Justin observed the woman before him, her posture as rigid as a statue, hands neatly folded atop each other. She seemed entirely engrossed in the intricate details of the tablecloth, her gaze fixed as if it held some profound secrets. Justin took a moment to assess her appearance. She was of average height, slender, with lustrous blond hair elegantly parted to one side, showcasing delicate silver earrings. If he were to characterize her, he'd label her as attractive, but she certainly didn't match his usual preferences. Justin typically leaned toward petite women with curves that would fit snugly into his embrace. This woman couldn't be more than an A-cup.
"So," he began, attempting to conjure any topic of conversation, but his mind drew a blank. They'd been seated at the restaurant for well over fifteen minutes, and in that span, all she had shared was her name, Michelle, and her order with the waitress.
Where did his father unearth these women? What kind of arrangement were they contemplating? And why did he have to be a part of this absurd charade?
Justin drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. If he didn't break this silence soon, his brain might combust from sheer boredom. He craved a diversion. His eyes darted around the restaurant.
It was a striking establishment, boasting a classic red, gold, and white decor. Kyle had made the reservation, swearing by the quality of the cuisine. Justin had never dined at a Vietnamese restaurant before, but he trusted Kyle's discerning palate.
They occupied a secluded spot on the second level, overlooking Chicago Harbor. Most likely the VIP section, Justin thought. At this hour, the setting sun cast a mesmerizing yellow-orange glow upon the serene waters below. Soft, melodious music played in the background, and the dimly lit lampshades fostered a romantic ambiance. But Justin felt anything but romantic, particularly in the company of the enigmatic Michelle. Now, if a stunning petite woman were seated across from him, it would be a different story. Heck, even the woman who had spat on him last week would be a more interesting companion than the current jukebox.
Justin continued to survey his surroundings. Only two other tables were occupied—one by an elderly couple savoring their noodles, and the other by a young man, slightly younger than him, cradling a pink rose.
A blind date, perhaps? Justin's curiosity piqued as he contemplated the identity of the mysterious woman soon to make her entrance. He was relieved to be facing the entrance; it allowed him to sneak a glance at the door without straining his neck. However, after five minutes of waiting, he grew bored once more. Searching for a means to pass the time, he decided to visit the restroom to clear his head. As he pushed his chair back, it emitted a grating screech.
"Where are you going?" Michelle asked, her eyes darting up from the table. What was her issue? Why was she so hesitant to engage in conversation?
Justin took in the sight of the nervous jukebox before him, her eyes darting anxiously from side to side. She reminded him of a timid mouse, yearning to snatch the cheese but fearing the lurking cat. Well, he might be the cat, but really, he wasn't going to bite her if she approached. Not unless she happened to be his type, in which case he'd be more inclined to nip her on the neck and head straight to bed. However, in this scenario, that wasn't happening.
"Bathroom," he replied, offering her a mischievous grin before adding, "Care to join me?"
Justin couldn't resist the urge to test her reaction, a curiosity to see if she would react with shock, perhaps leaping out of her chair in alarm or shrinking back like a timid mouse, fixating on the tablecloth. But Michelle's response surprised him—she looked more stunned than anything else. Well, what could he say? It was only reasonable for her to be taken aback by his audacious proposition. After all, most sensible women would likely be taken aback simply by his presence. Her response was a vigorous shake of her head.
"Thought so," he remarked casually. "Be right back."
***
Outside the restaurant window, Amy gazed at the young man seated near the large floral arrangement, absentmindedly twisting a pink rose between his fingers. This was the same man she had corresponded with on youandme.co.nz just last night—her very first date.
He looked... young. Remarkably young. Would he find her unattractive if he discovered her true age? Well, he appeared pleasant, at the very least. Yes, pleasant. That's what Helen would say. Pleasant men wouldn't hold her age against her.
Staring at the man once more, Amy's heart did a little dance, not because she found him particularly handsome or striking but because she was terribly nervous. Was he the man she hoped her child would resemble? Would he be the one? As these thoughts swirled through her mind, she began to tremble once more.
