Dear Diary - The Bottle

"Now that's a proper good night kiss," I breathed, stunned by the power of the kiss and the effect it had on me.

"May I see you tomorrow?" he asked, all the shyness and reserve gone. He'd worded it as a question, but his tone made it a statement.

"You're going to teach me to drive your car, right?"

"If that's what you want."

I smiled, trying not to stare at the bulge in his pants. He might have steel-like control, but it pleased me to see him get an erection. It proved he was human, and only reinforced the idea that he really did want me but was holding himself back. I wondered if he'd have as much self-control if I were standing naked in my bedroom. That was going to be something I had to find out.

"Tomorrow, when I'm sober, if I ask you to stay, will you?"

He held my gaze. "Yes."

There was no hesitation and no reluctance in his reply. I smiled. He was the first man who was going to get into my pants without even trying. If you'd asked me yesterday if having a man reject my advances would make me want him even more, I'd have said you were crazy, but that's exactly what's happened. I wanted him, but I could wait.

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

I pulled him down for another quick kiss, then exercising my own self-control, I opened my door, gave him a smile as I stepped inside, then eased it shut behind me. I leaned against the door a moment, blowing out air from puffed cheeks, trying to get control of my rampaging desires. I started to the front window then stopped after only one step and kicked out of my shoes. I was really feeling the wine now and felt wobbly in my heels. Stable again, I moved to the window and peeked through the curtain, watching, until his car howled away.

October 2^nd, 2013

Dear Diary,

I sent David a text, asking him if he wanted to join me for lunch before he taught me to drive his car. He should be here any minute.

I can't believe how I threw myself at him last night. If he says anything, I'll blame it on the wine. I wonder if I'll still feel the same way about him this morning as I did last night, or was he right, and it was the wine talking?

My doorbell chimed, and I couldn't help but smile. I was determined to play it cool, but I remembered how much I'd been panting for David last night. I opened the door to him looking relaxed and comfortable in a pair of casual tan slacks and a light blue polo shirt that showed off his arms and chest to terrific effect. My smiles spread as I stepped back. Without the wine to make me bold, I didn't feel like I was one kiss away from taking him right there on the family room floor, but he was still damned attractive.

"Come in."

He smiled. "Thank you."

He stepped into the house, clearly hiding something behind his back. I closed the door, and when I turned, he presented me with a small gold box, about four inches' square, with a delicate red ribbon wrapped around it to hold the lid.

I glanced at him in curiosity, then took the box. He said nothing, standing there smiling with some secret joke. I grinned, tugged the ribbon open, and removed the lid. Inside were four expensive looking chocolates. I looked at him again. They were lovely, but I could tell there was more to his smile than the gift of the four delicious looking morsels.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, but his delivery was odd, and his smile widened even more.

I knew I was missing something, some joke he was privy to that was going right over my head. I started to the kitchen to put the chocolates away and finish preparing lunch. When I saw the roses sitting on the counter I made the connection and burst into laughter. Wine, flowers... and now chocolates.

"Moving kind of fast, aren't you?" I asked before giving him a quick kiss.

His smile widened even more now that I was in on the joke too.

"Just looking to improve my odds."

"You know you don't have to bring me something every time you see me, don't you?"

He nodded. "I know. I always bring flowers on the first date, and the wine was kind of a special deal and..."

His voice trailed off, leaving the thought hanging. I didn't know if he was prompting me, or didn't want to admit to why he'd bought the chocolates, or something else, but I was intrigued by what he might say.

"And the chocolates?" I asked.

"Well... better safe than sorry," he finally said, giving me a lopsided smile.

I snickered and started to the kitchen again. "You are the flirt. I hope you like chicken salad because that's what you're getting."

"I love chicken salad," he said as he followed me.

I looked at him, wondering if he'd have said he liked shit on toast if I'd told him that was what I was making. He chuckled and held up his hands in innocence.

"No, seriously. I really do like chicken salad."

I spread a bed of lettuce on two plates and topped it with the salad. He almost managed to keep the disappointment off his face when I began spooning the chicken onto the lettuce. I gave him the benefit of the doubt on the salad, so the problem was probably I hadn't prepared a sandwich.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any sandwich bread."

