did I know it was him? Should I have been able to figure it out somehow and I just didn’t want to? No, I decide. I hadn’t been in denial or ignoring any signs. There were none. Aside from the fact that my mind wandered back to him, and often. I have so many questions for him, but I’m not sure where to begin. The first would definitely be How? My friends and family don’t even know about my website, how could he have figured it out after just one night with me.

And of course, Why? What’s the angle here? It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just for another fuck. Oh, but I am glad he’s gone to the trouble. Despite the weird circumstances that led to this reunion, I haven’t felt more relaxed, more in the moment, in months. I have a hundred questions bouncing around my head, but I can also appreciate the warmth of Chris’s strong hand on mine, and the pleasure of walking by his side. And each time I remember his hands tugging my hair, digging into my hips, a warmth spreads throughout my body,

“Just up this way,” I say, breaking the silence of the past ten blocks. “I’ve loved this place since I was in high school and first taking the train into the city with my friends on my own.”

The light in the diner is bright, and it is a harsh contrast to the dimly lit streets. Suddenly it seems like we’re back in the real world, our little bubble has burst, and I feel awkward as we wait at the hostess stand. The hostess is a punk rock chick, with rings running up and down each ear and the corners of her mouth, and hair that is a color I can only describe as nuclear waste.

“Follow me,” she says, without even looking up, and leads us to a large booth in the corner of the diner. Chris and I each enter from separate sides of the circular booth, but wind up sitting right next to each other. We start looking through the diner menus, which in typical New York diner fashion, are about thirty pages long.

“Limited options,” Chris jokes, breaking the silence, peeking over his enormous menu at me. I chuckle in agreement.

Sitting side by side, in this diner, suddenly it feels like we’re on a date. Little nervous butterflies flutter in my tummy, and I search in my head for something to say. It’s hard to remember that he and I, just this afternoon, had a pleasant chat by text. That we joked with each other. That he knew me. It wasn’t hard to remember though how he fucked me just thirty minutes before. I feel a pleasant ache between my legs and I’m acutely aware that my panties are missing, making me worry that I’m leaving a wet spot on my dress.

I scan the menu, but I already know that I’m ordering onion rings and the biggest burger they have. And a chocolate milk shake. I definitely worked up an appetite in the alley with Chris.

“Hey,” I say, apparently startling him because he jumps a bit at the sound of my voice. But he looks up at me expectantly. “I’m going to go freshen up. Could you order me the Village burger with onion rings and a chocolate milkshake? I’ll be right back.”

“Sure thing,” he says, smiling at me. His smile is pleasant, and it makes me feel warm and safe.

The restroom is empty when I walk in, and I lean into the mirror, studying my face. I look freshly fucked. My hair in tousled from where Chris’s hands pulled it roughly. I don’t have a brush in my small purse, so I try to straighten it as best as I can with my hands. My make-up is ruined. My lipstick is likely all over Chris’s mouth and neck, but my lips still look plump and red. Kissing will do that, I think to myself. I grab a handful of paper towels and wet them under the warm water, then remove the streaks of eyeliner and mascara from around my eyes. My mind shoots back to just a few hours earlier, when I was putting on my makeup in my apartment. How things have changed. I couldn’t possibly have imagined the night would lead to this diner, to this date, for lack of a better word, with Chris. With WildCaptain. I thought it would just be a night on the town with…

Shit! Kate!

Feeling like the worst friend in the world, I grab my phone and check for texts, imagining she’s been trying to get hold of me frantically, afraid I’d been slipped a Micky and kidnapped by a group of club kids. There’s only one text from her, sent just a few minutes ago.

Gray Prada and I are swapping numbers out on the balcony. Where are you?!?!? I feel terrible I ditched you.

So who’s the worst friend in the world now,I think.

I start to shoot her text to let her know I’ve left the club, but I pause, because I don’t know what to say. She doesn’t know about WildCaptain, but she does know about Chris, so how do I explain that we’ve bumped into each other. This is precisely why I hate secrets.

Bumped into an old friend at the club. Come meet us. I think you’ll find this very interesting.

I add the address for the diner and hit send. The little bubbles indicating she’s typing pop up immediately.

Hopping in a cab. Save me some fries because I’ll see you soon.

This is about to get interesting.

I give myself a once over in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. I try to straighten out my dress as best as I can, but the shoulders and neckline are stretched out and revealing a little too much for my taste. It’ll take a trip to the drycleaners before I can wear this dress decently again. I decide this is as good as it’s going to get and leave the bathroom.

I’m walking back to the table slowly, observing Chris from a distance. He was bossy as hell in the alley way, but I see him talking to that punk rock hostess and she’s actually smiling at him. I didn’t think her lip rings would even allow that expression. He has a kind look on his face as he talks to her, and despite his obvious wealth and preference for being in charge, I can tell he’s a good man. Years of waitressing have taught me that a person’s character can be judged by how they treat wait staff.

“Hey,” I say as I get back to the booth. “This looks delicious. It also looks like it could feed a small village.” The table is piled up with the biggest plate of onion rings I’ve ever seen, and my burger looks like it’s at least half a pound of ground beef. My mouth is watering, and as I slide into the booth and wrap my hands around that delicious burger, I decide there’s no lady-like way to eat this beast.

I notice Chris is having a Rueben, piled up high with corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut. The grilled sandwich goodness is wafting over to me, and I have immediate sandwich envy. He must notice the way I’m eye-fucking his sandwich, because he asks, “Do you want to trade?”

“Was it that obvious?” I laugh with a mouth full of hamburger. “How about halvsies?”

---