And now . . . the moment you've all been waiting for . . . the first date! ;)
Claire stood at the corner of Main Street, checking her phone impatiently.
5:48.
She should have expected it, really. But considering this was their first date, she figured Owen at least had the civility to show up on time for once.
Claire ignored all the tourists giving her strange looks. She guessed no one was used to seeing the head honcho of Jurassic World out and about. That was understandable. She was usually confined to her office space or overseeing the control room, making sure everything was in order and nothing was out of place.
Or maybe it was the glamorous cocktail dress she was wearing. Claire snorted. As if.
Two minutes later, her date roared up on his bike. She winced so much it hurt. This was exactly why she wanted to pick him up herself. His poor choice in transportation was almost as bad as his poor taste in clothing. All it took was a once-over for her to start seeing red. Board shorts? How the hell does he think he's going to get by with wearing board shorts to a date?
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Even his raptor training attire would've been more appropriate.
His grin was wide when he finally killed the deafening engine. "Hey—"
He barely got the word out before she shoved a piece of paper in his face.
"Uh . . . what's this?"
"An itinerary." She told him brusquely. "I've planned out the night up until 10pm. I have a late-night meeting with the Board and we've lost ten minutes already. So let's get going, shall we?"
Owen stared at it without blinking. "Itinerary . . ." He sounded it out slowly like it was foreign to his tongue.
Claire cleared her throat.
"Uh, right." He folded the paper messily. "Let's go."
She pushed ahead, heels clacking on the pavement, trying think about something, anything, other than Owen Grady walking around with her in fucking board shorts.
"Nice dress." He complimented, a smug tone in his voice.
"Nice shorts." She shot back icily.
He suddenly seemed to register her contained fury. "So I'm guessing it's not appropriate for where we're eating out, huh? Well, I could've worn slacks if you gave me an idea of—"
"What?" Claire whirled on him. "Are you saying this is my fault?"
Owen hesitated. "Well, partially?"
"Unbelievable," She stormed through the door of a high-class restaurant with a fancy name he couldn't pronounce.
Shit, he thought before hurrying after her.
Someone was already waiting to take them to their table. He wrinkled his nose at Owen and gave Claire a puzzled glance.
"He's with me." She managed through her teeth.
Owen followed the two of them to their seats, trying not to feel too conspicuous. At least these places had those long tablecloths. And he was wearing a polo shirt, which wasn't that low class, right?
They sat down in silence.
He tried not to stare. Claire looked incredibly beautiful. Huge, dangling earrings and deep blue eyeshadow that made her eyes look really clear and large. Plus, the fact that she was angry at him spiced it up. He usually loved seeing her glare at people. But he hadn't experienced the fortune of having it directed toward him until now. Pretty hot. Just not that fun.
Owen shifted in his seat, picking up the menu and squinting at it. "Is this in French?"
"I suppose the food choices are kind of advanced," Claire's eye twitched. "Would you like me to order for us?"
"Sure," He shrugged. "I guess I'll order the drinks."
She smiled tightly. "All right then."
When she was rattling off a bunch of weird names to the waitress, Owen took another peek at the itinerary.
6:30 - Finish dinner
6:40 - Browse main street
6:50 - Gift shopping
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
"Owen?" Claire's voice betrayed a hint of annoyance. "Did you hear me?"
He looked up. "Sorry, what?"
She jerked her head at the waitress standing beside them. "The drinks?"
"Oh," He grinned nervously. "You guys serve tequila here?"
The waitress opened her mouth to reply, but Claire cut her off. "I'm afraid I don't drink tequila."
Owen blinked at her. "Why not?"
"I'm on a diet." She explained calmly.
"So . . . ?"
"So I'll have water instead." She barked.
That's when her moody demeanor started getting contagious.
"One tequila for me, then." Owen muttered. "Water for Ms. Chunky here."
Claire gave him a disapproving look. "That's not funny."
The waitress tried to hide her smile. "I'll be right back," She promised, and hurried off a little too eagerly.
Claire tilted her head. "Can we please try to be civil here?"
"I guess raptor trainers aren't too good at that, huh?" Owen grinned.
She didn't laugh.
"That was a joke."
"Oh?" She snapped. "So all of this is a joke to you?"
"Well, no, but—"
"And your board shorts? Are they are a joke, too?"
Owen yanked out the piece of paper she'd given him. "I think this would classify as a joke, if that's where you wanna go."
"Excuse me?" She sputtered. "I'm trying to keep us on schedule so I can get back to—"
"This is a freaking date, Claire." Owen interrupted. "Chill out and have fun."
