DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE The Alpha’s Pen Pal: Chapter 22
Friday night could not arrive fast enough, yet somehow, it also arrived too quickly. After rehearsal, I rushed home to shower, knowing I would need as much time as possible for my curls to dry. I used my diffuser, though, which I usually avoided since it was so heavy and a pain in the ass to use.
I kept my towel wrapped around me as I stood in front of my closet, staring at my organized clothes, sorted by style and color. They stared back at me, taunting me, playing on my insecurities. I pushed them down, though. He had asked me on a date. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t interested. And our banter was fun. And the connection between us had been clear.
I pulled out a blue floral maxi dress with spaghetti straps and a slit up the leg, and a pair of white platform wedges, then walked to my dresser. I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a matching white lace bralette and panty set, blushing even though no one was there to see me. I had my doubts our first actual date would get to that level. I hardly knew him, and he didn’t seem the type to push for sex to happen that soon.
But, on the other hand, our chemistry was undeniable. As was my attraction to him. And his to me. I didn’t miss the flirting, the casual touches, or the looks he gave me. None of it was all that subtle. So, I figured it was better to be prepared. Just in case.
I made my way back into the bathroom and got dressed, then put on some light makeup—tinted moisturizer, blush, and a touch of mascara—just to highlight my features. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror on the door as I shook out my hair, fluffing it and getting rid of any remnants of the crunchy, dried gel and hairspray on my curls, when the memory of Wes’s voice hit me.
“Wear something nice.”
I stared at myself for a long moment, torn. Part of me wanted to wear something nice. To see his eyes light up when he saw me, to do what he said and please him. But a bigger part of me didn’t want to listen to him. He wasn’t in charge. He couldn’t tell me what to do.
I thought for a moment longer, then turned on my heel and went back into my room. I rummaged through my clothes again, pulling out black high-waisted jeans, a gray, slightly cropped, square-neck top with short sleeves, a denim jacket, and my cheetah print flats.
That will teach him to tell me what to do, I thought to myself as I looked over my new outfit in the mirror.
There was a knock on our apartment door, and I took a deep breath. Then another. Then, I walked out to the living room to grab my purse from the hook.
“I thought you were going on a date?” Maya asked as I walked by the couch.
“I am,” I replied with a smile.
She raised one brow at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe and back. Then she said, “Ooookay,” before turning back to the TV.
I threw my small brown crossbody bag over my shoulder, then opened the door just enough to slip out of it before Wes could say anything.
I turned to look up at him, and I had to pause to drink him in. He looked extra handsome in his dark gray slacks and black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. Both pieces were perfectly tailored to his body, accentuating his toned muscles, and all I could think was that it should be illegal for someone to look that good in their clothes.
And then my next thought was about how he’d look while taking them off. Which was an odd thought for me. I was NOT that type of girl.
His voice tore me away from my casual ogling of his body.
“I thought I told you to wear something nice,” he scolded, but his eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Did you?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“I specifically told you when I dropped you off,” he reminded me, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping towards me.
“Hmm… I don’t remember that,” I shrugged, stepping back, only to find the door behind me. Damn it.
He had me trapped.
“Even if I believed that,” he said, walking closer, “I also sent you a text today to remind you about dressing up.”
“I didn’t see it,” I said, my voice coming out breathy as he invaded my space with his body and his sexy, manly scent.
I didn’t remember him smelling that strongly the other day. He must have showered, too, and put cologne on just before he left. The scent was sweet yet sort of spicy and heady, and I wanted to drown in it, to bury my nose in his shirt and stay there breathing him in forever. Or have him hold me in his arms all evening, so when I came home, the scent would linger on my skin and clothing to soothe me to sleep.
“Don’t lie to me, Haven,” Wes warned, stopping his movement when his chest was close enough to brush against me when he breathed in.
“I’m not,” I retorted, although I didn’t think I was convincing anyone of my innocence with how my voice shook.
His hand slid out of his pocket, and he grabbed me by my hip, pulling me almost flush against his body. His other hand tilted my chin up, and he said, “You are.” He stroked my jaw with his thumb, looked down at my body, and then back into my eyes. “But it’s okay. You look beautiful anyway.”
My lips twitched, and his did, too, until he broke into a full-on grin as he laughed. “Come on,” he said, stepping away from me and reaching his hand out to take mine. “Let’s go eat.”
The walk through town to get to the restaurant went fast, filled with us chatting about the rest of our week and making small talk. My hand stayed in his the entire way, my fingers laced with his, and his thumb occasionally rubbing my skin.
Just like in the coffee shop, I could feel eyes on me as we walked. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still new in town, or because I was walking around hand in hand with Wesley, or some combination of the two, but it made me a bit self-conscious.
I brushed it off, though, as we reached Rendezvous, the little French bistro on the edge of the downtown area. Wesley dropped my hand to open the door, guiding me through like he had at the cafe. His light touches and gentlemanly gestures had little flutters forming in my stomach, even though I pretended I hated them the other day.
The host showed us to our table—a small, cozy booth tucked away in the back of the restaurant. After we seated ourselves across from each other, he introduced us to our server, who poured our water and handed us our menus.