"Pull yourself together, Amy," she scolded herself. "You will not act like this. It's just your first date. I expect it to go well."
Her gaze returned to the man through the window. What was she thinking? This was indeed her first date, which was why she felt so out of sorts. She needed to regain her composure and clear her head before facing him. Familiar with the restaurant's layout from countless outings with friends, she easily slipped out the door and made her way to the restroom, hoping to regain her composure before revealing herself.
Amy knew the Vietnamn restaurant like the back of her hand, but as she turned the corner to the women's restroom, she unexpectedly collided with a solid mass, sending her sprawling to the floor. In the split second before her body met the dark tiles, she grasped onto an arm, hoping it would offer some support to break her fall. However, she still ended up sprawled on the floor, her lips inadvertently making contact with something soft, and at that moment, all sense of herself seemed to vanish.
Amy's heart raced like a horse in a gallop, then accelerated into a sprint, while her head seemed to take an exhilarating roller coaster ride. A swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her lungs felt as though they were seized by an asthmatic episode. Amid all this chaos, she kept her eyes squeezed shut.
Amy realized that the soft, supple lips that had pressed against hers were indeed someone else's. Those lips moved sensually along the curves of her mouth, gently nibbling here and there. She felt like she was on cloud nine. Was this what a first kiss was supposed to feel like? Inexperienced as she was, she wanted to explore more. It was incredibly intoxicating.
Was this chemistry? Who was this man who had just kissed her? Could he potentially be the father of her baby? All of these questions swirled in her mind without answers. Curiosity got the better of her, and she slowly opened her eyes, only to be left speechless once more. The person who had kissed her was none other than the one person she had hoped to never see again.
"You!" Amy finally managed to utter, her shock, embarrassment, and surprise evident in her voice.
She attempted to push Justin away but found her efforts futile. As she tried to scramble out from under him, he lost his balance and toppled backward, inadvertently pulling her down with him. Now she was lying on top of him, her lips planting a kiss on his cheek.
Amy's cheeks flushed a bashful shade of pink. Embarrassed, she quickly extricated herself from the awkward position, straightening her clothing in an attempt to regain a semblance of normality.
"Did you enjoy that?" Justin asked with a smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously as he straightened his own attire.
Justin couldn't believe his luck when he realized the woman from the club was the same person he had just kissed. Man, that had been amazing. It was nothing like the sloppy kiss he'd received from the other girl.
Amy, catching Justin's sly grin, wanted to berate him for causing her such distress. No one had ever been that close to her before, and no one had ever kissed her. In fact, that had been her very first kiss, and it had to happen right outside a bathroom.
"I..." Amy began, but Justin interrupted her with a sudden idea.
"Wait, don't talk," he instructed her. "Stay right there."
Amy was too stunned to react, and in the next moment, a bright flash temporarily blinded her vision. When her vision returned to normal, she realized Justin had just taken a picture of her with his iPhone.
"What was that for?" she asked, taken aback.
"Evidence," Justin replied simply, saving the image to his phone.
"Evidence?" Amy was bewildered.
"Yes."
"For what?" Amy inquired, baffled by the entire situation.
"So I can sue you," Justin declared.
"Sue me? Why?" Amy was utterly confused.
"Because A: you just kissed me without my permission, and B: you spat on my shirt."
Was this Casanova for real? She kissed him without permission, and now he wanted to sue her? Shouldn't she be the one suing him for stealing her first kiss?
Amy wanted to berate herself. After a restless night dreaming about her first real date, which she hoped would lead to something more, such as a husband and father for her child, she couldn't believe she was encountering this Casanova again.
"Okay, let me make this clear. A: I did not kiss you. It was an accident. Obviously, you need glasses because you can't see where you're going. You bumped into me, and then you kissed me."
"Not from my perspective," Justin interjected. "A: you were walking like you were dawdling with the fairies. When I saw you, I was going to talk to you about my ruined shirt, but then you had to bump into me first. Then you even dragged me down and kissed me without my consent."
"I didn't kiss you without your permission," Amy argued.
