A knock sounded at my door at exactly 7:30, which was exactly when Tom said he'd 'pick me up'. First of all, he didn't really have any choice but pick me up for dinner since he's my permanent ride. Second, I did question how he managed to knock at exactly 7:30. Had he been waiting at my door, staring at his watch until the minute hand was exact? Not that I was staring at the clock, or anything.
I open the door just a moment later, and Tom looks totally different. His hair -although it always looks good, even if he's just woken up- is styled neatly. Along with that, he's wearing a suit. An actual suit. An expensive-looking suit.
"Where on Earth did you get that?" I ask under my breath, finally meeting his face. He doesn't need makeup. I mean, most guys don't wear makeup at all no matter what, but if they did, he wouldn't need it. Just his bright smile is enough to make him more beautiful than most people I know. And along with those cheekbones, his sea-like eyes, and classic nose, this guy has the ability to take over the world.
"Get what?" His voice rings throughout my practically empty hotel room, and he looks confused.
"That," I say. Then I point to the black suit, which hugs his body -not necessarily tightly, but well. And I touch the black silk tie around his neck, resting against his chest. "That." Taking his hand in mine, I lift up his sleeve, feeling the fabric. "All of this."
He chuckles as I touch the suit. "Well, ah, I've never quite had this happen before while picking up a girl..."
"I'm special," I simply answer, dropping his hand and shrugging.
"That you are," he says, smirking. "I got these for you." His right arm appears from behind his back, holding, not one, but two red roses.
It takes me a few seconds to remember to smile. But I don't immediately take them. "Is this some sort of habit of yours? Giving red roses to girls just... all of the time?"
"Well, not exactly. I just remembered that I didn't give you one while we were in Utah. So I'm giving you two now." He smiles. Sort of a proud smile, as if he thinks I'll think what he's doing is just the cutest thing ever, and I'll kiss him right then and there and drag him into my hotel room. Alright, that last part was an exaggeration. I'm sure the last thing he expects is for me to kiss him.
"Oh, so that's what's going on. A rose for every state?" I ask.
"Yes, sort of."
He still stands in the hallway, looking good enough for any woman to just want to eat him up, still holding out the roses awkwardly, waiting for me to take them, and smiling tightly, as if he's worried I won't take them.
"Well, thank you," I finally say, gently taking the roses from him. And he looks relieved.
"You look lovely by the way," he adds, smiling even wider.
And there he goes. Falling into his gentleman routine. Trust me, I could write a Gentlemens' Rulebook just from being friends with Tom.
Rule #1: Always be on time when picking up women.
Rule #2: Bring something they like. Flowers, chocolate, expensive jewelry, etc.
Rule #3: After your desired woman accepts your gift, comment on how 'lovely' and 'devine' she looks. Avoid using words such as 'hot', 'sexy', or 'eatable'. You are a gentleman. Keep it together.
Rule #4: Always offer to buy expensive things for her. Because who cares about your needs? It's all about her.
Rule #5: Apologize a lot. Even if you have done nothing wrong, but you see a chance you could slip in a 'sorry', do it.
Do you see what I mean? Just thinking of those rules in my head was incredibly easy.
"Do you want to come in?" I ask, opening the door a bit wider. "Just until I get these in some water."
"Sure," he says with a light smile. I can't help but watch as he walks in, taking large strides, and settles onto the couch. Fumbling slightly, I close the door and go to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water. The two roses are soon dealt with, and I return to Tom.
And what he does makes me create yet another rule for the mental version of The Gentlemens' Rulebook.
Rule #6: Stand when a woman enters the room.
I guess I really shouldn't be making fun of Tom, though. Trust me, he's a lot better than my mind makes him sound. He's kind. And isn't that what really matters?
So, dressed in our fanciest clothes, we leave the hotel and climb into Tom's car. Anne, we've named her, after William Shakespeare's wife.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" I ask, the wind blowing through my hair. It's funny, really. Tom hurriedly put up the car top at first, not wanting to ruin my hair, but I assured him that it was okay, and I wanted to be able to see the stars that were slowly starting to form in the sky. So he put it down.
Guys always say they prefer girls who don't care to wear loads of makeup, and girls who don't care if they ruin their hair, but is that really the case? I mean, of the people I've seen, there's four types of people in the world. 1) The pretty people who wear makeup but don't need to, 2) The pretty people that don't need to, and don't, 3) The people who aren't society's idea of pretty, so they wear makeup, and 4) The people who aren't society's idea of pretty but don't care to wear makeup. And I think I fit into both category 3 and 4. Mostly four. And when guys say they like girls who are natural, they are actually referring to the few in category 2. So what I'm trying to say is, I can't help but feel that Tom is one of those guys who says he likes girls who don't always care about their looks. But secretly, I think he would just love to have a beautiful girl by his side. Someone who can do winged eyeliner perfectly, and has wonderful fashion sense, non-frizzy curls, and curves in all of the right places. Someone who matches his beauty 100%. And isn't that what usually happens? You see a handsome man, and it's quite likely that their spouse is beautiful. That's just how life is.
"It's a secret, Cass," he responds with a smile.
Oh, yes, I forgot a rule.
Rule #7: Always smile.
"Okay," I huff. "I suppose I'll wait."
And I do somehow successfully wait. I wait until Tom pulls Anne into a parking lot, and only then do I peer to look at the building in front of us.
"Thomas..." I murmur, my voice full of disappointment.
"What?" He asks, frowning. "Is this place not good enough?"
"No, it's... Too good. It's expensive, and fancy, and nothing I've ever been to before!"
"Well that all sounds like good things to me." Tom puts up the top of the car as we park.
"I just didn't expect it," I admit. "Are you sure you don't want to just spend five dollars at a McDonalds?"
