Coming Together With Curves Page 14

  "Thanks," she said, turning in the direction of the classroom she needed. "See you later."

  "Looking forward to it. Oh, and Bonnie?" he said just before she started to walk away. "Good call on not letting me pick you up. You don't want me knowing where you live, do you? I could be anyone." He grinned, before turning around and walking away.

  She was so stunned by his words that she just stood and stared after him as he left. It was like he'd read her mind, or something. Granted, she'd called him a creepy stalker not so long ago, but they seemed to have gotten past that phase pretty quickly. Despite that, she'd wanted to exercise just a little bit of caution—she'd heard enough horror stories to warrant that. But he'd smiled, so he obviously understood. With a decisive nod, she decided not to worry about it—she'd turn up at the allotted place at the time they'd agreed, and see what happened next. Right now, though, she had a class to get to.

  * * * *

  In the end, she got there early. She had never been much of a girly girl, and she figured that if Owen had seen her in the smart-yet-comfortable outfits she'd been wearing to attend her course, then he wouldn't exactly run away screaming if she turned up in her best jeans and a nice top. The restaurant they'd decided on was the sort of place you could go to in tracksuit bottoms, if you wanted, so dress code was strictly up to the wearer.

  She headed inside, immediately feeling self-conscious. It was tipping it down with rain, so standing outside to wait for him was not an option, unless she was going for the drowned-rat look. The trouble was, the place was huge and if she went and found a table, he might not be able to find her. Plus, if he was there already, she might not be able to find him. They hadn't exchanged mobile numbers, either, so it's not like she could ring or text him. She scolded herself.

  Come on, Bonnie, you're a thirty-five year old woman, get a grip. Just wander around casually and see if you can see him anywhere. If not, find a table and he'll come to you when he gets here. Unless he stands you up, of course.

  Now she was getting really frustrated. She knew that if he didn't turn up it was because of nerves, rather than having changed his mind. Wasn't it? Surely that was the case, as he'd been the one staring at her for seven bloody days, then had confessed to liking her. Why would he do that if he didn't mean it? It could all have been a terribly cruel joke, she supposed, but deep down, she knew it wasn't. Over the years she'd become a very good judge of character, and although she'd not had a high opinion of Owen to start with, now she knew the reason for his behaviour, she had a good feeling about him. Even if nothing happened between them, she knew he was a nice guy. He was just timid, particularly around women.

  A hand on her shoulder made her jump and spin round to face her assailant. She was about to start scolding when she realised it was Owen.

  "Hey," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender, "I was just coming to let you know I was already here, to save you wandering around looking for me. You seemed lost. I've been here about ten minutes already and bagged us a table. It's there, look." He pointed to a table tucked into an alcove. "Now, go and sit down. What would you like to drink?"

  "Diet Pepsi or Coke, no ice."

  "I can't tempt you with something a little more exciting?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Bonnie giggled. "Are we still talking drinks here?"

  Almost immediately, a blush swept across Owen's cheeks, and she felt bad. She'd have to tone down the teasing a little, otherwise the poor guy would spend most of the evening embarrassed. She got the impression he had about as much dating experience as her—in other words, not much.

  "Sorry, Owen. I'm just teasing you. No, a soft drink is fine, as I'm driving. These days, it's not even worth the risk of having just one alcoholic beverage. My driving is bad enough, without being under the influence, too!"

  He gave her a curt nod, then headed over in the direction of the bar. Sighing, Bonnie went to sit down at their table. They'd barely started their date, and already she'd done something wrong. It didn't bode well, not at all. She'd have to get Owen used to her somewhat wacky sense of humour, otherwise they'd never make it beyond their first date. And there was no point trying to hide it, or change herself, because well, if things progressed, then it wouldn't be a real relationship, would it? He'd effectively be dating a woman that didn't exist. No, there was no way she was going to fake anything. He either liked her as she was, or he didn't. He could take her or leave her.