"Oh, like I'm going to give you permission to kiss me, then. You're not my type," Justin lied. In truth, he didn't need to give her permission; she could kiss him again, and he wouldn't mind one bit. Actually, he wouldn't mind doing it all over again right here, right now, in front of the women's restroom. This woman was undeniably his type.
"You're so not my type either," Amy retorted. "Argh, why is it that every time I see you, you manage to embarrass me?" she grumbled to herself, brushing invisible specks off her clothes.
"You're one to talk. You spat at me when we last met, remember? And you yanked my towel off when you delivered those flowers. In fact, I should sue you for that too."
"It was to the wrong address. I didn't confess to you or anything. Regarding the spitting incident, you were in the wrong," Amy explained.
"I was in the wrong?" Justin questioned. "How was I in the wrong when you were the one who spat on me?"
"You were in the wrong because you were the one who bought me that disgusting drink. It tasted awful. What was I supposed to do with that foul concoction in my mouth? Swallow it? Of course not. I had to spit it out somewhere. If I had died from that poison, you would've been the prime suspect. And if I got sick, you'd be held responsible." Amy poked Justin's chest to emphasize her point. "People don't die from drinking spirits. And look at you; you seem healthy enough to me."
"I wouldn't be if I hadn't thrown up," Amy argued. "Okay, then why on me?"
"You were right in my face."
"Well... well..." Justin pondered. He needed a clever retort. This woman was backing him into a corner, and he had never lost a verbal battle before. Unable to think of a better response, he reverted to the beginning. "You were the one who asked me to buy that drink, remember? You were acting all cute and innocent." Satisfied, he grinned, thinking he had finally gained the upper hand.
Amy couldn't help but laugh. "Ha-ha-ha, I have to laugh. I did not act all cute and innocent. You were the one who came onto me. You approached me first."
"Well, that's because you were all alone, sitting there by yourself, looking so miserable that I had
Oh, how accurate her statement was, Justin thought. This Justin, behaving like a typical Justin, did indeed target young and innocent girls on some nights—or who was he kidding, almost every night, to be precise.
"You're wrong, sweetheart. I was only there to protect you. You looked so innocent, sitting there all by yourself. What was a gentleman like me supposed to do? Leave you as easy prey for others," he countered.
"Mister, I had friends there, so there was no need for your protection. And just for your information, I am well past the age of being young and innocent," Amy explained.
"Still claiming to be thirty, sweetheart? You don't look a day over twenty to me."
"Do you think I'm lying?" Amy asked incredulously.
"I'm just stating what I see," Justin replied, his eyes unabashedly scanning her physique.
"Fine. If you don't believe me, I'll prove it to you," Amy declared, as she began rummaging through her bag.
Her bag was a potential hazard zone. It seemed like a perilous place to stick her hand into. One time, Helen had emerged with a bleeding finger after the needle on her name badge jabbed her.
Justin leaned casually against the women's restroom entryway, observing the woman in front of him with a sweeping glance. Thank goodness she was occupied with her bag; the ravenous look on his face at that moment would likely have startled her had she noticed.
No matter how much she insisted she was thirty, Justin couldn't bring himself to believe it. She had the body of a woman in her early twenties, possibly even a virgin, judging by her constant blush during their little exchange. He found it endearing and thoroughly enjoyed their playful banter.
Today, she wore a charming pink sweater and black skinny jeans with medium-heeled shoes. Even at her height, her head only reached his shoulder. Justin had a soft spot for pink, especially on women; it made them appear incredibly attractive. He wouldn't mind sharing a bed with her at all.
Then, their eyes met, and it felt like a punch to the gut. He just couldn't seem to get enough of those eyes. But that enticing gaze was soon replaced by an ID card thrust directly into his line of sight. It took a moment for him to adjust to the proximity of the photo, but once he had a better view, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets upon seeing her date of birth printed on her driver's license.
"Shit! You really are thirty!" he exclaimed.
Justin couldn't believe that this stunning woman, who appeared much younger than him, was actually thirty.