He knew he'd been caught, but recovered quickly. "No, this is fine."

"You're sure?"

He chuckled again. "Really, this is fine."

I grinned. I knew he was lying, but there wasn't much I could do about it. "Cold water is in the 'fridge, glasses to the right of the sink. Sorry about the lettuce. I don't eat a lot of sandwiches. I try to watch my figure."

He gave me an exaggerated leer. "I like watching your figure, too."

I smiled but refused to take the bait. As he poured two glasses of water from the pitcher, I added a pickle spear to each plate and then put them on the table.

"Okay, I'll admit I'd rather have had my chicken salad between two pieces of bread, but this is really good," he said after he'd eaten about half his meal.

He must have meant it because his lunch was rapidly disappearing. He was probably the typical man and would eat almost anything put in front of him.

I smiled. "I'm glad it meets with your approval."

After the meal, he helped me pick up the few dishes. He hovered behind me as I rinsed the plates and loaded them into the washer. Once I thought he was going to step in and kiss me on the back of the neck or something, a move I wouldn't have objected to, but he didn't. Like last night, he was being the perfect gentleman, and I couldn't decide if I was disappointed about that or not.

Once the kitchen was shipshape, I put on my sneakers and we stepped outside. In the drive was a deep blue Ford Mustang. It was a nice car, and looked fast just sitting there, but it wasn't his Aston.

"Where's your other car?" I asked, trying desperately to hide my disappointment.

He grinned. "I thought I'd start you out on something a little easier to learn on. Once you get this one, we'll go get the Aston."

"Is this your car?"

"Yeah. This is my daily driver. The Aston... that's a little too nice to be driving every day."

I was disappointed, but I couldn't very well say so, and he was right about the Aston. I'd have felt guilty about abusing the car with every mistake I made. We settled into his car with me behind the wheel.

"So," David began, "what do you know about driving a stick shift car?"

"Let's start at the beginning," I said as I adjusted the seat to fit.

"Do you know what a clutch is for?"

"To change gears."

"Right. And you have to push it in to stop the car. Which pedal is the clutch?"

I stomped on the left most pedal.

He grinned. "What do you need me for? Put your hand on the gear lever." When I did, he covered it with his own. "Clutch in," he instructed. "Here's the shift pattern. First," he said, moving the lever to the far-left corner. "Second," the lever moved back, "third... fourth... fifth... and sixth," he said as he moved the lever through each gear, his hand warm as it covered mine. "You start out in first from a stop each time, going to the next higher gear as your speed increases. Got it?"

I nodded, trying to hide my nervousness. "Where's reverse?"

He chuckled. "I guess that would be helpful to know since you have to back out of the drive. Here," he said, once again covering my hand and moving the lever far to the left, past first, and then up. "Okay, clutch in, foot on brake, and start the car. Good, now, parking brake down, good, and foot off the brake. Let's see if the car will roll." It didn't. "Okay, slowly, and without touching the throttle, ease out on the clutch."

I let the clutch up slowly, and just as the car began to move, it lurched and stalled.

"Don't worry. Everyone does that the first time. Just let the clutch out a little slower next time. Clutch in, and start the car."

I started the car again and then eased the clutch out. It seemed like it took forever before the car started to move, but then it bucked and stalled again.

"You almost had it that time. Do it again, but this time, when the car starts to move, pause just a moment, then continue to let the clutch out just as slowly."

I try again, following his instructions. I let the clutch out a little faster at first, slowing when I thought my foot was at the same place where I stalled the car the last time. When I felt the car try to start moving, I held the clutch there. The engine bogged down a little, then the car started to roll backwards. I eased the clutch the rest of the way out and backed down the driveway.

"Perfect!" David crowed.

