The Sex Surrogate(38)

“Your eyes,” he said, his voice almost sounding sad.

“Fake eyelashes. Apparently they make my eyes pop or something.”

“They popped just fine on their own,” he murmured, his hand moving to stroke my cheek.

I swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the feeling of his hand on my skin. “Should I take them off?” I asked, thinking of how weird it would be for my eyelids to not feel heavy anymore.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, dropping his hand. “They're fine. Most guys will appreciate the effort.”

Most guys.

Not him.

“So, um,” I said, looking down at my feet, feeling a huge wave of insecurity, “where are we going?”

“You're nervous.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I've never been good with the whole... flirting thing.”

“That's what I'm here for- to teach you.”

Right. Patient/doctor. Keep those reminders coming.

“We're going to start at a restaurant. Get some food in your stomach to help with the anxiety...”

He was taking me to dinner?

My eyes shot up, curious.

“I'm assuming you have, once again, not eaten before coming here.”

“No.”

“Alright,” he said, reaching behind me to pull the door open. “Let's go. It's getting late,” he said.

Then he didn't put his hand at my lower back.

In fact, he didn't touch me at all. Not even by accident. He kept a safe space between us.

I sat in tense silence in his car, my heart starting to beat a little faster than usual in my chest. I held onto the door handle, crushing it into my palm, trying to focus on that and not how cold he was being. He swerved in and out of traffic, not even glancing my way once.

Then we were at the restaurant and he was opening my door, not even bothering to extend his hand to me to help me out. When I looked up at him, curious, he was pointedly looking away.

Okay.

So that was how it was.

Why the hell even bother to take me to dinner if you didn't even want to look my way? He could have easily just taken me to a club and gotten the god-awful session over with already. But, no, he had to drag it out. And not only did he need to drag it out, he needed to suddenly become another person while he was at it.

I got out of the car, trying to push the negative thoughts away. They weren't going to help. Looking up at the restaurant, my mouth fell open slightly and then I laughed, a full, rolling laugh, making me bend slightly forward, holding my belly. “Seriously?” I asked, looking up at him.

He was looking down at me, smiling wide, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. “Don't judge it by how it looks,” he said, reaching out and putting a hand at my hip.

Okay. It was hard to not judge it by how it looked. Because how it looked was downright seedy. Bright blue tables, awful faded, discolored white paint on the walls, painfully fake looking foliage hanging from the ceiling. The people inside were all in jeans and t-shirts. And I was dressed like I was trying to find a sugar daddy.

There was a big wooden sign hanging over the door with the name of the establishment hand written poorly across it:

A Restaurant.

“So, what does A Restaurant serve?” I asked as he pushed me through the door. Chase let out a low snicker. “I don't trust that laugh,” I said, watching his profile as we were told to 'just plant ourselves anywhere'.

He picked up two menus, walked us to a table in the back, and handed me mine to look over. As soon as I opened it, I knew what was so funny. “Really?” I asked, looking up over the top of my menu.

“Really,” he said, smirking.

Apparently, my choices were : chicken, cow, pig, or green stuff.

“So is food poisoning a part of the plan or just an added benefit?”

Chase opened his mouth to answer, when a waitress walked over. She was tall and pretty, thick of thigh but small of waist with huge ice blue eyes, wearing a pair of hot pink leggings and a t-shirt that said 'Fuck Your Beauty Standards'. “What do you want?”

I smiled again at Chase, shaking my head.

He shrugged. “Two chickens,” he decided for us, handing her the menus.

Then, without further conversation, the waitress walked away.

“Truly a charming little establishment,” I observed, drinking my water.

“You'll understand when you try the food,” he assured me. “So, Ava,” he said, slipping back into his therapist tone effortlessly and I felt myself tense. “When was the last time you had a date?”

Oh, fun.

Let's pick at some old scabs.

Always a good way to get me in the mood to flirt with strangers.

“Over a year ago,” I said simply. “Probably closer to two.”