"I told you I didn't lie," Amy said, smiling at her small victory.
"God, you're so old," Justin teased, as an idea popped into his head. Amy's smile quickly vanished.
"What do you mean?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to revel in her triumph. She had shown Justin her driver's license because he was getting under her skin a bit too much.
"It means you're old now," Justin declared, suppressing a chuckle as he contemplated teasing her further. He couldn't believe that this woman could appear so youthful despite just hitting thirty. He had never dated a woman in her thirties before. If he decided to pursue her, would he become her boy toy? The thought did sound rather tempting.
"But you said I looked young and innocent just a moment ago, like a twenty-year-old woman. Now I look thirty? How could I have aged so rapidly in just a few minutes?" Amy asked, seeking clarification.
"Woman, do avocados look old to you?" Justin explained, using the only analogy that came to mind. It was time to have some fun with her.
"What are you talking about? I don't understand," Amy replied.
"See, can you see this?" Justin showed Amy her driver's license, tapping at her photo while trying his best to hold back his laughter.
"I see my picture," Amy replied earnestly.
"No, you're seeing an avocado," Justin stated again.
"An avocado?" Amy questioned Justin in confusion. Her bewildered expression only fueled his desire to tease her further.
"Yes, an avocado."
"I don't see an avocado. Just me." No matter how many times Amy looked at her image on the ID, she could only see herself. What was this Casanova talking about?
"Let's look at it this way," Justin began to explain. "All avocados look the same on the outside, right?"
Amy nodded in agreement.
"They're green, maybe a bit rough and wrinkly on the outside, but it's only when you peel off the skin and check the meat that you know they're old and soft."
"So, what you're trying to say is that I'm an avocado?" Amy reiterated.
"Yes, you're an avocado," he confirmed.
"I still don't get it. I don't look that old. You said so yourself a minute ago."
"God, woman! It's what's inside that counts. You know, the inner workings."
"What are you talking about? I still don't understand you. Speak plain English."
"I am speaking plain English. It's you who's acting dense."
"Who are you calling dense?" Amy had had enough of this man. Who was he to call her dense? She was an intelligent woman who had achieved numerous accomplishments in her thirty years.
"You, woman. You!"
"Stop calling me 'woman,'" she exclaimed, brushing his finger away from her face and snatching back her license. "You just called me 'sweetheart' a moment ago."
"That was before you claimed to be thirty, acting all innocent and whatnot."
"Now I'm acting all innocent? I tell you, mister, I am neither dense nor am I playing innocent because—"
"It doesn't matter now," Justin interrupted. "And even if you were acting all innocent now, I wouldn't believe you. A woman like you should act refined, like aged wine, matured to perfection. But you, now that I know your age, you don't act like wine at all. You're an avocado."
"Enough with the avocado. My name is Amy. Not avocado, woman, or even sweetheart," she retorted, growing increasingly frustrated.
"Sorry, avocado it is for me. Avocado. Avocado," Justin repeated, just to provoke Amy further. He found her angry face quite entertaining.
"Amy! Amy!" Amy reiterated, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Avocado. Avocado. Actually, I kind of like the sound of it now. Nice and smooth on my tongue."
"You insufferable man! I've had enough of you. Why am I even arguing with you anyway? It's a waste of my time. I'm leaving. And I pray to God that if I see you again, I'll bite off my own tongue," Amy declared.
Justin felt a twinge of disappointment when Amy announced her departure. He was thoroughly enjoying their banter and teasing. He wasn't ready for it to end just yet.
"I'll bet you on that, Avocado," he quipped, hoping to continue their playful exchange a little longer. "If I see you again, I swear on my life that I'll never look at another woman again. Although that's hardly likely, considering how much I adore my girls. And just for the record, my name is Justin. You know, the mysterious Justin who enjoys pursuing innocent girls." He winked at her, challenging her to come up with a witty retort.
"You Casanova! I hope you marry a woman who wields an iron rod in her hand. She'll whip you into shape," Amy growled before storming off, leaving Justin laughing in her wake.