First Time For Everything: ON HOLD

Chapter Four

"For laughing at me and my completely rationalized fear!" he snapped. Crap. I just royally screwed up. He really was serious.

Feeling like completely guilty and like a female dog, I weaved myself back into his arms and placed my head on his chest. He instantly relaxed. "I am so sorry for laughing at you. I really am. We won't go in there, I promise. Can you forgive me?" I murmured into his shirt, but I knew he could hear me.

Tom rubbed my back in small circles and muttered, "All is forgiven. How could I possibly stay mad at you? And I'm sorry for hitting your forehead. I shouldn't have done that."

I looked up at him. "Don't be sorry, crazy. If you hadn't smacked me, I'd still be giggling like a fool and you wouldn't have experienced my amazing hugging skilss again," I joked.

He laughed and shook his head, still holding onto me. "You're right. Your hugging skills are pretty awesome." I smiled, but that smile was replaced with a frown as my stomach decided to unterrupt this perfect Hallmark moment by announcing its emptiness. Tom grinned and said, "C'mon. OUr next destination will make your stomach happy."

We walked a couple blocks toward the pier. But Tom's turning caught me off guard as I smacked into his side, face first. "Ow! Ugh. You should really get a pair of signal lights attached to your back," I griped as I rubbed my nose. He rolled his eyes, but apologized nonetheless.

"Well, we're here," he said.

I poked my head around his side. My brow knitted together and my mouth scrunched up to the side. "Um. Since when do tattoo parlors function as restaurants?" I asked confused. We were standing in front of a typical-looking punker tattoo parlor oddly enough called "Pretty in Ink."

Tom shook his head and chuckled, "Tattoo parlors don't function as restaurants silly. However, there is a restaurant on the top floor of this building." He pointed upwards, my gaze following his finger's direction. Sure enough, there was a banner taped on the balcony of two large windows at the top of the building that read, "Ella's Italian Bistro." I smiled sheepishly at Tom and scratched behind my ear.

"Well, I do love Italian food. A whole lot," I added. Tom squeezed my hand gently and led me inside the building. (Who knew there was an entry door that didn't lead into the tattoo parlor?)

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"Good evening," a petite brunette greeted warmly as Tom and I took our seat on the roof area, which had a surprisingly cozy ambiance to it despite the unlimited view of the bustling city's night life. "My name is Irena and I'll be taking care of you tonight." Can I get you anything to drink? Maybe some wine?"

"Oh, none for me. But I'll take a Sprite, please," I said.

"Er. I'll have a Coke," Tom answered. Irena nodded and walked to attend to her other tables.

I glanced over at him. He looked slightly bewildered. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

"You don't drink wine?" he asked.

I laughed. "Well. Actually, I don't drink at all. Never did like the taste of alcohol, but if you want wine, by all means get some."

He shook his head. "No, no. I'm fine. It's just. Wow. So you mean you've never had a drink before?"

I shook my head. "No, no. Not at all. I've had alcohol before, but more like champagne and wine. But even then, those at were at fancy functions and I always just took a tiny sip. Actually. On my twenty-first birthday, my friends dragged me to a local bar and made me pound down shots of tequila, whiskey, and vodka. Heck. I even did a couple body shots, which was pretty fun. We even sweet-talked the bartender to let us dance on the bar and sing along to "Bennie & the Jets!" Oh, that was some fun. Now I'll admit, I'm a good drinker. I don't get wasted easily, but still. I don't care for alcohol."