Free Learning To Let Go (Short Erotic Story) by Angelique Nicolas Page A

strange. She could feel the metal of her stool, cold against her ankle where she realized she was still clasping the buckle to her ankle strap. She flushed slightly and turned back to the bar where she fussed with her purse to pay her tab and escape.
     
    “Whenever you’re ready,” Tomas said with an almost presumptuous smile as he laid down her ticket in a sleek leather folder. She slid her bank card inside. He was probably still staring at her now. She stood up off of her stool and tugged lightly at the hem of her skirt for the sake of modesty. 
     
    “Thank you Ms. Rouche,” the bartender said as he laid the leather folder on the bar. “Come back and see us.” Dahlia signed the receipt with a quick scribble. She was sliding the receipt back into the folder and gathering her purse and wadded uniform to leave when she turned almost directly into the chest of the man in the white shirt.
     
    “Excuse me.” He said backing up a little with a smile.
     
    “Oh I’m sorry.” She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” She laughed sort of nervously.
     
    “I was just,” he gestured toward the folder on the bar containing her receipt. “Well, I got here at just the right moment.” He seemed to be regaining his composure just a little and she could see that comfortable ease returning that had caught her eye. “Is that Ms. Rouche or Mrs. Rouche?”
     
    Normally, Dahlia thought, this would be creepy, but something about his demeanor was unassuming, and authentic to the extent that she was sure he was either a great person or a great liar.
     
    “It’s miss. I’m, uh, not married.” She said pulling her hair behind her ear and still not making eye contact.
     
    He leaned in closer toward her ear. “So should I call you Ms. Rouche, or do I get your first name?”
     
    She laughed politely. “It’s Dahlia.”
     
    “A gorgeous flower.” He returned sincerely, stooping slightly to catch her averted eyes. “Were you leaving?”
     
    “Oh yes, I was just going out to catch a cab.”
     
    “Well, now that we’ve had drinks I could take you for dinner.” He said as if it were not anything out of the ordinary, but smiling at his own absurdity.
     
    Dahlia smiled and shook her head a little in preparation for making an excuse to decline. She could see Tomas from behind the stranger, nodding at her to say yes.
     
    “Where would you like me to take you?” He tilted his head and looked suggestively at the door. “Godavan’s?  Arigato? Oh, I know a fabulous hotdog stand. They have the best pickle relish.”
     
    Still smiling but shaking her head “I already ate,” Dahlia declined again.
     
    He looked at her with his big dark brown eyes, and she felt that he could see her. Not her face, her eyes, her hair, or that diet that she kept promising to go back on, but like he could see inside of who she was, who she had been, and who she wanted to be.
     
    “Do you usually regret being so cautious?” He said casually. “Later on, when you play it out again in your head.”
     
    Dahlia thought for a moment, but kept her guard.
     
    “Sometimes, I suppose,” she started slowly, “but I imagine the regret that comes from lack of caution must sting a whole lot worse.” She managed a cocky smirk, but she didn’t feel very cocky at the moment. She wanted to go with him.
     
    “Ahh, a wise woman perhaps? Or someone too often burned?” He put a finger to his lips in a gesture of contemplation. “I wouldn’t want to cause you any more regret, but if I walk away you’ll never know whether the caution was warranted, and you’ll regret it forever.   So how can we remedy this?”
     
    “Coffee?” Dahlia said before she really meant to.
     
    His broad mouth opened into the first full smile she’d seen on that strong face. “An elegant solution, but first . . .” he reached past her on the bar to sign his receipt and picked up the accompanying bank card that