Page 10

Bennett

When I sent Gracie a text last night asking her to go on a date, I didn’t get a response until several hours later. Either she was super busy, which I totally understand, or she’s unsure. Hell, I’m not certain about dating someone that works for my mom. Really though, let’s be honest, I’m using that as an excuse because I’m scared to date at all. There’re way too many complications that come with having any sort of female relationships with my career path.

I pull up to Gracie's apartment building. This is our first official date. Not a Holidates setup. Nope. This is the real deal. I check myself in the rearview mirror, raking a hand through my hair, hoping it looks more styled than disheveled.

Her place is one of those cozy enclaves on the outskirts of the city—the kind that makes you forget downtown Miami's bustle is just a short distance away. When I set up the time for this date with Gracie, I told her I’d see her at her door, but she insisted that it was easier for her to just come down to my car and meet me there. Her building looks like one of those locked up luxury style apartment buildings, and I do like the fact that there’s a little more safety here.

I send her a quick text that I’m there. Then I wait, tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel with my thumbs.

The door swings open, and she's a vision in a floral sundress that complements her chestnut waves and those striking green eyes of hers. Something's off with her though. The straight line of her lips and how she looks at the ground as she’s walking in my direction, it's like she's psyching herself up for something more daunting than a date.

"Hey," I greet her, stepping out of the car to hold the passenger door open. "You look amazing."

"Thanks." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. I can't put my finger on it, but tension radiates off her in waves.

We exchange pleasantries, but they just hang between us with no real feeling. I focus on the road and drive towards the restaurant but still sneak glances at her. She's here, but not quite. It's like she's mentally bracing for something bad to happen. I don't know where it's coming from or why.

"Everything okay?" I venture.

Gracie nods, but it doesn't fool me. "Just thinking about work stuff," she says.

"Okay, if you're sure," I reply, knowing better than to push. I settle back into my seat. I'm used to reading opponents on the ice, gauging their next move. With Gracie, I'm out of my depth, playing a game I don't fully understand yet.

We make it to the restaurant that I made reservations for us to, and we are quickly seated.

I'm trying to focus on the menu, but my attention keeps drifting back to Gracie. She's tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip, lost in thought.

"Have you decided what you're having?" I ask, hoping to draw her out of whatever shell she's retreated into.

She looks up, blinking as if coming back from somewhere far away. "Uh, yeah. The salmon, I think," she murmurs.

"Good choice." I flash a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "Heard their chef does wonders with fish."

"Does he now?" She offers a small smile, and for a second, I think I've made progress.

"Absolutely." I lean forward, eager to keep the conversation going. "And the way they pair it with the—"

She cuts me off with a hand raised, her eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that pins me to my spot. "Bennett," she says, "we need to talk about something."

"Sure, anything." My heart starts pounding like it's the final seconds of a tied game.

"It's about... how you are with other women." Gracie's gaze doesn't waver, and there's a hint of steel in her tone that tells me she's not just making conversation.

"Other women?" I repeat, feeling my easy confidence start to slip. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of the other diners, the waitstaff, the space between us at the table. "What about them?"

"The flirting, Bennett. The reputation you have." Her words are direct, and they hit hard. "You're known for being a bit of a playboy."

"Ah." The air rushes out of me, and I'm scrambling for a response.

"Look, Gracie..." I start, then stop. What am I even trying to say? That she's wrong? That she's different? Because she is different—I know it deep down.

"Gracie," I try again, "I'm not gonna pretend I haven't had my fun." I pause, my fingers itching to run through my hair. I resist though, keeping my hands firmly on the table.

Her expression softens, just a fraction, and I hope it's enough for now.

Silence stretches between us again.

"So," Gracie finally breaks the quiet, but her eyes still don’t meet mine. "I have to ask. Why did you ask me out tonight? The whole Holidates thing was done at the wedding. You're off the hook, Bennett."

"Off the hook?" I echo. This date was supposed to be the start of something, not an obligation ticking off a checklist.

She nods, still not looking at me. "Yeah. You kept your end of the bargain. Nobody would blame you if you wanted to call it quits."

"Quits?" My heart is pounding. This isn't how I envisioned our first real date going. I glance down at the table, noticing a small chip in the wood. It's easier to focus on that imperfection than on the question hanging in the air. What can I say? That I asked her out because I wanted to, not because I had to?

"Gracie," I start, my words tentative. "I know this is our first time out without any pretenses or... commitments." I reach for my glass, take a sip, buying time. "But that's precisely why I'm here. Because I wanted to see where this could go… without any strings attached."

"I see," Gracie says with a soft sigh, her eyes dropping to the half-eaten plate of salmon in front of her.

I reach out, placing my hand over hers. Her fingers are slender and poised like she's ready to dart away, but she doesn't pull back.

Gracie lifts her gaze to mine, and our surroundings fade into the background.

"This is why I asked you out tonight. With you… it's not about playing games. I'm here with you because I want to be. Only you," I admit.

Her eyebrows arch, a silent invitation for me to continue.

"You're right. I've been that guy, the one who's more familiar with locker room banter than intimate conversations." I hesitate. "There's something about you. We have chemistry; I can feel it every time you look at me. Maybe... it's time for me to try something different."

Gracie's green eyes don't waver.

"Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?" she asks.

It's a simple question, but it hits me like a body check into the boards. "No," I admit, feeling naked without my usual armor of charm and confidence. "I've never let anyone get that close."

The truth of it sinks in. I'm not just acknowledging my solitude. I'm sharing it.

Gracie's fingers slip over mine. The slight tremor I notice betrays an emotion she's not voicing. Her touch is warm and grounding.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," she replies.

It's a simple statement but hits somewhere deep inside me. I'm not sure what compels me more – the gratitude in her words or the sincerity in those emerald eyes that seem to see through my tough exterior. It feels more intimate than any flirty banter or one-night stand.

"For sure," I manage to say, even though we both know I've never done anything like this before. Confessions aren't really my thing.

We leave the restaurant, and I walk her to my car. I start the engine and pull away from the curb.

Gracie is quiet, lost in thought, and I respect that. She's probably processing everything, maybe trying to figure me out. Or figure us out. I steal glances at her when I can.

I want to say something, crack a joke, ease the tension. Yet I hold back, letting the silence sit with us. Sometimes, it's not about filling the air with words; it's about sharing the quiet.

The drive to her apartment is a short one, but each minute stretches out, filled with unspoken thoughts. I pull up outside her building, part of me wishing the ride had lasted longer. The other part? Well, it's curious about what comes next.

I pull into a parking spot near the entrance to her building and put the car in park. For a second, we just sit there.

Gracie turns, and I catch the faintest hint of nerves as she nibbles on her lower lip. It’s a small thing, but it’s like a red flag to my senses—I’ve always had a thing about that. Without thinking, I reach across the console, fingers grazing her chin with the barest pressure. My thumb gently coaxes her lip away from the grip of her teeth. I’m silently pleading with her to ease up on herself.

She blinks at me, the tension in her jaw melting away, and then, out of nowhere, she blurts out almost in a whisper, "Do you want to come upstairs with me?"

It's not just an invitation; it feels like a crossroads. Every fiber in my body screams yes, craving more time, more Gracie.

However, I can't just nod and follow her. This isn't a game for me.

"Gracie," I begin, voice huskier than I intend, "if I come up, it's not going to be just because of... that." I gesture vaguely, hoping she gets that I'm talking about the pull I feel, the one that goes deeper than skin. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want to. Just not if it's going to be something you'll regret in the morning."

There. I said it. Maybe it's not what the old Bennett would have done, but damn, it feels right.