Love Bites. Rachel Burke K

me feel closer to his maturity level and less like an intern.

       We valeted at the Huntley hotel on Second Street in Santa Monica. I was officially a Hollywood cliché. A cliché in a tight dress and a Maserati, strapped to the arm of someone 20 years my senior. There was a split second where my senses kicked in and I wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction, but instead I kindly kicked my intuition to the curb and followed Vincent to the elevator.

       The Penthouse was located on the top floor of the hotel, and was one of the most gorgeous restaurants I’d ever seen. Everything was white. White tables, white chairs, white floors, white walls. They even had white sheer curtains that enveloped each booth; your own private canopy overlooking the city. The bar was lined with candles, and in the corner was a fireplace surrounded by oversized leather chairs.

       Vincent and I sat across from each other in one of the cozy booths, and as each drink passed, I wished the curtains weren’t sheer so we could have a little privacy. I studied him in his blue-and-white-striped button-up, realizing that I’d forgotten how attractive he was in his absence.

       Or maybe it was because I had been a little preoccupied developing a crush on a certain someone…

       “Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?” he asked, stroking my hand from across the table.

       “Thank you,” I said politely.

       “I mean it. You look stunning.” He removed my hand to grab his menu. “Have you eaten here before?”

       I shook my head, taking a sip of champagne. It was my second glass and I was already a little tipsy. Probably because I hadn’t eaten lunch.

       Tight dress = no lunch. The LA way.

       “Oh come on,” he teased. “Your other boyfriends must take you to places like this all the time.”

       Other boyfriends. That was a laugh. I did a quick, mental run-through of all the bad dates I’d been on in LA, and at that moment, the only boyfriend I wanted was him. I stared into his smitten brown eyes, trying to picture us together. Curled up on the couch in his nice home in Beverly Hills. Watching movies and drinking red wine together. Sharing Italian food. It made me feel happy. Safe.

       I ordered another glass of champagne and inched closer to him. The booths were U-shaped, and each drink had us slowly gravitating closer to each other. One more drink and I’d be sitting next to him. Two more drinks and I’d be on his lap.

       Damn the sheer curtains.

       As I sipped my drink, Vincent slid next to me and casually rested his right arm on the back of the booth. His left hand grazed the top of my thigh. My leg tingled.

       “You know,” he said. “I don’t normally do this with coworkers. But there was just something about you…”

       Our eyes locked. His hand inched further up my thigh.

       “To be honest, I don’t get out all that much,” he continued. “My son is my whole life. As much as I love my job, I hate all the traveling. Being away from him is really hard.”

       My heart melted. A good-looking, sweet, devoted dad. He was beyond perfect.

       Then why couldn’t I get the image of David out of my head?

       Stop it, I scolded myself. David is your best friend’s boyfriend. You are on a date with a good-looking, single man, who is interested in you. A date you’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.

       I snapped my attention back to Vincent.

       “What do you and your son do together?” I asked.

       “He plays baseball, so I go to a lot of his games. He loves the movies, too. There’s a great theater in the Marina with reclining couches and a full dinner menu. It’s his favorite place to go.” He smiled proudly.

       “That sounds like fun,” I said.

       “Yeah, I know it’s not as exciting as the Hollywood scene, but that’s what happens when you’re a dad.”

       I would’ve taken baseball games and Disney movies over bad dates and pretentious clubs any day.

       “Trust me,” I assured him. “Hollywood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

       “Come on. A girl like you?” He looked me up and down. “You must have guys lining up.”

       “Oh, yeah,” I said, mentally sorting through my dating roster. I had them lining up all right. Let’s see, there was the Brit whose credit card declined and I got stuck with our two-hundred-dollar bill… the jock who was sleeping with my friend and I simultaneously… the actor who spent our entire date reciting his IMDB page…

       “Let’s just say the grass is always greener,” I said.

       Vincent removed his left hand from my thigh and brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “Well, do you think any of your boyfriends would mind if I kissed you?” he whispered in my ear.

       Before I could answer, his lips were on mine.

       It was exactly how I had imagined it. Soft, warm lips, his hand behind my neck. A strong masculine kiss, with a slight sense of aggression. Shivers spreading through my body. The taste of bourbon.

       As our lips continued to interlock, I could feel the image of David slipping further and further away.

       Vincent pulled back and looked me straight in the eyes. “Well, I hope those boyfriends of yours aren’t too jealous, because I might want to do that again.”

       I giggled. “No boyfriends.”

       “I find that hard to believe.” He looked over my shoulder for a long moment. “But then again, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long.”

       I shot him a confused look. “Why? Because of your son?”

       “No, because…” He cleared his throat, looking down at the table. “You know. Because I’m married.”

       If it weren’t for the champagne buzz, I’m almost certain I would have clubbed him over the head with the nearest plate and ran for my life.

       “You’re what?” I asked, positive I hadn’t heard him correctly.

       “Married,” he repeated oh-so-casually. “You knew that.”

       “You’re married.” It didn’t even come off as a question. More of a dead, lifeless statement.

       He nodded, casually taking a sip of his bourbon. As though this was the most normal conversation in the world.

       This is not happening, I thought, shutting my eyes tight. Not again.

       “Wait, I’m sorry, and how would I have known that?” My voice was rising now.

       He shrugged. Mr. Casual. “I just thought you knew.”

       “Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” The vocal decibels went up another octave. A borderline shriek. I stared accusingly at his bare left hand.

       He shrugged again. “I stopped wearing it a long time ago.”

       Just like that. No