chapter 12- 2nd date

Catherine

I ring Emi the next day after Nicole’s prescribed—don’t be a desperate cougar. I manage to convince Emi to let me foot the bill for lunch on Tuesday and I can’t help but feel like I’ve won the lottery. She’s everything I could hope for, a submissive gorgeous blonde with complexity and capacity for growth.

I decide on a local Moroccan bar. When I show up to the gym, she isn’t out front. Both Miles and Nicole are working out with clients. Nicole points toward the employees door.

I knock and step into the back. Emi is happily snacking at a computer with Cheetos and a Gatorade in her ripped jeans and white camisole. I slip behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. She jumps, looking up as her blue eyes widen.

“Wow, you look great,” she stammers. I shrug. I’m in one of my tailored suits, with a steel grey button-up, black vest, black trench and slacks.

“Come along. Time for lunch.” I offer my hand and we walk to my car.

“So why are you working in the back? I thought you were training to be a fitness instructor,” I tease her. She blushes.

“I still haven’t developed a big clientele. Plus, Miles needs me to keep inventory and help create a diet plan for their current clients. They have this really messy database that needs refashioning and because I’m the youngest—I have to run their social media accounts.”

“Do you know anything about all of that?”

“Enough to get me in trouble,” she says with a smile. I reach across and squeeze her hand, making her flush harder.

“You’re young. You shouldn’t pigeonhole yourself into one thing yet. Find out what you’re passionate about and chase it with all your heart,” I tell her. She looks up at me and smiles even bigger.

“Thanks, Catherine. That means a lot, but it’s tight now. I’m still in survival mode,” she admits. “I’m really looking forward to lunch.” I frown at the change in topic.

“Excellent.”

At the bar, I recline next to her in the funky seating arrangement and enjoy her looking around the authentic styling with a touch of modern art. I order a sampling of everything and her eyes bulge.

“Don’t worry about it. We don’t have to eat it all,” I assure her, stroking the inside of her elbow and slide an arm around her. “This is who I am, Emi. Take it or leave it. I need to be able to wine and dine you, spoil and pamper you. If you can’t let me do that…” I frown a little. She looks up at me concerned and I truly see something warring inside of her. It makes me worried she will refuse me. Perhaps we’ve hit the true roadblock of our relationship.

“Okay,” she says with a breathy sigh and relaxes just a tiny bit against me. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

The food arrives. Plump lamb couscous, chicken pastilla, and a seasonally fresh salad. I focus on the salad as Emi oohs and aahs over the star events, inhaling them happily. It fills me up with a sort of warmth, knowing that she’s had real food besides junk, sustaining food. I carefully sample the others, but let her have the lion's share, now that her appetite has been awakened.

Afterwards, she rests in my arms as I order another round of sweet pastries drizzled in honey. I feed them to her by hand until she is moaning and let her recover with the sugary mint tea to wrap up our meal. She is so skinny and needs all the extra plumping. I wonder when she won’t be so frail and find myself longing for the day.