He coughed. “Your profile said you’re from Los Angeles, but you moved here to the east coast. Who do you work for?” Just then, the waitress interrupted as if on cue and asked them if they wanted a drink. Laura ordered a sake.
“Make it two,” he added. If she was going to go for the harder stuff, so would he. Boy, this could end up being a much more interesting date than he ever expected.
She felt like she had lost her entire vocabulary all in the past three minutes. This guy was incredible. He had taken her to the hottest place in town. Granted, his friend had recommended it, but who cared if that was the main reason why?
Dylan seemed to care, to take the time to make a good first impression, and she loved his sense of humor even if it did nearly lead to her early demise from a heart attack via misunderstanding. She had never been taken anywhere so nice. Of course she could never tell him that. Most of the guys who dated her took her to a restaurant that had 50-inch plasma televisions blasting five different sporting events all at once, and the most gourmet item on the menu was fried mozzarella sticks.
She blanked when the waitress asked her what she wanted to drink, so she blurted out sake, because it was the one drink she had ever had in an Asian restaurant years ago, when her mother had taken her to a Hibachi place for her twenty-first birthday. Well, hey, sake it was. She figured one shot would loosen her up and then she could show more of herself. With Dylan joining her, she knew she’d ordered appropriately for this type of restaurant and began to let herself unclench a little.
She glanced at the table and saw that she was revealing more of herself already. Her sweater had dipped down a little too much to show the black lace of her bra and when she looked up, she found that she did not meet Dylan’s eyes with her own, but that he, in fact, was staring at the same spot she had just been looking at.
Apparently he was not enough of a gentleman to pretend that he wasn’t staring—until he cut his eyes away abruptly. He threw his napkin in his lap, looked down at the menu, and said “I have no idea what any of this stuff is.” Then he turned and craned his head to watch one of the servers take a tray over to a nearby table. “Whatever it is, though, it smells incredible.”
That loosened her up more, her nervous laughter shifting into something more genuine. These startlingly special few minutes felt like they had already altered reality for her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but was trying very, very hard not to make more meaning out of these few perfect moments with Dylan.
A giddiness, unfamiliar and not fleeting (to her utter shock), filled her skin and her thoughts as she shyly caught his eye and let it settle, not looking away. Their stare deepened into something more primal, more knowing, and her insecurity faded as they communicated without words.
Interrupted by the waitress, she pulled her eyes away with regret as the woman brought their drinks. Dylan held his up in a toast and said, “To...business analyzing!”
She nodded acknowledgment, and answered, “To firefighting,” clinking glasses before they drank and put down the empty shot glasses. She fingered the rim of her glass and then they both leaned forward on the table with great expectation.
Finally, she realized he expected her to answer the question he had asked what felt like hours ago, and she said, “Oh, oh, I work for Stohlman Industries.”
“Stohlman?” His expression showed he was impressed. That pleased Laura—it was impressive. Stohlman was known for being very, very competitive for jobs, and it had been hard to break in to the world’s third largest media company.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been there well, since I graduated college.”
“Really? What is your degree, then?”
“IT—Information Technology.”
“But you’re a business analyst?”
“Yeah, I work with the tech side of things.”
He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, clearly making himself comfortable, and gave her a mirthful look. “So what do you do?”
And she laughed, her face relaxing, her cheeks spreading and matching his mirth. “Do you really want to know? ‘Cause it’s awfully technical.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, propped his chin in one hand and said, “Yeah, I do want to know.”
She studied his eyes. He meant it—he really meant it. Oh, man, was this really the whole package? Did she really get a gorgeous, ripped firefighter who gave a shit about what she did for a living as a business analyst for some nameless, faceless, mega corporation? If so, she didn’t want to pinch herself cause this might be a dream. Then again, there were parts of her that she certainly wanted him to pinch. Whoa there, Laura.