would give him the thrill of seeing something he shouldn’t have. Men were so easy in the beginning. It was keeping them on a line that became more challenging.
She ran a finger down her neck and let it trail between her breasts. Her thumb touched her nipple, causing it to peak. She would repeat the move later tonight when she excused herself to use the restroom. Sal wouldn’t be disappointed. Men were such visual creatures. Yes, Sal was a lucky man. If he only knew she’d saved him from Dowdy Sarah. What would that one wear on a first date? Cotton underpants and a sturdy bra? Sylvia laughed. And a wool dress, no doubt. She probably didn’t own silk. Or know who Beyoncé was. The best she could probably do was missionary-style sex with her eyes squeezed shut.
The restaurant Sal chose was on a quaint street full of shops and restaurants. Sylvia had insisted on meeting him there. If he had picked her up, he would already be making plans for how to get her to invite him in when he dropped her off. Or at least, the idea that it was a possibility, however remote, would be in the back of his mind. It was just how males thought. But if she drove, he’d have to work harder. She’d upped the stakes for him without saying a word.
Now they were seated across from one another. She hadn’t been sure what to expect—she’d only seen him in his work duds. Tonight, though, he was wearing a lovely black crewneck sweater over a plain white T-shirt and jeans.
He snapped his menu shut and sighed. “I checked twice—no blueberry muffins here. But,” he said with a smile, “word on the street is they make some killer cocktails if you’re inclined to order one.”
“Ooh . . . I do enjoy a good cocktail.” She shifted her menu and picked up a narrow card beneath it, skimming a finger down the list with a sexy swipe.
“Do you see something you like?” he asked.
She could’ve taken the bait and said something flirtatious, but she’d learned years ago that overt flirting was an amateur move. Make the guy work for it, want it, need it with every fiber of his being.
“Yes. Three down,” she said, pointing. “The Paloma. It’s made with tequila, lime, simple syrup, and mezcal. If there’s a cocktail made with mezcal, that’s the one I always order.”
He nodded as he flipped the menu to face him. “You like smoky; I like spicy. I’ll get the jalapeño margarita.” He slid the menus to the edge of the table. “What else should I know about you? How do you spend your free time?”
She twisted her lips, feigning deep thought. Then she slowly licked her bottom lip, giving it just a hint of a bite. “I’ve just taken up golf. I’m terrible, mind you, but I like the mental aspect of the game.” It was a lie, of course, but he had been at a golf course in his Facebook photo, so she figured he must enjoy it.
“Really?”
“Yes. Have you ever played?”
“As a matter of fact, I love the game. I’ve been playing since I was a kid.”
“So you must be pretty good.”
He smiled easily. “I’m not bad.”
“Handicap?” she asked.
“Ah, you know the right questions. It’s an eight.”
She laughed. “Not bad? I’d say you’re great.”
“We should go hit balls sometime. I’ll give you some pointers.”
“I’d like that. So tell me about you, now that you know all about me.”
“I know one thing. Well, two. Make that three.”
“Three?”
“You like mezcal, you’re learning golf, and you’re beautiful.”
She leaned forward just a bit. He deserved a little peek after those kind words. “Well, thank you.”
The server arrived at the table and took their drink orders. He was young and handsome. Probably an actor, Sylvia thought. She wondered why Embry hadn’t told Brandon the baby news yet. It was strange that she was so obviously nervous to tell him. The man was madly in love with her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. It was something she noticed every time she saw the two of them together. It was fascinating, like watching a hummingbird fly backward.
She studied the server’s face as he recited the specials. The delivery earned him a three, maybe a three point five. Shouldn’t he be selling the special, making it sound like the most delicious thing on the menu? Instead, he sounded like a second grader reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. “Do