  That decided, she shoved the unpleasant thoughts from her head and worked on cheering herself up. By the time Owen returned from the bar and put her drink down on the table, her misgivings had all but disappeared.

  "Thank you," she said, picking up the drink and taking a sip. "Ah, that's better. I didn't realise how thirsty I was. They're busy in here, aren't they? Mind you, they always are. I guess it's the good food and even better prices."

  Owen grinned. "I think you're right. Shall we look at the menus? If they're busy, it might be a good idea to order quite quickly, because otherwise I might die of starvation."

  "You're not exaggerating, are you Owen?" She beamed back at him, and their earlier awkwardness was forgotten. They were just two people, enjoying one another's company.

  "Me? Never." He smirked, then pulled two menus from the holder and passed one to her. "There you go, m'lady. Now, I love pretty much everything on this menu, so I may be some time deciding. I apologise in advance."

  "I know what you mean," she replied, "same here."

  They fell silent for several minutes as they perused the menu. Suddenly, a loud noise sounded and Bonnie jumped. Clutching her chest, she looked up to see Owen with a sheepish look on his face. He'd closed his menu a little too enthusiastically.

  "Sorry," he said, "I was just drawing a mental line under my decision, telling myself I wouldn't change my mind."

  "It's all right, you just made me jump, that's all. Okay, well I think I've decided, so how about I give you some cash and you go and order before we both change our minds?"

  "You'll do no such thing. I asked you out, so I'm paying."

  Bonnie twisted her face into a wry expression. "Fine. But I'm paying next time."

  "There's going to be a next time?"

  "Hurry up and order my food, and I'll let you know."

  Owen quickly slid off his chair and, after checking their table number, scurried off to the bar.

  Bonnie waited expectantly, and sure enough, a couple of seconds later, Owen was back.

  "What was it you wanted, Bonnie?"

  She bit back a laugh. "I'm going for the steak and ale pie and chips, please. Hopefully the ale won't put me over the legal limit." With a smile, she tucked her menu back into its holder.

  "Okay. I'll try again, shall I?" He didn't wait for her answer, and headed back to the bar.

  Bonnie couldn't help but think how damn cute Owen was. He'd loosened up a little, sure, but he was clearly still quite nervous about this whole thing. The place he'd chosen to stand and wait to be served actually gave her the perfect view of his arse, encased in dark blue denim. A filthy thought ran through her head—how she'd like to clutch those pert and delicious buttocks as he pounded into her. That was it... she was lost. A full on sex scene between the two of them took hold of her imagination, and she revelled in the erotic fantasy until the sound of someone clearing their throat yanked her out of it.

  "You all right?" Owen said, sitting down again. "You had a look on your face that made you seem like you'd rather be somewhere else."

  God, how on earth could she respond to that? She was kind of wishing she was somewhere else—in bed, to be precise—but she wanted to be there with him. "Oh no, definitely not," she replied, scrabbling around for something to say, "I was just daydreaming, that's all. I do it a lot."

  "Care to tell me what you were daydreaming about?"

  Bollocks. Just when she thought she'd gotten away with it, he had to ask her that! "Um... not really." The heat rushed to her cheeks in an almost overwhelming blast and she gra
bbed her glass and pressed it against her face, desperately trying to cool herself down.

  Owen's amused expression didn't help her embarrassment. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, presumably so no one around them could hear what he was saying. "Oh my God, Bonnie. Are you having smutty daydreams in the middle of a crowded restaurant?"

  That was it, she couldn't take any more. If any more blood shifted to the surface of her skin, she was afraid her head would explode. Slumping, she laid her forehead on the table and closed her eyes. Maybe if she ignored him, he would shut up. Or at the very least, say something to reassure her. Even better, he could change the subject altogether.

  What she wasn't expecting was for Owen to speak directly into her ear. She jumped, knocking her glass over and spilling Diet Pepsi all over the table. Grabbing a bunch of napkins from the holder at the other end of the table, she hurriedly threw them down and started to mop up the liquid. The commotion had drawn attention from people on the surrounding tables, and she felt like she was back in the college cafeteria. Only now, rather than Owen being the one made to blush, it was her.

