you,” Finn said, putting his hand in the small of my back and giving me a gentle push.
Easier said than done. I very, very carefully climbed in and half sat, half lay on the seat. The last thing I needed to do was asphyxiate myself before the date even started. Finn climbed in and sat beside me on the plush leather seat. Trying not to look like a kid in a candy store, I glanced around at our luxury surroundings. There was a bar, a television, a DVD player, a telephone, a stereo and a small refrigerator. A chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses sat on top of a crystal platter on the bar.
“Jeez, this is nicer than my apartment,” I muttered in spite of my intention to appear sophisticated.
Finn smiled as he poured me a glass of champagne. “I’m glad you like it.”
He handed me the champagne and settled back against the seat. I took a sip and then cradled the glass, thinking maybe I should pinch myself. Could it be possible that I really was sitting here with the most gorgeous guy on the planet in a black stretch limo, sipping champagne?
“Where is the gallery located?” We were headed into D.C.
“Not too far from the Hilton Hotel in northwest D.C.”
The Hilton is now best known as the site of John Hinckley’s botched assassination attempt on former President Ronald Reagan. I figured it would take us about thirty minutes to get there. That meant thirty minutes of lounging in serious luxury while drinking what I was sure was expensive champagne. It also meant social conversation, at which I happen to be lousy.
I tried to hide my nervousness by chatting with Finn about as many non-consequential issues as I could think of. As we talked, I gratefully noticed that he steered clear of topics like code and nanotechnology. I sensed that tonight he wanted to separate work from play, which was just fine with me.
After a while, my nervousness dissipated and he poured me another glass of champagne. I was feeling rather giddy and I wasn’t sure whether it was from the champagne, the lack of air to my lungs because of my skin-tight gown or the fact that for once in my life, I was sort of holding my own in small-talk conversation.
Eventually we lapsed into silence and Finn pulled something out of his pocket and began fiddling with it.
“A Rubik’s Cube?” I asked in surprise.
He nodded sheepishly. “I do it sometimes to relax.”
“Relax? You’re not nervous.” I paused, suddenly uncertain. “Are you?”
“A little.”
Maybe he was giving a speech at the party tonight or receiving an award. That kind of stuff would definitely make me anxious. His nervousness wouldn’t have anything to do with me. He’d dated tons of beautiful women a lot more sophisticated and worldly. Comparatively speaking, I was a plain Twinkie compared to the usual double-fudge cupcakes he usually accompanied.
But what if he was worried what people might think of me? I imagined them whispering behind their wineglasses, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues, wondering what a gorgeous guy like Finn was doing with an ugly duckling.
Why in the world had I thought I could pull this off?
Resisting the urge to chew my fingernails, I tried to calm myself while watching Finn turn some of the faces on the Rubik’s Cube. He was doing it all wrong.
“I’ve been stuck in this one place,” he said. He moved some more of the panels, making it worse. “I can’t seem to get out of it.”
“Need some help?” I offered.
“Sure.”
I took the cube and quickly fixed it so that he had about six moves to finish it.
He stared at me for a moment and then back at the cube. “That’s amazing.” He flipped the last panels into place. “You do that all from memory, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I just see it somehow.”
He smiled at me and I swear I saw desire in his eyes. Holy cow, had I somehow just turned him on by doing the Rubik’s Cube?
“What do you mean that you can see it?” He slid closer to me.
His
Easier said than done. I very, very carefully climbed in and half sat, half lay on the seat. The last thing I needed to do was asphyxiate myself before the date even started. Finn climbed in and sat beside me on the plush leather seat. Trying not to look like a kid in a candy store, I glanced around at our luxury surroundings. There was a bar, a television, a DVD player, a telephone, a stereo and a small refrigerator. A chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses sat on top of a crystal platter on the bar.
“Jeez, this is nicer than my apartment,” I muttered in spite of my intention to appear sophisticated.
Finn smiled as he poured me a glass of champagne. “I’m glad you like it.”
He handed me the champagne and settled back against the seat. I took a sip and then cradled the glass, thinking maybe I should pinch myself. Could it be possible that I really was sitting here with the most gorgeous guy on the planet in a black stretch limo, sipping champagne?
“Where is the gallery located?” We were headed into D.C.
“Not too far from the Hilton Hotel in northwest D.C.”
The Hilton is now best known as the site of John Hinckley’s botched assassination attempt on former President Ronald Reagan. I figured it would take us about thirty minutes to get there. That meant thirty minutes of lounging in serious luxury while drinking what I was sure was expensive champagne. It also meant social conversation, at which I happen to be lousy.
I tried to hide my nervousness by chatting with Finn about as many non-consequential issues as I could think of. As we talked, I gratefully noticed that he steered clear of topics like code and nanotechnology. I sensed that tonight he wanted to separate work from play, which was just fine with me.
After a while, my nervousness dissipated and he poured me another glass of champagne. I was feeling rather giddy and I wasn’t sure whether it was from the champagne, the lack of air to my lungs because of my skin-tight gown or the fact that for once in my life, I was sort of holding my own in small-talk conversation.
Eventually we lapsed into silence and Finn pulled something out of his pocket and began fiddling with it.
“A Rubik’s Cube?” I asked in surprise.
He nodded sheepishly. “I do it sometimes to relax.”
“Relax? You’re not nervous.” I paused, suddenly uncertain. “Are you?”
“A little.”
Maybe he was giving a speech at the party tonight or receiving an award. That kind of stuff would definitely make me anxious. His nervousness wouldn’t have anything to do with me. He’d dated tons of beautiful women a lot more sophisticated and worldly. Comparatively speaking, I was a plain Twinkie compared to the usual double-fudge cupcakes he usually accompanied.
But what if he was worried what people might think of me? I imagined them whispering behind their wineglasses, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues, wondering what a gorgeous guy like Finn was doing with an ugly duckling.
Why in the world had I thought I could pull this off?
Resisting the urge to chew my fingernails, I tried to calm myself while watching Finn turn some of the faces on the Rubik’s Cube. He was doing it all wrong.
“I’ve been stuck in this one place,” he said. He moved some more of the panels, making it worse. “I can’t seem to get out of it.”
“Need some help?” I offered.
“Sure.”
I took the cube and quickly fixed it so that he had about six moves to finish it.
He stared at me for a moment and then back at the cube. “That’s amazing.” He flipped the last panels into place. “You do that all from memory, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I just see it somehow.”
He smiled at me and I swear I saw desire in his eyes. Holy cow, had I somehow just turned him on by doing the Rubik’s Cube?
“What do you mean that you can see it?” He slid closer to me.
His
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