All I'd done was back a car out of my drive, but I was grinning like I'd just won the Indy 500. The next ten minutes were tough. I was so glad I wasn't in his Aston as I either spun the wheels, stalled, or moved off with a lurch. David was always patient, giving me pointers, and I began to figure it out. After thirty minutes, we left the safe confines of my neighborhood, and I drove in traffic. I made several mistakes, and stalled the car a couple of times. Even though I got flustered with my mistakes, David's calm reassurance and advice kept me from panicking. We drove around town for about three hours as David introduced me to ever more difficult challenges. Most I could handle without too much trouble, but hill starts made me want to tear my hair out. I either kept stalling or leaving in a cloud of tire smoke as I gave the car too much throttle. As uptight and frustrated as I was, David was calm, and his almost Buddha like serenity kept me trying until I finally got it.

"Ready for the Aston?" he asked as we purred through town, the Mustang's V8 rumble urging me on, encouraging me to go faster, to dip deeper into the throttle so I could hear it sing.

"Are you sure?"

"You're doing fine now."

I licked my lips. I really wanted to drive that car. "If you're sure."

He smiled and gave me directions until we pulled up to a large warehouse. I entered the code he gave me to open the gate, then he directed me to a parking space. We left the car and walked to a large roll up door where he entered another code. As the door rumbled up, we ducked under and stepped inside.

I don't know a lot about cars, but I knew enough to know the building was full of extremely high-priced automobiles. I saw several Ferraris, along with a bunch of stuff I had no idea about, but they were all obviously expensive.

"Are all of these yours?" I asked, and I heard the awe in my voice. David must have been a billionaire.

He chuckled. "Hardly. This is just a secured, climate-controlled building that rents spaces for cars. Mine is right down here."

He led me down one of the wide aisles, with perhaps fifty cars parked along each side in large numbered boxes painted on the floor. We stopped at his Aston Martin about half-way down the second aisle.

"Get in," he said as he opened the passenger door. The box his car was in was wide enough there was no possibility of dinging the car in the next bay. "The rules say I have to drive the car in and out, but once I get it outside, you can take over." He started the car, and in the confines of the warehouse, the car sounded even sexier than it had last night.

Once he had the car out, and the big rollup door down, I spent the next hour driving that gorgeous car through town then out into the country. It wasn't nearly as fast as David's much newer Mustang, but the Mustang couldn't touch it for sex appeal. I felt like a Bond girl, and I saw men and women alike staring at me in envy as I drove past.

It was nearly six when I pulled the Aston to a stop in my drive. I was beaming, and I knew it, but I couldn't stop. Not only had he taught me to drive a stick-shift car, but he'd let me drive his DB5 as well.

"Thank you so much, David!"

"It's been my pleasure, but I have to tell you, I'm a little disappointed in your performance today."

I felt my smile flicker and begin to disappear as he looked at me, his face stern. I thought I'd done great, and I had been supremely careful with his Aston. His face broke into a broad smile.

"I'd sort of counted on spending considerably more time in your company."

It took me a moment to catch on that he was teasing me and I nearly sagged as I giggled in relief. "Maybe I had an excellent teacher."

"I think it's more down to the student than the teacher."

When I opened my door, he did the same, and we stepped out of his car. I gently shut the door then stepped back so I could get a better look at the car, idly wondering how much one would cost and if I could afford to buy one for myself. He walked up beside me and gave me an innocent kiss and hug.

"Well done today. I mean it. You have a natural talent behind the wheel."

I smiled. This was the moment I should ask him to stay... but I couldn't. He was still just as handsome as he was last night, and I still wanted him, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him to spend the night, and I didn't know why.

"Thank you, David, for teaching me and letting me drive your Aston."

He paused, clearly giving me a chance to ask him to stay, but after a moment, just before the silence got awkward, he smiled and nodded. "May I see you again? You still owe me a tennis match."

I laughed. "I do, don't I? Sure, I'd like that. What night can you play?"

"Any night after seven."

"Wednesday?"

"Wednesday is perfect."

"I'll see you Wednesday, then. Do you have a club, or do you want to play at mine?"

He smiled. "Can we play at yours? That way if you beat me, I don't have to listen to the ribbing."

I giggled. "Of course. I wouldn't want to damage your fragile male ego by beating you in front of your friends."

His smile spread as he nodded. "Thank you for your understanding. What's the name of your club?"

"Rackets. Over on Market, by the mall."