Tom lets out a laugh. "I'm sure, sweet. Wait right where you are."
He gets out of his car and goes to my side, opening my door for me. I send him a smile and gently grab his hand as we start to walk.
"Ah ah," he scolds with a smile, shaking his head. He hold out his arm, leaving me no other choice but take it and roll my eyes.
"Rule #8..." I mutter.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing."
(Rule #8: Escort your woman like a true gentleman.)
So it turns out Tom called for a reservation here yesterday. The queue is so long, apparently, that you have to call a day ahead. To be honest, I've never had to do such a thing before. But it does make sense. I honestly felt as though I wasn't in Colorado. I felt as though I were somewhere else. In London with Tom, maybe. Except people were American.
"Cass."
I feel Tom's breath against my ear as we are being led to our table. Now, with most people I would tell them to give me some space, but with Tom... I didn't have the urge to punch him for some reason. It felt totally normal, if not nice. And, to be honest, I wasn't focusing so much on how close he was, but rather on the restaurant we were in. The Melting Pot, it was called. The design was modern, with red walls and nice dark woods for the tables. And with the dimmed lighting and soft music, it all seemed romantic.
I finally turn my head towards him, and instead of being told something like I expected, he pressed a kiss to my temple, which caused me to blush madly just as we were seated across from each other at a booth.
Our server, who was dressed in quite an expensive tux, as well, gave us our menus. "We also have quite an extensive wine collection, if you are interested."
"Yes, your best, please," Tom answers with his handsome smile. The server nods, and is off.
"This is... overwhelming," I murmur, fiddling with the end of a fork on our table.
Tom says nothing for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just thought it would be a wonderful place to eat when I saw their website. I probably should have asked you first."
But instead of acting mopey, I realize how much effort and money Tom put into this, so I force a smile onto my face. "I'm just not used to this. I'll get over it, though. Thank you. So, so much." Then, in efforts to stop myself from fumbling with the fork, I grab his hand across the table and give it a light squeeze. But he doesn't let go after I'm done. He keeps my hand in his, a smile on his face. Then, only when our server comes again, does he allow my hand to return to my lap. Our wine is poured, and our noses go to our menus.
"You know, this place has been voted the most romantic place to dine in Colorado," Tom says, looking up from his menu to see me.
"Makes sense," I reply with a shrug. "Have you seen the dessert menu?"
He chuckles. "Yes... Half of the menu alone is chocolate."
"Why did you pay so much, though? To get a reservation here?"
"Well... I thought you would enjoy it. And I knew I would enjoy it. And because I really dislike being cheap when it comes to taking out a woman I like. If you're going to try to impress her and show her you care for her, do it in a beautiful way. And I personally think this place -and their dessert menu- is beautiful."
"Oh. Thank you. For everything; buying me this dress, taking me here, giving me flowers..." A smirk appears on my face. "You really do know how to treat a woman, Thomas."
~
After dinner and wine, there was still dessert. And Tom was certainly excited for that. He ordered more wine, and Chocolate S'mores fondue with dippers. Dippers, meaning fresh strawberries, blondies, bananas, pineapple, cheesecake, Rice Krispies Treats, marshmallows, pound cake and brownies. As if I weren't already stuffed with the large dinner.
"Make sure you stay sober, alright, Tom?" I ask as he starts the fondue meal, using a strawberry first. I should have known.
"I am, darling, don't worry. Oh, God, these are wonderful. Try some, Cass."
"Um, okay." I do try some with a bit of pound cake, and it is indeed good.
"Mm... What do you say we just take these to go, purchase some wine, and just have an allnighter in your hotel room?" Tom asks.
As fun as the idea did sound, I wasn't sure if it was a good idea. "Tom, we're not that young anymore... Don't you think it's time to mature a little?"
He looks slightly hurt that I said no to his oh-so-wonderful idea, but that sorrow doesn't stay long. "We are young, Cass. We're young, and we're single. Time is running out for us, so why not have fun while we can?"
He made sense. He made so much sense that it hurt. Life is short. We have limited time. We're fairly young, and single, and not living it up.
"Okay. Let's do it."
~
I giggle as I sip at my wine, staring at the small blob of chocolate fondue Tom had on his nose. We did indeed manage to get back to my hotel room before tearing into the fondue and wine. We didn't have any wine glasses, though, so we settled with plastic cups that were in the tiny kitchen.
"What're you laughing at?" He asks, smirking as he looks up at me. We decided to lounge on the bed, his head lying in my lap as we ate and drank. We were a little tipsy. Alright, a lot tipsy. Let's just say we didn't just buy wine. We bought some other alcoholic drinks as well.
"This." Using my finger, I wipe the chocolate off of his nose, showing him exactly what I was laughing at. Then I stick the tip of my finger in my mouth, eating the chocolate.
"I wanted that..." He pouts.
"Too bad. More wine?"
He nods, and I pour us both some more. "To living it up," he speaks softly, lifting his glass. "To being young, restless, and single."
"Yeah... Though you don't want to be single, do you?" I had picked it up all through the night. Just little bits and pieces. But in the end, it was obvious Tom wanted to settle down soon.
"No. Now, let's drink."
Our glasses clink, and we drink.
But before I can even finish the small amount in my glass, Tom suddenly lurches up and clumsily rises to the bed, rushing for the bathroom. And just in time, I presume, before I hear him puke up both dinner and dessert in the toilet. I follow after him quickly. Then I kneel next to him, rubbing his back as he pukes a few more times.
He groans. "Why don't you have to throw up?"
"Well, Thomas, I didn't eat bucket loads of chocolate fondue, followed by bucket loads of alcohol."
He groans again.