It Only Took Twenty Years Pt. 01

"Good evening. I am Rajesh, and I'll be your waiter this evening. What might I offer you to drink?"

I handed Rajesh the gift bag I'd brought and said, "This, lots of rocks, two tall Diet Cokes, and iced water, please."

Raj looked into the bag and said, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir. Since we sell spirits, we cannot serve items not purchased from us. It's Kentucky law."

Dawn's eyebrows arched with curiosity. I took the bag from Rajesh, and overtly into it placed a one-hundred-dollar bill. I handed the bag back to him.

"I understand, sir." He scurried away.

"What the heck?" Dawn asked.

"You'll see in a minute, unless he runs away with it. What did you say to the hostess?"

"I asked her not to seat anyone anywhere near us."

I surveyed the area. I hadn't noticed we were already isolated from the majority of the other patrons. I was as curious about that as she was about what I'd given our waiter.

Ten minutes later, he returned with a crystal decanter filled with the caramel-colored liquor and two Diet Cokes plus ice-filled rocks glasses. He expertly poured doubles into each of the glasses, wiping the rim of the decanter with an unblemished linen napkin, and topped it with its heavy stopper. He folded and laced the napkin around the neck of the decanter like a miniature ascot. Before he backed away to tend to another group which had been seated far away, he offered a handshake. I thought it an odd gesture coming from a waiter until I grasped his hand and realized he'd palmed the metal medallion he'd removed from the neck of the bottle I'd given him. I secreted it in my own palm.

Dawn's brow went from arched to furrowed as she lifted her glass. "What is this?"

"Jack Daniel's."

"Nice!" She smiled, then sipped. "Uh … no. You're a terrible liar."

I sipped, too. "No, it truly is."

She sipped again. "I know Jay Dee, buddy. I've never tasted anything like this. Just tell me, please? This is really, really good. I might want to buy some."

"You can't buy it. No one can. Only a few people in the world have even tasted it. The master distiller and I, his assistant, and the people I've shared it with, and now, you. It's a bottle from a barrel I personally selected right before Christmas. I drove to Lynchburg and picked it out myself. It was delivered in March."

I slid the personalized medallion across the table. It was marked Specially Selected by William A. Richards

"Every barrel of whiskey is a snowflake. There has never been, nor will there ever be, another barrel exactly like this."

I raised my glass. She clinked hers to mine and sipped again.

"Oh. My. Word. I taste chocolate, vanilla, caramel, subtle hints of cherry, pear, light oak … a tiny hint of anise?" she mused.

She smacked her tongue and licked her lips. That she was relishing the flavor of a one-of-a-kind whiskey, and how she obviously enjoyed the nuances of the one I chose, was exciting.

"You like?" I asked.

"Oh, absolutely. This is incredible," she said with a sigh.

She picked up the medallion and studied it, feeling its weight as it hung from her finger. "This is nifty. Can I keep it?"

"Sure. Each bottle has one. I'll send you a couple of cases."

"A couple of cases ?" she hush-yelled. "How much do you have?"

"My barrel produced thirty-nine cases of six seven-fifties. I've said quite a few professional and personal thank yous with it, so I'm down to about twenty-eight now."

Dawn's face looked rapturous. She definitely knew good whiskey, and I was delighted to have shared with her some of mine.

Rajesh returned with an insulated stainless-steel bucket of ice swaddled in snow-white starched linen, placed it in a champagne stand next to the table, and replaced our barely touched tumblers of Diet Coke.

"Would you like to hear our specials, or are you prepared to order?"

I deferred to Dawn.

"I'll have the KC Strip, medium, loaded baked potato with no chives, and a Caesar salad."

Raj didn't write anything down, he just listened attentively and nodded, then turned to me.

"I'll have the extra-chunky peanut butter sandwich with orange marmalade."

Dawn almost snorted Coke out of her nose. Rajesh stumbled. "Sir?"

"Just kidding, Rajesh. I'll have the porterhouse, medium rare, baked sweet potato, grilled asparagus, and a wedge salad with blue cheese. With extra peanut butter."

Rajesh chuckled good-naturedly. "Very well, madam, sir." He backed away.

Since he took no notes on paper, I decided if he nailed the order, he'd be in my waitstaff hall-of-fame.