“How did that go? Where did you meet? Was it just one date?”

“Online dating site,” I admitted, feeling a blush creep up. Was there anything more embarrassing to admit? “We went for dinner. It was forced and awkward.”

“And?”

“And we went back to his place.”

“Even though it felt forced and awkward?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Because I couldn't bring myself to say no.

I shrugged. “I figured I would give it another shot.”

“It didn't go well.”

It felt like I lost a little piece of myself in his bed. The little piece that was still willing to try.

“No.”

“Ava...” he started in that tone. That tone that was half-scolding because I wasn't giving him what he wanted.

But by some wonderful coincidence, the food arrived, dropped down in front of us loudly. I dug right in, trying to make it clear I wasn't in the talking mood.

“No more online dating,” he told me, making my head snap up.

“What? Why not?”

“Because it's too easy for you. You get to hide behind your computer screen and find the match who is the least threatening. You'll slip right back into your shell. You need to get out and experience things, Ava.”

“Well,” I said, uncomfortable. I felt like I was getting a lecture, not a lesson. “I am experiencing the best chicken I've ever had in my life,” I said, gesturing toward my plate.

“Ava...”

“I don't want a lecture, Chase,” I found myself snapping, surprising myself and Chase, whose brow lifted ever so slightly.

“I wasn't...”

“Yes,” I said firmly, “you were. And you were being a condescending ass about it too.”

“Good for you,” he said, nodding.

“Good for me, what?”

“Standing up for yourself. Even if you're wrong,” he said, smirking.

“I'm not wrong. I don't know what is up with you tonight, but you're kind of being a jerk and it's annoying.”

“Annoying?”

“Yes. Annoying. And frustrating.” I lowered my eyes at him. “Why are you smiling?”

“A couple weeks ago, do you think you would have been able to call me an ass, a jerk, annoying, and frustrating... to my face?”

Well, shit.

No.

“Probably not.”

“Definitely not,” he corrected.

“So... what? This was some kind of test?”

“Not really, no.”

“So you're just in a foul mood for no good reason?”

He watched me for a long minute, his eyes intense, then looked down at his good. “I have a good reason, but it is inconsequential. Anyway,” he said, pushing his plate away, all but uneaten, “we are going to Chaos from here.”

I nodded, thinking about the long lines wrapped around the building and down the street , the thumping music I could hear in my car with rolled up windows as I passed, the endless parade of long legs in short skirts.

Yeah, I was totally going to fit in.

Suddenly, the chicken felt like lead inside and I pushed my plate away as well, taking a drink of water, then looking up at Chase. “I'm ready when you are.”

He nodded, throwing money on the table, and getting up.

Ten minutes later, we were walking up to Chaos.

And I mean walking up to it. Passing all the people who had probably been on line for an hour, the girls dancing around and rubbing their bare arms to try to fend off the cold. Chase walked me right up to the doorman, saying something close to his ear, and then we were let in. Just like that.

The inside was packed. Immediately inside and downward was a dance floor and to both sides of the room were staircases that led up, one open to the public and leading to a bar, one private with a security guard at the bottom.

I was led to the private one, the security guard inclining his head to Chase and offering me a small smile as I moved past him to climb the steps. The music was thumping so hard, I could feel it through the soles of my feet and upward.

The area in the private lounge was spacious and, blessedly, not crowded. A few men sat at tables with several attractive (no doubt considering themselves lucky) women accompanying them. Chase led me to the bar, ordering a scotch for himself and a martini for me. Then I was instructed to sit at the bar and wait.

For what... I wasn't told.

So, I sat and waited.

Listening to the music, ignoring the eye contact some guy at the far end of the bar was trying to give me.

Then Chase slid in beside me, turning in his seat so his legs blocked me in. “Hi,” he said simply and I felt my brows drawing together.

“Hi...” I said back, eyeing him.

“My name's Chase,” he said, holding out his hand.

Oh.

So we were doing that.

Okay.

I could play along.