26. Nat

The cream wrap dress I've chosen swishes around my legs as I step out of the cab. It's a warm evening but I'm wearing my favorite leather jacket. I was tempted to pin my hair up but decided at the last minute to leave it down. If I feel nervous, I can hide behind it.

This evening is not a date, I tell myself as I step through the door of the restaurant. It's simply a dinner with a guy I know. Of course, if this wasn't an actual date with a guy I'm attracted to, then I would have shown up in jeans.

I sigh. Yeah, I'm delusional.

Jane and Amanda know this is a date.

Hell, even I know this is a date.

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a motherfucking duck.

There's no sign of Max so I head over to the bar and order a drink. The hostess tries asking me if I've booked a table but I brush her off. If Max doesn't show, I'd rather just pretend I'm here for a quick drink and then leave.

There's nothing worse than sitting at a table all alone, waiting for some date who never shows. It happened to me once. That's the kind of asshole guy I attract.

The bartender whips me up a margarita and I sip it slowly while reading social media updates. When a hand touches my shoulder, I almost drop my glass. I spin around and prepare to rip some guy's head off for touching me inappropriately but it's Max.

Dear Lord. He's dressed to kill in a perfectly tailored suit and white shirt - no tie. Jeweled cuff links and a very expensive watch complete the ensemble. I'm average height but he still towers over me, even though I'm in heels.

He leans down and kisses my cheek, enveloping me in a cloud of delicious cologne. The guy sure does smell good.

"Natalya, you look beautiful," he tells me in a low, husky voice. The way his gaze lingers on my cleavage reassures me I made the right choice when I picked this dress.

My confidence isn't what it once was, thanks to Rick. Even now, I still second-guess myself when I dress up. Is it too tight? Too short? Too revealing?

The litany of critical comments that run through my head before I step out the door is always paralyzing, but I'm training myself to ignore the voice. I end up changing into something plainer and less revealing only 50% of the time.

From the heated way Max admires the slinky cut of my dress, I'm glad I didn't this evening.

"Thank you," I murmur, willing my cheeks not to flush. Thank God for the green-tinted color corrector I used.

"Are you ready to eat, Malyshka?"

"Yes." I'm starving, having eaten nothing since breakfast. The margarita has given me a buzz already, so I better not drink anything else before I eat.

Max offers me his arm and leads me across the restaurant to a table at the end. It's the only empty one in here. I'm kind of surprised this one isn't taken too, but I guess he must have reserved it for us.

I go to pull a chair out but before I can, Max is there, doing it for me like a gentleman. If I wasn't a woman of the world, I'd legit be swooning by now. There's something so sexy about a man who opens doors and treats a woman with respect.

It's not something I'm used to, but I like it.

Max watches me as I pick up a menu and scan the options. To be honest, it all looks good. In the end, I order the mushroom risotto with a green salad and Max chooses the largest steak on the menu.

He picks a wine for us and when I take my first sip, I almost moan out loud. It's delicious. So smooth. Nothing like the cheap wine we drink when we're on a girls' night out.

By the time the waitress asks us if we'd like dessert, I'm stuffed. The food was delicious but if I eat another bite, I'll need a wheelchair to leave the restaurant.

"Not for me," I say, somewhat reluctantly after coveting the chocolate ganache dessert a woman at an adjacent table ordered.

"Just coffee, thanks." Max's voice is clipped, disinterested, despite the lingering looks the waitress has been giving him all evening. She's doing it now. Allowing her fingers to brush over his arm as she takes the menu from him. It's not obvious, but I can tell he's noticed.

If this was Rick, he'd be all over the woman. He loved to flirt with other women in front of me. It was his way of letting me know I needed to work harder to maintain his interest.

Max isn't like that, I remind myself. Besides, we're not on a date. We're merely enjoying a nice meal together.

I deliberately turn away, chewing my lip anxiously as the waitress presses her breasts into Max's arm while picking up his dirty plate. The familiar sense that I'm less than comes roaring back, despite my best efforts to keep it at bay.

Objectively, I know Max finds me attractive. I'm not blind. He's made it more than clear on numerous occasions. But seeing another woman all over him is triggering me in a big way.

The waitress is younger than me. Prettier, slimmer, and clearly a lot more confident around attractive men.

A guy like Max - an alpha male - would probably much rather be with a woman like her. A woman who can meet him halfway, in and out of the bedroom. While I act confident around my friends and when it's a work situation, Max makes me nervous.

The wine I've drunk has loosened me up but I can feel my ugly insecurities coming to the fore.

"Be right back," I mutter, dropping my napkin on the table. I don't look back as I hurry across the crowded restaurant. He wasn't flirting with her, I know this, but I can't help the way my stomach curdles.

The bathroom is empty when I walk in and I spend a few moments staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed from the wine and my hair is still smooth and shiny, despite the warm, slightly humid atmosphere inside this place.

I look better than I have done for a while now. After Rick, I lost weight. Too much weight. In the last few months, I've regained it and now my figure is back to where it was.

Max likes my curves; he's told me. Still, it's hard not to remember all the times Rick told me I was fat.

Just as I'm drying my hands, the bathroom door swings open, and Max steps in.

"What are you…?" I look up, confused. Has he taken a wrong turn?

"Malyshka…" He walks over and takes me in his arms. "You're upset. Tell me why, so I can kill whoever made you sad." It's such a ridiculously OTT thing to say that I can't help but choke out a laugh.

"It's nothing," I hedge, feeling stupid now. "I'm just being insecure."

"Insecure?" he repeats, perplexed. "You have nothing to be insecure about." One hand slides lower and rests just above the curve of my ass. It feels good. Possessive. I like it.

"It's just that…" I pause, struggling to put my thoughts into words without sounding pathetic. "It's that… Rick, the guy you…um… spoke to last year… used to flirt with other women all the time, in front of me… and watching that waitress flirt… it… well…"

Max freezes at my words, his muscles rigid. My back is to the mirror so I can't see his expression but instinct tells me I've fucked up. He must think I'm so stupid. A needy, pathetic woman.

"You think I want that girl?" His voice is calm, deceptively so, but there's an undercurrent of anger in it that makes me nervous. I try to step back but his arms are locked around my body and there's nowhere to go.

"No… of course not… I just…"

"Malyshka," he murmurs against my hair, relaxing slightly. "The only woman I want is you." He cups my ass and pulls me closer. "Every man in this restaurant is jealous of me because I'm taking you home tonight. Not them."

I snort a little against his chest. He's delusional. I'm not going home with him again.

"You don't believe me," he says with a sigh before muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "I should have killed that fucker."

"I want to believe you," I admit.

"Then let me show you how much I want you."