"Will, I need to tell you something," Dawn said a few moments after Raj had departed.

"What's up?" I asked before I sipped some single barrel.

She took my free hand and placed it, palm up, into her own on the table. While delicately holding it, she traced the tips of her other hand's fingers gently across my open palm from my wrist to the fingertips. It felt … sensual.

"I hope this evening will be good for both of us," she said. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I am going to cross the line … just a little."

She held her lower lip between her teeth for several seconds and pierced me with her gaze.

"Dawn, what are you talking about?"

Her display wasn't unnoticed, but I was genuinely confused.

"Just think about what I said," she stated simply.

We sat, idly conversing, for twenty minutes. The only other physical interaction between us was her occasional beyond-casual strokes of my hands with hers, or an "accidental" brush of my calf with a foot under the table. Her attention and soft touches were more purposeful and intentional than she'd ever displayed.

Emboldened by her attention, I decided to reciprocate. I lightly stroked the side of her right forearm with two fingertips and was rewarded with the texture of rising bumps and an unusually sultry smile. I was enjoying the moment tremendously.

Raj and a runner arrived with our meals. Our waiter nailed it. He even indulged my humorous request with a shot glass containing a dollop of chunky peanut butter, a little jar of marmalade, and a demitasse spoon.

After a few luxurious bites, Dawn spoke. "Will, why have you never acted upon my advances?"

I paused, placing my silverware on my plate as I finished chewing a morsel of steak. I dabbed my mouth with my linen napkin.

"I reject the premise of your question." I took a sip of water to cleanse my palette. "I have acted, and you know that. but only so far. Why not farther? I think you know the answer. It's because I love my job, and you love yours."

Dawn similarly placed her knife and fork onto her plate and pushed it away from her a bit. She laced her fingers together and leaned forward slightly with her elbows on the table.

"I'm glad you answered that way, because you need to know something. In three weeks, I will no longer be working for Extecha. I turned in my resignation last week."

My heart fell into my stomach. I clutched my rocks glass and took a deep swig before I settled farther into my chair. I wasn't just saddened, I was dumbfounded. I couldn't understand why she was smiling when she broke that kind of news to me. Did my best friend in the world just tell me she was leaving?

"What?" I asked, with a tiny frog in my throat.

"Easy, Will. It's good news. Come here," she said, beckoning me with her fingers.

I leaned in.

She leaned closer, too, and said, "A little more."

I obeyed.

"My friend," she whispered, "listen to me very carefully."

She then spoke a little slower. "In three weeks, Will, I will no longer be working for Extecha."

Her smile was uniquely different. Her eyes were darting between mine.

"I heard you the first time, Devo."

"You can be so dense sometimes."

She very slowly exhaled. I could smell her delicate breath and feel its passage over my cheeks. She leaned into the mere inches between us and placed her moist, tender lips directly onto mine. It wasn't a deep kiss, but it was certainly more than an innocent smooch, and definitely over the line. She held me in the kiss for several wonderful seconds. Her upper lip was between mine, my lower between hers.

I was stunned.

Dawn sat back down in her seat, but I was still leaning awkwardly forward, frozen in time.

"Will," she said.

I heard, but didn't process. My ears were ringing.

"Will!"

Jarred, I sat too quickly in my chair and bumped the table with an elbow. The clatter of the impact drew some stares from the far side of the dining room. I heard Dawn stifle a laugh as she looked down at her plate.

After I sat down, she stood from the table with her purse and came to my side. "I'll be right back. I need to go tinkle," she whispered into my ear.

I laughed. A few seconds before, a stunningly gorgeous, newly sensual, showroom quality art-form of a woman kissed me, then whispered that .

She returned a few minutes later.

"As I was saying, Will, in three weeks, the Extecha Standards, Policies, and Procedures Manual will be irrelevant to us."

I idiotically focused on the wrong side of the equation. "Wait, what? Where are you going?"

"Bethany Welsley asked me to come work for her as her infrastructure operations, personnel, and strategy director. I accepted. It comes with the title of Vice President."

It took me just a few moments to process what she'd said. "Wow! That's fantastic! Congratulations, Dawn! That gal who worked with us years ago is going to be your boss?"

"Yes. I've read up on her. She's already made a name for herself and has demonstrated she's a fantastic leader. I'm excited for the opportunity. Now, pour me another, please."

