Lex(68)

“No, you wouldn’t., I’m fairly certain all of this ‘courting’ and the way the Suit Master expresses his feelings towards me, makes me his proverbial tree that he’s pissing on to mark his territory.”

Laughing at my mundane comment, she shakes her head. “That may be true, but until either of them sees lady, you are not to be tied down and that’s final.”

Bossy Roni, she’s pulling out all the stops today. Go figure. I was basically shunned from her presence for days and now she’s become bitchy, bossy best friend again. Not saying I don’t like having her back, I do. I just hate when it’s from one extreme to the next. Her emotional waves are giving me whiplash.

Mock saluting her and giving her a playful, “Eye, eye, Captain,” I gather up my belongings and take them to my bedroom.



I’m sitting in a quaint booth here at Vino’s Italian restaurant. It’s nearly eight and I’ve been putting back copious amounts of expensive alcohol and fine wine. I’m feeling way too good at this point.

I drove here a little over an hour ago, after I spent the better half of two hours dolling myself up and listening to Patsy as I sang off key and danced happily in my en suit bathroom.

My black hair is styled into a sleek low bun and my makeup is classically subtle. The dress from the Suit Master fits like a well-tailored suit, made just for me. My heels are surprisingly comfortable, or maybe it’s the fact that all I ever wear is heels.

Pulling into Vino’s parking lot left me antsy. Coming into the restaurant my stomach was tied in all sorts of unwelcomed knots. The restaurant is packed. Nevertheless, when I arrived, Raul the host, immediately knew who I was and escorted me to a small booth for two. Set in the back corner of the restaurant, atop my table sits a dozen long stem red roses inside a chocolate brown and white ceramic vase. A pink box, no doubt from Barbie’s, is filled with three giant bite chocolate suit decorated strawberries. Not tux’s, like you typically see strawberries decorated, actual Suits, chocolate blue ties and all.

I’ve never thought of myself as a woman who would swoon over romantic gestures. Clearly, I’m a big fat idiot, because once I laid my eyes upon the Suit Master’s attention to details and sheer sweetness, I did swoon and continue to do so. This has been one of the most amazing nights of my life.

He’s been emotionally attentive texting me every ten minutes, paying me compliments and actively partaking in this unconventional date. While I ate Vino’s signature lasagna he texted, expressing how ‘Angelically Beautiful’ I look wearing this designer dress. He’s a sweetheart, there’s no doubt about it. I’ve tried a hundred different times to spot him in the restaurant and I’ve come up with zilch. Even though I can feel he’s here with me. Like a warm all-encompassing presence has me wrapped into its masculine arms, or that’s how I picture them.

Now, after an entire bottle of the most spectacular full-bodied red wine and two glasses of Patrón, I’m stupidly tipsy, and giddy with such an overabundance of happiness, that I think I could just burst.

Taking a sip of my Patrón, I dive into my hardy slice of turtle cheesecake for dessert. It’s so good, purely orgasmic delicious.

My phone vibrates on the table. I know it’s him.

Suit Master: I’ve headed home, my Angel. I hope tonight has made your stressful week end on a more pleasant note. I loved watching you. I don’t know how I’ve become such a lucky man to catch the slightest bit of attention from the sexiest and most amazing woman. I consider myself blessed. Goodnight, Angel… Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

Smiling like a love drunk imbecile. I fumble with the letters on my phone and text him back.

Me: Drive safe, oh dear one. This was the best night I’ve had in ages. Thank you so much. P.S. I think you’re pretty amazing yourself.

Devouring the rest of my cheesecake bite-by-bite, savoring the flavor with little orgasmic groans, I close my eyes, falling into creamy delectable bliss. I lick the last piece from my fork with a deep groan just as my brunette, fancifully dressed waitress Jasmine, swoops in to collect my empty plate.

“I think I’m ready to leave.” I announce, sliding out of the booth. Standing, I wobble slightly on my heels and Jasmine grabs ahold of my arm to steady me.

“Thanks.” I mumble. Readjusting my dress, by smoothing my hands down its soft luxurious sides.

“No problem. Do you want me to call you a cab? You’re too drunk to drive. I can have Raul carry your roses and box to the car.” She languidly explains. Apparently, her experience with inebriated people has left her with the impression we’re all brain dead idiots when we’re drunk. I’m not, I’m just happy and a little swimmy in my head. Is that even a thing? Gosh… I don’t even know.