BT – Chance Encounters – All I want for Xmas
Chapter 3 – A Night Out
It's a rainy night – well, truth to tell, more like a downpour out there, Hollywood movie type. He's dropped by at your place just as you were getting ready to make dinner, which for you translates into some grilled cheese and an apple or whatever has made its way into your fridge and cupboards. You've not planned anything. Usually you channel surf for a while and when you realize there's nothing on, you grab a book and settle in bed. He apologizes for not calling ahead. You shake your head at him in wonder. Surely he must know you're more than happy to see him and trade a lonely night for his company, right?
The pub is already crowded but somehow he gets a table almost immediately, a small round table with two plush chocolate brown leather armchairs in a quiet corner of the room. "The decoration is fabulous," you notice as he helps you into your seat.
"You like interior decoration?" he inquires as he settles down and motions for the nearest waiter. You're going to answer when said waiter appears at your side and takes your order.
An hour and the appetizer and main course later, you're both in an animated discussion. You've moved on from home decoration to architecture to your favorite haunts in town and are now discussing the best novel ever. You've listed a few and are now comparing the merits of Dracula and Frankenstein when his phone vibrates on the table next to his water glass. He frowns and checks the caller ID. He doesn't seem all too happy about it and for the first time in the evening you see him scowl.
"I've got to take this," he apologizes.
"No problem. I'll just head for the ladies' room while you do," you answer, wanting to give him some privacy.
"Don't be silly," he tells you, shaking his head and taking hold of your hand. You suddenly feel butterflies in your stomach. He's felt that too because he beams at you. "Nothing you cannot hear, you know. Just give me a minute." He's kept your hand in his so you settle back in your chair and try to regain your composure but the touch of his skin on yours and the slow circles he's making with his thumb on the back of your hand are clearly not helping. He's punched the accept call button on his phone not too gently. "Yes, Detective," you hear him bark at the other party, "what is it that you could possibly want at that time of day that cannot obviously wait until later?"
He falls silent as he listens to the other person and you can hear him sigh with disdain. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. You lace your fingers with his and squeeze his hand gently. He opens his eyes and looks into yours. They've become dark pools rippling with anger but as he sees your amazement, he breathes in, lifts your hand to his lips and drops a light kiss on the tip of your fingers. You realize you've been holding your breath since your eyes met his and you breathe out. His eyes get back to a more normal shade of blue and he gives you a smile.
"As I've already told you, Celluci, I'm not a bloodhound," he smirks disdainfully. "Well, I do understand she told you to call me should you encounter such a problem, but I'm quite busy at the moment, Constable..." He hears you giggling at the old-fashioned expression and gives you a very mischievous and boyish grin. "Alright. No, don't call her. I got it. It's no use blackmailing me...Yes, I do know how annoying she can be when she doesn't get what she wants. But don't make a habit out of it, will you? You're not some little boy running to his mommy," he adds wickedly, obviously quite pleased to get back at the other man. He ends the call and winces. "I'm sorry, my lady. I did not expect to be disturbed tonight. I'll just have a quick glance at what the good detective wants to show me and we can resume our evening. I'll make it up to you for the missed dessert."
"Don't worry, really. Don't mind me. Just go. I'll call a cab." Your heart drops as you say the words. You wish you'd have more time with him.
"No, please, don't leave me yet." He takes your hand in both of his and leans across the table. "Come with me. You'll stay in the car. I won't be a minute... Please?" he adds, seeing you wavering.
"Do I have to stay in the car?" you ask.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. But I promise I'll be back before you notice I'm gone." He looks at you inquiringly.
"Is it dangerous?" you prod him. You didn't get everything but from what you can gather he's working freelance with the police and someone else connected to that detective.
"Yes, very much so," he answers, grinning devilishly at you. You can't help laughing out loud.
"Alright then," you nod your agreement as you both stand and you're rewarded with a light kiss on your cheek.
He's left for a couple of minutes and you're deep in your thoughts. The interior of the car is warm and cozy and you're glad you didn't have to get out in the heavy rain. The door to the driver's side suddenly opens, making you jump from fright. He settles back in his seat and closes the door, then turns to you and when he sees your look, a wide Puck's smile spreads on his face.
"Did I scare you?" he asks smugly. You smack his arm and try to look crossed.
"Wipe that stupid grin off your face, mister. That is so not funny. How do you do that anyway? You were barely gone a couple of minutes."
"I'm very efficient." Self-confidence oozes from that simple statement.
"Oh, please..." You're aggravated. You've only seen him a few times since you first met but he's pissed you every single time. He's got undeniable charm, true, but he's also got that unnerving personality trait that makes you wanna scream in frustration.
He ignores the last remark – except for the grin that spreads more widely on his face. "Besides," he adds undeterred, "I didn't want to have you waiting..." He leans towards you and taking hold of your hand, brushes his lips to it. His face is barely an inch from yours and his wet curls brush against your cheek. You clear your throat, hoping to clear your mind in the process as, right now, it's getting a little bit clouded with a few shameful thoughts.