As I did, Dawn stared at me with her almond-shaped eyes for at least a minute, then asked, "Would you like to play a game?"

"Global thermonuclear war, or the other one?"

She brushed my calf with her foot. "The other one."

We'd played the "game" dozens of times throughout our careers. Each would ask the other a question, and a direct, honest answer was expected. Falsehoods or quibbling were met with whatever penalty was deemed necessary by the one who'd asked the question. Up to a point. There existed boundaries, after all, and the recipient of the question could call "foul" when one was breached. The game would then end.

We'd both carefully approached and tested the boundaries numerous times before. It was part of the appeal of the game, so the small-talk aspects were well in the past, but a warm up would be typical.

"Any changes to the rules?" I asked.

"No. I'll start," she answered. "Do you still enjoy my company?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Beyond any doubt. How about me? Do you still like me?"

She hedged. "Yes, but … no."

"Yes and no?" I demanded. She ignored my question, so I told her to take a sip of Jack on the grounds of equivocation, and she did.

"Do you like my attire? Do I look nice?" she asked.

"Of course. Very simple and relaxed. And I'm just saying, I'm reserving the right to go back to that other question later. What's your real name again?"

"You've never been able to pronounce it … Vo Vinh Nhung."

I tried to say it and she was still correct; I never could master the subtleties of her native language's phonemes, so I took the sip.

"And yours?" she asked.

"You can't pronounce it, either. It's William Aaron Richards."

She laughed at our shared goofiness. "Alright. Stop pitching softballs."

Testing the boundaries of propriety, I asked, "How old are you?"

"Oh, come on!" She laughed. "You know that already considering our birthdays are only three days apart. Take a swig."

I did.

Next, she asked, "What's my best feature?"

"Your personality."

"Will, please stop."

Her words hinted at impatience, but her expression hadn't changed.

She said, "We both, thank you very much, crossed the company line ten minutes ago. Your kiss was wonderful, by the way. But I want to find our lines. I don't care if you jump way past one. We've wasted so many opportunities, so try again."

Her insistence somehow pushed me to act without circumspection.

"You have an incredible body, Dawn. I don't know if your clothes make your tushy look so good, or if it's the other way around. You have … a gorgeous butt."

My simple observation marked the first time I'd ever given Dawn a purely physical, unfiltered, non-obfuscated compliment which could have been grounds for a visit to Human Resources. It wasn't a softball. I'm not sure I didn't blush when I said it. I did what she'd asked and told her something I'd always thought. I wanted her to know I found her physically attractive, but my impulsive answer made me nervous as hell.

We were both a little tipsy. Despite her diminutive proportions, I'm sure I was farther along than her. I watched for a reaction to my overt forwardness.

"Thank you. I'm glad you think so. You have a nice booty, too." She smiled at me. "Do you prefer to wear boxers or briefs?"

Despite what I'd just admitted to her, both the compliment and forwardness of that question caught me by surprise, but I wasn't going to let on. "Briefs, definitely. Don't like my dangles to jangle."

She laughed.

I asked, "When was the last time you were in a serious relationship?" I knew it was a very personal question, and I was actually curious. I was testing the line.

She sighed. "It's been years. I stopped counting. I haven't even been on a real date in maybe five. You?"

"Long dry spell. I'm guessing about the same. It's difficult to get a date at my age."

"Yeah. Tell me about it. I've stopped trying."

I stared at her for a few moments. Her eyes shone. She stirred and poked at the ice in her whiskey glass with her forefinger then put its tip to her lips.

It was my turn.

"Lay it on me, buddy," she challenged humorously.

I considered the next question to be fair. She'd asked me the same basic thing a few minutes earlier, but I rephrased mine.

"So, what are you wearing underneath those nice snug jeans?"

She stared at me for a second or two with an interesting expression. "Give me a second."

She stood from her chair, turned away from me, and crouched to the floor, rooting in her handbag. It was a small one, so I was confused why she needed to search so long.

I looked over the side of the table and saw how, in her position, the back of her previously tucked shirt had ridden up a few inches from her jeans. Her lower back was partially exposed. I could see the ridges of just a few vertebrae and followed the line down to be greeted with the sight of the waistband of her panties.