"Don't chill out me." Claire snarled. "You think just because we had an interaction, you can just—"
"Interaction? Are you still calling it that? A more accurate term is sex. Mind-blowing sex if you'd like to be specific."
Her face burned. "Oh, for the love of—"
The waitress suddenly appeared at the table. "Your drinks?"
Claire nodded and waved her away once she put them down, hoping she hadn't been listening in for that long. God, this was getting out of hand.
"Look," She exhaled slowly. "Why don't we focus on dinner and argue about this later?"
"Yeah, whatever." Owen muttered. "Sorry."
Claire felt a twinge of regret. Maybe her itineraries and dress-codes were a little too much. After all . . . their "interaction" had been anything but orderly. And there was something about that—about Owen—that she couldn't help craving.
Then the board shorts came back to her mind, and her eyes hardened as any yearning to apologize vanished.
When their food arrived, they ate in silence.
Owen had no idea what it was, but it tasted pretty good. Like "way too much for his paycheck" pretty good.
Claire seemed to sense what he was thinking. "I can handle the bill."
"Why don't we split it?" Owen offered.
She sighed. "Do we have to fight over this, too?"
"It was a suggestion." He threw up his hands. "You don't have to regulate everything."
"Things are a lot less chaotic that way." Claire pointed out sharply.
Okay, so it wasn't really directed towards him. But it still felt like a slap in the face.
He slammed his fork against the table. "Meaning more strict and uptight?"
She set her jaw, trying very hard not to lose her cool. "I don't see what's wrong with organization."
"You can't organize every little thing." Owen pressed. "Not everything can be controlled."
Claire smiled coldly. "Control is completely necessary in a place like Jurassic World."
"It doesn't have to be that way," He argued. "There's this thing called respect—"
"And you're implying I have no respect for people?"
"No!" Owen exploded. "I'm just saying—"
"Claire Dearing is strict and uptight. I get it." She snapped. "You don't like that, and this obviously isn't going to work."
"Claire . . ."
She waved the waitress over and handed her a credit card. "I think we should cut the rest of the evening short. Not that you would've followed my itinerary, anyway."
"Probably not," Owen admitted. "But that doesn't mean—"
"I'll walk with you back to your bike," Claire decided when she retrieved her card. "I really should get prepared for that meeting."
Owen stared at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. He sighed, "Fine."
They left the restaurant and strolled out onto main street. Darkness had fallen, but the place was still bustling with people. The night was warm, and the lights illuminated the stores and attractions. It was a nice view. But neither of them were in the mood to enjoy it.
When they reached his bike, Owen turned to Claire. "Listen, I know things didn't work out—"
"So we'll pretend this didn't happen." She nodded.
"No, that's not—oh, screw it," He grunted, grabbing her and pulling her into a kiss.
A small noise sprouted up in the back of her throat and she inadvertently curled her fingers into his shirt. Owen groaned and twisted his mouth deeper into hers, digging his hands into her sides.
For a moment, everything was forgotten. The itinerary. The tequila. The board shorts. They just stood there and made out like there was no tomorrow.
Then Claire came to her senses. She reared back and slapped him. Hard.
"Jeez, Claire," He gasped. "You trying to give me whiplash?"
"Do you really have the gall to pull a stunt like that after everything that's happened today?" She growled.
Owen knew where this was going, but he still smirked. Maybe a little harshly. "Just wanted to show you that the unexpected and unpredictable can be fun."
Her eyes burned. "Forget it. It was just one, single interaction. Purely business. There's nothing between us. Nothing at all."
Her words stung. Like a swarm of wasps. "If that's the way you want to leave things, then fine." Owen retorted, ripping her itinerary in two and tossing the pieces at her feet. "Go back to your luxury suites and air-conditioned office buildings. And stay out of my 'chaos.' See you around, Operations Manager."
He sped off on his bike without another word, leaving Claire standing there with her shredded itinerary and a deep hole in her chest she'd never be able to fill.
His kiss had burned itself onto her lips. She tried to close her eyes and wipe her mind of this awful night and everything in between.
But it didn't work.
Every time she shut out the world, he would always be there. With that smirk of his. That lazy, confident stance. That laugh which melted her like wax.
Owen had left his mark. And she couldn't scrape it off no matter how hard she tried.
I know it hurts, guys. ); But I had an awesome time writing this. Shall I continue it for the sake of more clawen spats? Wait and see!
Thanks for reading!