"Don't try to use your mojo on me, will ya?" you demand.
"As my lady wishes," he answers, straightening and starting the car. "But for your information, I don't have mojo. I've got charm."
"Whatever," you mutter, settling in your seat as far from him as you can.
He chuckles. "Where to?" he asks as he turns the corner of the street.
"Dunno," you mutter, still pissed. "I'm cold."
"I see... Well, I know of a place where you'll be warm."
A couple of minutes later, he parks in front of a club. The rain has stopped. The sidewalk is crowded with people lining up to get inside.
"God, no, Henry! I'm not dressed for that!" You feel awkward in your jeans, boots and long-sleeved tee-shirt. You're wearing almost no make up and feel like an ugly duckling compared to the glittery little things in high heels that crowd the sidewalk in front of the club.
"You look good enough for me and I'm picky..." He gets out and rounds the car to open the door for you. You roll your eyes. "Humor me," he says as he takes hold of your hand and heads directly towards the door.
"Uh, Henry? You're supposed to go to the end of the line, you know..." you suggest but there's that smirk again. "As if," he scoffs.
"Good evening, Mr Fitzroy," the security guy greets him and holds the door open for you two. Gosh, even that is unnerving! He's smug and everyone seems to be telling him he's got every right to be so.
You're caught in a whirlwind of sound and light and movement the moment you step inside. The place is crowded and the atmosphere electrifying. You feel the vibe of the music and the people dancing to it. Your body hums with the rhythm.
"I had hoped you'd like the place. I was right. Good," he adds, tugging at your hand. He leaves your coats with the attendant and leads you to the dance floor. He wraps one arm around your waist while laying one of your hands over his heart, his resting on yours. Your free hand instinctively comes to rest on his shoulder. The tempo is fast but he settles for a slower, quite suggestive dance. It's nice, you have to admit to yourself, though you'd never to him, even under torture. You feel yourself blush. Your heartbeat has accelerated and when his arm tightens around your waist, drawing you flush with him, your breath itches in your throat. You suddenly feel feverish.
"Still angry at me?" he whispers in your ear.
"Yes," you grumble.
"What can I do to make it right?" he offers.
You huff. "Stop acting like a douche."
"Very well. Only if you stop sulking," he counters.
You growl. "Deal!"
"Thank you," he replies, his face in your hair. He nibbles at your ear.
"I'm not your plaything, Henry. Stop it!"
"I wouldn't mind being yours," he replies.
"Here you go again!" You try to push him away but he doesn't let go of you.
"Now, now, young lady," he whispers. "I'm sorry for being such a douche, as you say. Can you forgive me?" He levels his gaze with yours, looking apologetic. "I promise to be good..." he adds but his eyes are mischievous and telling the contrary. You can't help laughing.
"Alright then, Mr Fitzroy, but don't push your luck." He grins at you and pulls you back into his embrace, dropping a light kiss on your lips.
The music ends and he takes you to the bar. "You know, Henry," you finally muster the courage to ask, " we've seen each other quite a few times and you basically know everything about me but I – for one – barely know a thing about you."
"What do you want to know?"
"I dunno. Where are you from?"
"England."
"Right... I had gathered that from your choice of words and sentence building..."
He raises his eyebrows expectantly. You take a sip at your cocktail and plod on. Better ask what's on your mind while he agrees to it. "Are you a consultant for the police?"
He laughs humorlessly. For once, he almost seems ill-at-ease. "Kind of," he replies. He sees you're expecting more so he goes on: "I sometimes work with a P.I. who works with the police. Her name's Vicki."
"The "her" of your earlier conversation with the detective?"
"Yes, that would be her." He seems on edge.
"Sorry. I didn't think it would aggravate you," you apologize, cringing.
"Not your fault," he answers then pauses. "Look," he adds, "let's settle this once and for all. I work with Vicki on cases that require my – let's say – expertise. And sometimes, it leads us to some kind of partnership with the police. Sort of "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours". Vicki and I have an odd relationship. It's complicated. She's a handful... Strong-willed, even bullheaded..."
"You seem to admire her a lot, don't you?" you prod.
"I do. A lot. Yes..." He closes his eyes for a brief moment. When he opens them again, they're midnight blue. He reaches for your hand. "Sometimes you remind me of her a lot," he confesses.
"Because I'm bullheaded... a handful...?" you prompt.
"Yes. In a good way. I like your company. Your wittiness... And your bullheadedness too," he adds, graciously.
You beam at him. "Thank you. And thank you for answering my questions."
"Anytime," he says. You tilt your head to the side. "Really," he adds. "If I had not wanted you to be part of my life, you would not have seen me again," he points out.
A couple of more chapter to come...