Free Tight by Alessandra Torre Page B

up your bag. How much time do you need before dinner?”
    I shrugged. “Five minutes?”
    The corner of his mouth turned up. “Five minutes ... how low maintenance of you.”
    “It’s less about that, more about my hunger.”
    He laughed at that, tapping his card against his leg. “Okay. In that case, I’ll wait here. Let you change and then we can go.” He pulled out his cell, gestured to the balcony. “I just need to make some calls.”
    “Go for it.” Behind him, a bellman appeared, and I waved him in. Watched him set out my bags as Brett stepped to the railing, the glass door closing behind him, his phone out. So identical to last weekend, yet so different. Before, with him outside, I’d had a hundred doubts, had felt out of place and only wanted to escape. Now, I felt similar unease, but it was more over his actions than mine. Why was I being weird about having my own room? He was being polite, a gentleman, giving me my own space, one without pressure or expectations. It was just … our prior meetings had been so passionate and quick, his hands—once we’d entered the room—grabbing me with such need that there’d been no doubt about his desire. This Brett, the one settled in a balcony chair, had such control, such patience. It calmed my nerves, but poked holes in any confidence I’d had in my sexual allure.
    ***
    Any awkwardness dissolved in the hotel’s restaurant, an oceanfront palace that felt fancy until I saw the maître‘d’s flip-flops at the base of his seersucker suit.
    “Favorite movie?” I spun the Corona bottle cap, watching it flip off the table and onto the sandy deck.
    “ Shawshank Redemption .”
    “Ugh.” I took a swig of beer. “That’s every man’s favorite movie. Pick another.”
    “It’s every man’s favorite movie because it’s incredible.”
    “Pick another. And...” I tilted my head. “It’s got to involve a main character singing.”
    He scrunched his face at me. “You want my favorite movie, and it has to involve that ?”
    “Yep.” I dipped a carrot into crab dip and crunched half of it into my mouth. “First date rules. You have to do whatever I say.”
    “This is our first date? What about—”
    I wave him off. “The Bahamas didn’t count.”
    “Okay… I’ll follow your first date rules if you follow my first night rules.”
    “Which are?” I narrowed my eyes at him, though I couldn’t stop the hint of a smile.
    “You have to do whatever I say.”
    “Hmm ... sounds kinky.” I raised my eyebrows at him and took another sip of Corona. “Thought that ball was in my court?”
    He shrugged. “You’re a woman. That ball is always in your court.”
    “Fine. Deal.” I sat back, the waitress clearing our bread plates with quick efficiency. “Ma’am, can we get two shots of Patron please?”
    “Tequila?” Brett asked, leaning back in his seat, the gap from the table a perfect depth for me to straddle his legs. I busied myself with a crab leg instead.
    “You’re evading. Favorite movie with impromptu singing.”
    “ The Wedding Singer .”
    “Nope. He was a singer, so that doesn’t count.”
    “So ... Johnny Cash, Elvis, Rockstar... those don’t count?”
    “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
    “Jerry Maguire.”
    I put down the crab leg, snapping my eyes to his. Oh my word, he just got even hotter. He grinned. “You approve?”
    I laughed. “Yes. I approve. I was expecting something more manly, like Top Gun or Full Metal Jacket , but I approve.”
    He winced. “How did I miss those?”
    “I complete you,” I said with a wink.
    The alcohol made the comeback hilarious, and we were wheezing by the time the disapproving waiter brought our entrees.
    ***
    “I like watching you eat.” Brett wiped his mouth and leaned back, setting the white cloth napkin next to his plate. Five desserts covered the surface between us, bites missing from each. We’d done a horrible job of finishing, but a great job of sampling.
    “Good. I like to eat.” I winked