  He chuckled. "Bloody hell, Bonnie, I only asked if you'd been daydreaming about me."

  "I think I preferred you when you were shy and retiring," she grumbled. "What happened to that, anyway? Were you faking it?"

  "No. I'm just shy about meeting women and talking to them in the first instance, I guess. I'm pretty much okay when I've established some kind of rapport with someone. Although I seem to be turning this date into a bit of a shambles." He paused. "Tell you what, I'll go and get you another drink, and then when I come back we'll start again, shall we? Maybe if we stop embarrassing each other, things would be better."

  Bonnie nodded. "That sounds like a great plan. Thanks."

  She refused to watch him as he walked away. Looking at his backside would only cause trouble all over again. Fanning herself with a dry napkin, she tried to waft the heat from her cheeks. When he came back, she would be as cool as a cucumber and try to steer the date in a less embarrassing direction. It was hardly surprising things weren't going perfectly, though. They were both horrendously out of practice at the dating game. She resolved to try harder. She could make this a success—she could.

  * * * *

  "Well," she said as Owen walked her back to her car, which, it turned out, was only one row across from his, "thank you for a lovely evening. After a false start, I think we did pretty well, don't you?"

  "Yes," he replied, "we got there in the end. I'm doing my best to end it on a perfect note. I can't walk you to your front door, so I'm having to make do with your car door."

  "You can walk me to my front door, if you like. I'll even let you in for a coffee." Whoa, where the fuck had that come from? Talk about rushing into things! She'd never slept with someone on a first date. Nor a second, or a third. If a guy made it to a fourth date then she was sure he knew what he was letting himself in for—but that hadn't happened all that often, really. So why on earth was she propositioning a man she'd only just met?

  As he stared at her, clearly trying to formulate the correct response, she realised why. Because she really liked him. Like, really. Despite the fuck-ups, the embarrassment, the unusual way they'd met, she felt a real connection to him. Something that was physical, sure, but beyond that, too. After the spilt drink episode, things had looked up considerably and they'd spent the rest of the evening getting to know one another and having a laugh. They'd barely noticed the restaurant emptying out, and only made a move when the staff very conspicuously started to clean the tables around them, got out the vacuum cleaner, turned off the music... they'd reluctantly headed outside where, mercifully, the rain had stopped.

  "Oh, um, really?" he said, clearly as surprised by her words as she had been. "You don't have to, you know. Though I would suggest we exchange numbers so we can arrange another date—you're not going to be on your course with work forever, after all. More's the pity."

  His kind words, the way he'd given her a chance to back out of her proposal, cemented the idea in her mind. "No," she replied, "I'd love you to come in for coffee. I'll give you my phone number then. If you want to, that is?"

  He nodded. "Of course I do. I was just making sure you didn't think things were going too fast, that's all."

  "They probably are," she said, matter-of-factly, "but you know what? One of us could get run over by a bus tomorrow, so we should live for the moment."

  "That's a very good way of looking at it, if a little maudlin. But I'm not going to disagree. Lead the way, fair lady." He kissed her cheek then waited for her to get in her car and closed the door behind her.

  She watched in her mirrors as he hurried across the tarmac to his own vehicle and got in. A few seconds later he flashed his lights, so she put the car in gear and drove straight forward—the car park was almost empty by now, so there was no car in front of hers. A shiver ran over her body as she made her way out of the car park—one, she suspected, that was a mixture of fear and anticipation. The anticipation was delicious, but the fear tried hard to throttle it. What if he changed his mind when he saw her naked? What if he just couldn't do it after seeing just how big she was, when she was totally on display?

  Shaking her head firmly before pulling out a junction and heading towards home, she told herself that was not going to happen. It was blatantly obvious, clothed or unclothed, that she was a big girl, and he can't have failed to notice that. And they'd got on so well—teething problems notwithstanding—there had been a definite spark between them, an undercurrent of attraction, of flirtation. No, there was no way he was going to baulk when she revealed her curves. And if he did, well then that was his loss, wasn't it? She could just as easily decide he was too skinny!