“Can I get you started with something to drink? A glass of wine or champagne?” she asked, glancing between us.
“Oh, I’ll just stick with some water,” I said.
“I’ll do the same,” Wesley told her, and then she walked off to give us some time to look at the menu.
“You could have ordered a drink,” I said.
“I could have,” he agreed. “But I didn’t. You’re not twenty-one yet, so no reason for me to drink since you can’t.”
I smiled at him a little, then looked down at my menu. I turned the pages, looking over each menu item as I decided what to order.
The movement of Wesley’s arms in my periphery caught my eye. I glanced up just as he finished rolling his sleeves up, revealing his powerful forearms as he braced them against the table to look down at his menu.
My eyes ran over them, at the veins that popped, and then up to where the sleeves bulged against his biceps. The clearing of his throat made me snap my eyes up to his face, where I found him watching me stare at him in amusement.
“What are you thinking about ordering?” he asked, and I was grateful he didn’t mention me staring at him.
“The salmon en papillote,” I told him. “It’s my favorite.” I closed the menu and set it aside. “What about you?”
“I’m deciding between the ratatouille and the cock ow vin.”
I snickered and covered my mouth to hide my laugh.
“What?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“It’s not—” I giggled. “It’s ‘coq au vin,’” I said, dragging out the words so he could hear the proper pronunciation.
“Coco van,” he repeated, and I tilted my head towards the ceiling as I laughed again, louder this time. “Coke oh van,” he tried again, and I kept laughing. “Fuck it, I’ll just get the ratatouille,” he muttered, a small laugh spilling from his mouth.
“Is that the only thing you can pronounce correctly on the menu?” I teased.
“Probably. Thank you Disney, Pixar, and Madeleine,” he said, clasping his hands together and lifting his eyes skyward.
I giggled again at his goofiness, then took a sip of my water. I was still thirsty from rehearsal that day, and I’d skimped on my water intake afterwards because I’d been so focused on getting ready.
The server came by just then, and we placed our order, both of us holding back a laugh as Wesley ordered his ratatouille.
“How are you doing?” Wesley asked once she had walked away. “After the other night, I mean.”
“I’m all right.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve tried not to think about it much,” I admitted.
“It’s okay to be upset. To be hurt and confused,” he said.
“I know,” I murmured. “But I can’t let it distract me from my work.”
“Have you thought about talking to them?”
My head shook as I answered him. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I don’t really know what I would say. ‘I know you lied to me? I met Jack. He’s still alive. Why would you do that to a child?’”
He winced and then nodded. “I see your point,” he said. “Still—”
I shook my head again, with more urgency this time. “No. I don’t want to talk to them,” I told him. “Ever since I asked her about the letter, and then even more so after I saw Jack, I’ve realized more and more that there were so many little things they did that, while not obviously cruel, were actually really terrible, horrible things to do to someone who was supposed to be your daughter.”
He swallowed, and his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop.
“But I don’t want to talk about them,” I said, covering one of his fists with my hand.
He relaxed under my touch, and his eyes moved to my hand on his. He unclenched his fist, then turned it so it was palm up, and clasped my hand with it.
“Tell me more about yourself,” he said, returning his warm gaze to my face.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Anything? Everything?”
“There’s not much to tell,” I shrugged.
“It’s been almost twelve years since we wrote to each other, and you say there is NOTHING you can tell me about your life and what you’ve been up to?” he asked incredulously. “I told you earlier not to lie to me, Twinkle Toes,” he teased.
I chuckled again. Every time he said that nickname, I sort of hated it, but I also sort of loved it. It was better than the normal “baby” or “babe” that most men tried to use on their girlfriends. I despised those pet names.
“Tell me about that dance competition you mentioned,” he said. “The one with the car race name.”
“Oh my god.” I laughed again, so hard tears came to my eyes.
I hadn’t done that in so long. Laughed that hard. Every moment I spent with him, I found myself relaxing more and more. He just had a way of making me feel at ease, making me laugh and feel comfortable just being myself. It had been far too long since I felt I could just be me.
“The Youth America Grand Prix?” I asked, wiping my eyes with my free hand.
“Yes, that.” He grinned.
“It’s a really, really well-known competition in the ballet world, especially with pre-professional dancers,” I told him. “There are regional comps, and then you can be invited to participate in the finals in New York, where you can win scholarships and get job offers. The finals are how I got my apprenticeship with the ballet company in Salt Lake City.”
“So you won?” he asked, a hint of pride in his voice.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t win any of the top prizes in New York. Just got noticed by a company and got lucky that it was one near where we lived.”
“It sounds intense,” he said.
“It is.” I nodded. “You have to learn the original choreography from a ballet, and it has to be a variation from the approved list, which is different for different age groups. You have to know your strengths and weaknesses to pick the right variation for yourself.”
He nodded, and his eyes never strayed from my face as I talked. He was genuinely invested in what I had to say and truly interested in learning and understanding my world.
And as I sat and talked with him, I felt a layer of the carefully constructed walls around my heart coming down, just like they had twelve years ago when we first started writing to each other.