She was answering my question in a very daring way. I saw stark white against the denim below. The slightest beginning of the cleft of her bottom was just barely visible. She looked very, very good from that angle.

"Darn it," she muttered. "It's too dark to see!"

She placed her purse on her chair, and bent at the hips to keep searching, giving me a wonderful view. I could see the faint lines of elastic in the legs of her panties telegraphing through the dark fabric of her jeans. I visually traced the lines over her left cheek, then the right.

Anyone in the room who might have been paying attention couldn't have missed the fact my eyes were locked on Dawn's backside. I immediately began to engorge. She returned to her seat and just grinned deliciously at me.

"Briefs. Cotton. White," she whispered and bit the corner of her lower lip.

"My turn," she said, still whispering. "How big are your balls?"

I almost choked on an ice cube. "Apparently not as big as yours," I stammered through coughs.

"Oh, too far?"

Trying to recover from the water in my throat, I shook my head. I was not going to lose the game. I made a circle with my thumb and middle finger almost touching at the tips.

"Ooh," she uttered.

I decided if she was going to shoulder-blow the line, I was going to crash into it with a fully loaded concrete truck.

"Is your fur black?"

"Fur ?" She laughed easily. "Well … yes. But wouldn't that be likely? I'm sure almost all East Asians are similar … in that way."

"Your race is irrelevant. If I'd never seen any part of you other than one feature, I'd still know."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're arching them now. Your eyebrows are black," I stated evenly, rattling the ice in my water glass to separate the cubes before taking a drink from it. I saw her gaze shift upward slightly.

"Light brown?"

"Yep," I said, exaggerating the plosive.

I was surprisingly turned on by the sudden permissiveness of the game, probably aided by my tipsy state.

I unlocked my iPhone, activated the camera, put it in "Selfie" mode and made sure the flash was on. I handed it to her.

"What?" she asked.

"Take a picture of your legs under the table," I whispered.

She balked for a few seconds. "That's not a question. Drain your Jack."

I finished my glass, then rephrased. "Would you please, with this camera, take a photo of yourself, question mark. That's a question."

She paused, then grinned mischievously. She slid her hips forward in her chair, and scanned the room to see if anyone was watching. Her hands disappeared under the tablecloth with one holding my phone and the other holding a black napkin. She scanned again, looked at me, looked down, and I heard the shutter click.

Even though she obviously had covered the apparatus with the napkin, a tiny sliver of light reflected off the floor and the front of her sky-blue Polo. I looked around us to see if anyone had noticed. No one was paying attention.

She studied the photo for a few seconds, her head cocking right to left. She shifted her position with her back flat against the back of her chair, then leaned forward. She caught my eyes. I was staring at her like a Cheshire cat. I saw another flash. Her hands came back up and she swiped the screen a few times left and right.

"You have five seconds to look, then I'm dunking your phone in the ice bucket."

She again looked around the room to ensure no one was in range, then slid the face-up phone across the tablecloth but maintained her grasp on it.

What I saw made my eyes go wide. I was expecting a photo of her legs or tummy, but it was far from it.

In perfect focus was the curved vee between her immodestly parted legs where they met her torso. Right in the center of the frame was the perfect place, the spot where four stitched seams met. The inseams met in a cross where the front and back seams joined them. I followed the vertical one down where I could see the seat cushion. Her beautiful bottom had taken the seat of her jeans into its cleft in a delicious little bite.

The screen went black when she pressed the lock button. I was as hard as a rock. If she'd made good on her word and destroyed my phone, I wouldn't have cared. But she didn't. Instead, she said, "Keep your hands on the table and stand up."

I hesitated.

"I showed you miiiine ," she cooed.

I didn't notice it wasn't a question. I complied and rose gingerly from my chair in some physical discomfort.

Her eyes went wide, and her jaw slackened as she stared at the obvious bulge in the front of my loose-fitting trousers. She stared at my lap for what felt like an eternity. Her eyes slowly climbed my abdomen and finally met mine. Her mouth closed. She licked her lips.

"Okay," she said.

I jammed my left hand into my pocket to adjust myself and sat back down.

Her eyes closed and she seemed to be deep in thought. I quickly grabbed the phone, unlocked it, and glanced at the perfection in the frame again. She slapped my hand and re-locked the phone.

The words came out before I could even think.