He expected her to protest, being so incredibly stingy when it came to the food, but her eyes lit up and she positively beamed at him, regarding him like he was a fucking hero. “That’s so wonderful, Rob. You’ll make his night worth it.”
“If that’s the look I get, I’ll add another digit in front of it,” he said, taking the receipt back.
Laughing, she smacked his hand. “Don’t!”
He nodded at the nearby dance floor. “Now that we’ve eaten, want to dance a little?”
To his surprise, the open expression on her face cooled and she shook her head.
“Why not?” She’d been giving the dance floor little covert glances all throughout dinner, and he figured most women loved to dance. “I’m not totally fu—uh, terrible. Just mostly terrible.”
She smiled. “It’s not you. It’s me.” She pushed a leg up one side of the table. “I’ll tower over you. People’ll stare.”
That was all it was? “Let them stare.” But when she shook her head again and crossed her arms over her chest, he wondered about her ugly shoes. The night she’d gotten out of the cab with her friends, she’d been wearing a pair of classy high heels. Tonight, with him, she was wearing ugly black flats. “Is this why you’re wearing those shoes? So you aren’t quite so tall?”
She licked her lips and said nothing.
“So you’re tall! So fucking what?”
Her eyes widened.
He mentally cursed himself for slipping a four-letter word in there. “What I meant to say was that it’s not a big deal.”
“I’m taller than most men.”
“I’m smarter than most men. You think that’s bringing me down?”
She just gave him a look.
“You’re an amazon,” he agreed. “There’s no hiding that.”
The look on her face grew hurt, and he had a vague feeling like he’d kicked a puppy.
“Let me tell you something,” he said, leaning in. “If they have a problem with you being taller than your date, that’s their issue, not yours. Your legs are gorgeous and they look amazing in heels, and I’m a selfish enough guy to insist that you wear something that makes you look great. And if you’re taller than me, so what? I’m secure enough in my masculinity to not give a . . . a . . .” Hell, he couldn’t think of something that wasn’t vulgar. Give a fuck? Give a shit? Give a rat’s ass?
“Darn?” she supplied.
“Yes. Darn. I don’t give a darn.” His mouth curved. “Now will you please come dance?” It wasn’t like he was fucking dying to dance. Hell, he was a dude. He hated dancing. But the opportunity to press Marjorie against him and see those long legs moving in that short skirt? He was totally on board for that.
“Well, all righty then,” she said happily. “Lessdance.” She got to her feet and nearly knocked the table over as she stood, and Rob reached out to help her.
“You okay?”
“I’m great,” she enthused, her face flushed.
He wasn’t so sure about that, but they headed to the dance floor, Rob’s arm anchoring around Marjorie’s waist. In flats, she was pretty much the same height as him, and he liked that. The music changed to a slow, sultry song, and Marjorie’s arms went around his neck, her loose breasts pressing against his chest. And Rob forgot all about not staring, because her tits were small and sweet and pushed up against him and how could he not look down?
“Are you having fun?” he murmured as they began to sway to the music.
“A lot of fun,” she said in that slurred, breathless voice. Her gaze fixed on his mouth and she leaned in. “Can we kiss?”
As much as he wanted to, he shook his head. “You’re pretty drunk, Marjorie.”
She shook her head violently. “Am not!” And her knees sagged. “Whoa, I think the floor moved.”
He groaned and hauled her against him. “Stand up, Marjorie. You’re drunk.”
She giggled and clung to him, staggering. “It’s breezy in here!”
People were staring at them, and Rob checked her dress. Covered up top, but the bottom had slid up. Fucking perfect. He tugged it back down for her and then looked for the closest chair to deposit her in, since she was no longer even trying to stand up straight. The bar was only a few feet away, so he hauled her there and planted her on a stool. “Stay here,” he told her. “I’ll go get your purse.”
Marjorie giggled and made a big show of pointing at the bar. “Right here.” It made her top slide down one arm, her breast nearly falling out.
He adjusted her clothing, trying not to feel exasperated. This night was turning into a fucking disaster. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be two minutes.” He hustled back across the restaurant, looking for their table. To his dismay, it had already been cleared and Marjorie’s purse was nowhere to be seen. He looked for the waiter, instead.
Naturally, he was nowhere to be found. Rob waited a few minutes, impatient, and then when he still didn’t show up, he flagged down another waiter. “I need my date’s things,” he told the man. “Where’s my goddamn server?”
The man looked startled. “What section are you in?” When Rob showed him, he nodded. “He’s on break right now.”
“Then go fucking find him,” Rob gritted. “Right goddamn now.”