  Ten minutes later, she was manoeuvring her car onto her drive, making sure she'd pulled far enough forward that Owen could get his car on there too, rather than having to leave it on the street. Really, it should have been the last thing on her mind, since there was a damn good chance she was going to get some sex very soon, but it seemed her brain was trying to distract her in order to keep her nerves at bay. She let it; nerves had almost fucked up her evening already, she wasn't going to let them ruin its potentially fantastic ending.

  She got out of the car and locked it, then waved to Owen to park his car behind hers—he'd been about to park on the road. He saw her gestures, then backed up a little and turned onto her drive. A few seconds later he was beside her.

  "Thanks," he said, "I was just gonna park on the road."

  "Nah—there's plenty of room there, and no danger of anyone driving past and smashing your wing mirror."

  "True."

  A few seconds passed in silence, and Bonnie finally broke it. "So, let's get some coffee, shall we?" She knew her voice was too bright and chirpy, almost like she was talking to a small child, but it was too late to take it back now.

  "Absolutely. Sounds great."

  He followed her up the drive and to her front door, which she managed to unlock without too much fumbling. Once they were inside, she took his coat and hung it in the hallway closet along with hers.

  "How do you take it?" she said, as she wandered into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.

  "Hot and full-bodied, thanks."

  His voice had come from right behind her and she shrieked, dropping the container of coffee. Mercifully she hadn't opened it, so it didn't make a mess. The spoon she'd also been holding clanged to the floor. She was about to bend and pick it up, but Owen reached out and took her wrist gently, tugging her towards him.

  "Leave that. I'm not thirsty anymore."

  "Y—you're not?"

  "Nope. But I fancy the pants off you, Bonnie. I know this is incredibly forward of me, particularly since we only met today, but would you like to go upstairs?"

  She was pressed so tightly against him that she could feel his burgeoning erection trapped between their bodies. She couldn't trust herself to speak, so instead she nodded rapidly.
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  "Okay," he said, shifting his grip to her hand and leading her behind him, "so where's your room then, gorgeous?"

  "Top of the stairs, second on the left."

  He moved quickly to where she'd directed him, and she was suddenly very glad that she was a tidy person. She didn't have to worry that he'd walk into something resembling a bombsite, with dirty washing everywhere, or dust lining the windowsill. Hopefully, though, her bed sheets would be in need of a wash come the morning. She grinned, pleased he couldn't see her suddenly smug expression.

  Immediately, he crossed the room and pulled the curtains closed. He turned and smiled at her, then his expression turned serious for a second. "Do you have protection?"

  She nodded. God knows why, but she had a packet of unopened condoms in her bedside table. They'd been there a couple of years—hopefully they had a long expiry date.

  "Good." He kicked off his shoes and socks, then sat on the edge of her bed. "Come here, you."

  Wordlessly, she did as he said, shifting into the space between his parted legs. He was much taller than her—most people were, actually—so now he was sitting down, they were a similar height.

  He slipped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She took the hint and went eagerly into his embrace, putting her own arms around his neck and leaning down just a little to kiss him. By the time their lips met, his were already parted, and, after a couple of seconds of relatively chaste kissing, they quickly moved into something altogether more needy, more passionate. They continued until they were breathless, pulling away to suck in some necessary air.

  "Fuck, Bonnie," Owen said, "I want you. Bad."

  "Mmm-hmm," she replied, pulling away and kicking off her own shoes, then bending to tug off her socks. Then she met Owen's eyes. He was studying her carefully, his eyelids hooded, his gaze laden with intent.

  "Take off your clothes, sweetheart," he said.

  "Oh, um... can we do it with the lights off?" She hated herself for saying it, but she was pretty sure that even if she was skinny, she'd find it difficult to strip off with confidence.