"I know the one. I'll see you Wednesday at seven."

"I'll be there. Bring your 'A' game. I like a challenge."

"Count on it," he said before giving me another quick kiss.

I watched him as he slid into his car. I appreciated the fact he wasn't pressuring me to spend the night, and that made me want to ask him to stay all the more.

"David!" I called as he shut the door. He rolled the window down and looked at me. "Thank you for last night. It would have been okay if you stayed, but that was very considerate of you. Not many men would have done that."

He watched me a moment, a faint smile playing across his lips, and then nodded. He said nothing, and I couldn't tell if he was upset or not, which worried me.

"See you Wednesday," he said as he started his car.

I watched until he disappeared, then entered my house and flopped onto the couch like a rag doll.

October 3^rd, 2013

Dear Diary,

I slept like shit last night, my thoughts full of David. Why didn't I ask him to stay? Sure, it was only the second date, but I wanted him. Was I wrong to want to feel the touch of a man's after all these months? So why didn't I ask him to stay? What's wrong with me?

I finished brushing my hair. It had been one problem after another at work today and I was feeling frustrated and keyed up. I wanted to see David. I wanted him here so I'd have someone to come home too and bitch about Carlisle & Associates, and their stupid management team, that couldn't find their ass with both hands, a compass, and a seeing eye dog. I didn't miss my ex in the least, the prick, but what I did sometimes miss was having someone to tell me everything was going to be okay and to not worry about it. Someone to wrap me up in their arms and comfort me until I fell asleep.

I realized this was mostly my doing. I'd, indirectly, told David Saturday night I'd ask him to stay when I was ready. He was being a gentleman and respecting that. I gave him props for being the gentleman, there weren't enough of those around, but it wouldn't hurt my feelings if he'd just take me into his arms and kiss the shit out of me to get the ball rolling.

October 5^th, 2013

Dear Diary,

I met David for tennis tonight. He's good, but not good enough. I beat him in three straight sets. His problem is he's not patient and tries to force the ball. We have another game scheduled for next week, and I'm looking forward to whipping his ass again.

By the time the game was over, I was so randy I thought about taking him right there on the court. I could see him not asking to stay on Sunday, since we were at my house and I kind of set him up, but I thought he might ask me to come home with him after the game.

No. That's not fair. I didn't even give him the chance, and I don't know why.

He did ask me to dinner Saturday night. I get to pick the place, so I'll have to come up with someplace interesting. This Saturday he'll have his chance and he'd better make his move, or I'm going to bring him home with me even if I have to bind, gag, and throw his ass in the trunk of my car.

Wednesday evening, I pulled into the parking lot of Rackets minutes before seven. David's Mustang was already there, but his car was empty. I found him sitting in the lobby, dressed in black shorts with a white shirt, sneakers, and cap, his equipment bag between his feet. Paula, one of the instructors and court managers, was furtively watching him, clearly interested. He was ignoring her, slumped in his chair as he played with his phone. He looked up when I paused at the counter to get our court number.

"Hey," he said, rising from his chair, his face lighting up with his smile.

"Court six," Paula said just as he stopped at my side and gave me a quick kiss.

Paula was, maybe, twenty-five, almost half my and David's age, and pretty, but he only seemed to have eyes for me. I could tell she wasn't used to being ignored by men, and it frosted her a little. I smiled to myself. He was so damn charming I almost couldn't stand it.

"Ready to get your ass whipped?" I challenged as I led him out of the lobby to the courts.

Rackets had eight courts arranged in two rows of four. We were on the back side, so we had to walk along the fenced path that led to the back set of courts.

"No... but it might happen anyway," he replied with a grin. "You seem very confident."

I grinned back at him. I was the female club champion the last three years running, and could routinely beat all but a couple of the best players at the club, but I didn't tell him that. I was going to let him find that out for himself.

We played three sets before our time was up. I beat him in all three, 6-4, 6-3, 6-2. Actually, I didn't beat him as much as he beat himself. I play a tight, defensive game, and the harder he tried to force the ball, the more I took advantage of him. As we played I could see his frustration level rising, and it showed in the scores.