Tara intended to order the least expensive entrée on the menu until Flipper badgered her into changing her mind.
“You can do better than that,” he chided. “I know you want the lobster tail or the broiled grouper platter at the very least.”
The server looked at her with raised eyebrows, but she ignored him.
“This isn’t going on a Gulf Shore Aquarium expense account, is it?” she asked Flipper. “Because I wouldn’t feel right about that.”
“Of course not. I don’t think my boss would find that very amusing, although it would serve him right for ducking your calls and foisting your letters off on me.”
“Foisting? Really?”
“Okay, poor choice of words.”
“Would you two like more time to decide?” the server asked, his impatience evident.
“I think we’re ready to order,” Flipper replied. “I’ll have the blackened tuna steaks with coleslaw and a baked potato.”
“And I’ll have grilled salmon with wild rice and the vegetable medley,” Tara added.
As the server collected their menus and walked away, she tried to pick up the thread of conversation, but Flipper changed the subject.
“Where’d you grow up, and how’d you end up in Orlando?”
Tara flashed an enigmatic smile. “You can’t tell by my accent?”
“What accent?”
“Precisely.”
His baffled expression amused her. In fact, the man himself delighted her when they weren’t picking at each other over his job and her cause. Once again she found herself wishing they’d met under different circumstances. But he couldn’t change what he was any more than she could.
“I’ll play along, mystery lady. What do you call a soft drink?”
“Soda.”
“Soda or soooda?”
She laughed. “Just one syllable. Now you tell me.”
“Growing up, I called everything coke.”
“Even when you were drinking root beer?”
“Yep. Everything was coke, lowercase.”
“And now?”
“After the first few times a server brought a Coke when I wanted a Dr. Pepper, I learned to specify. Okay, here’s another one. Do you refer to a small stream of water as a creek or a crick?”
“Creek, of course.”
“Me, too. What do you call your maternal grandmother?”
“Grandma. You?”
“Mimi. How do you address a group of two or more people?”
“My neighbors said you-uns, but my mother frowned on that expression.”
“Uh, okay. My people say y’all.”
“Hmm. What kind of shoes are you wearing now?”
Flipper looked at his feet and then at her. “Tennis shoes. What do you call them?”
“Sneakers. All right, one more.”
“Make it a good one.”
“Of course. What’s the term for the gunk that gathers in the corners of your eyes overnight?”
“Eye booger.”
She made a sour face. “That’s certainly crude.”
“And what do you call it, Madam Etiquette?”
“Sleep.”
“Sleep? Seriously?”
“It’s a good deal better than”—she turned up her nose—“eye booger.”
“I think that’s pretty descriptive. I mean, you say those two words and everyone knows what you mean.” She shook her head, still unconvinced. “Anyway, based on everything you’ve just told me, Tara, I’d say you’re from Snob City.”
“What? I am not a snob, Paul O’Riley.”
“We’re back to Paul, are we? Okay, how about Snootyburgh?”
“Flipper.” Her tone carried a warning.
“Uppityville?”
The corners of her mouth quirked. “Are you finished?”
“Almost. Haughty Valley? Pompous Place?”
“Keep it up and Comedy Central will be calling.”
“You can’t deny you sometimes sound like you have a big board wedged up your butt.”
“I most certainly do not!” He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, perhaps I do, especially when I’m feeling off-balance and lapse back into ingrained habits. My mother was an English teacher who abhorred slang and insisted on proper diction. I never even dared utter a curse word until after I went away to college.”
“That explains a lot.”
Tara flashed him a fake smile and continued. “She wanted in the worst way for me to major in English language and literature. I’ve always felt like a disappointment to her. She takes great satisfaction in comparing me to my younger sister, who buckled under to the pressure and followed in Mother’s footsteps. If you think I have a proper way of speaking, you should meet Caroline. Even I think she’s a bore. She married an equally tedious math teacher, and they have two oddly spiritless children who never have snotty noses, sticky fingers, stained clothing, or skinned knees. My mother is beside herself with pride.”
“Your household must’ve been some fun while you were growing up.”
“You have no idea.”
“What about your father?”
“He was a high school principal preoccupied with upholding an image, so he and my mother were a united front. Now, back to our original topic. It’s my turn to do you.”
He winked at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I didn’t mean it that way! Stop laughing. And you wonder why I tend to avoid the vernacular.”
That made him laugh harder. She tried not to smile but couldn’t help it.
“Just for that,” she told him, “I’m going to guess you’re a native of the Isle of Fools.”
“Cute.”
“New Port Ninny? Buffoon Beach? Cape Cretin? Ooh, ooh, I know. Simpleton.”
Flipper gave her an indulgent look.
“Or how about—”
He leaned forward and silenced her with a kiss. Tara’s mind short-circuited, and she clung to his shoulders when he started to pull away. He cupped the back of her head and teased her mouth open with his tongue. Swept up in the moment, she briefly forgot who and where they were until the server plunked two beverages in front of them. They broke apart with a start, and as reality intruded once more, she feigned interest in her place setting and the small bowl of lemons for their iced tea.
“Tara, honey, look at me,” he coaxed.
She spread her napkin over her lap instead. He reached across the table and, with gentle but firm pressure beneath her chin, lifted her head.
“Don’t be so freaked out. It was just a kiss,” he soothed.
“Oh, sure. First it was just dinner, now it’s just a kiss. What’s next?”
“Depends on what you want to happen?”
“Nothing, that’s what I want to happen. Flipper, what are we doing?”
“We’re having a nice time. Or at least we were until you started overthinking things again.”
“Overthinking? I’m not so sure my brain’s been engaged at all.” She ran a nervous hand through her hair.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Isn’t it? There’s only one way this can end, and that’s badly. I’ve already endured one failed romance this year. I don’t think I could stand another one.”
Flipper took her busy hand and held it still. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? You’re acting like we woke up in bed together after a night of scream-so-loud-you-piss-off-the-neighbors sex.”
The highlight reel in her mind made Tara’s girl parts leap up and shout, “Hallelujah!” Her tongue, on the other hand, seemed Super-Glued to the roof of her mouth. Staring at him was the best she could do at the moment.
“What? No snappy comeback?”
She shook her head.
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
She shrugged her shoulders, and he peered at her with so much concern it made her nerves flutter.
“What’s going on inside that head of yours right now?” he asked.
Tara had become so parched her throat hurt, and she attacked her tea like someone lost in the desert without a drop to drink.
“Hey, listen, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
She set down her glass. “You didn’t. It’s just that…”
Seconds stretched into a minute and then longer. And still he waited, clearly giving her time to get her words together. Just say it, the voice inside her head ordered. What’s the worst that can happen? Tara thought the voice must’ve taken leave of its senses to ask such a ludicrous question. But the next thing she knew, the words were flying out of her mouth and it was too late to stop them.
“It occurs to me that I’m closing in on thirty-four and I’ve never experienced sex like that. To be honest, I’m feeling cheated.”
It was Flipper’s turn to be rendered mute. But then a devilish smile spread across his handsome face, leaving her girl parts on the verge of a full-blown frenzy.
“Are you…asking me to help you fix that?” he ventured.
Tara felt her cheeks warm and her breasts grow heavy. How could she be so flustered and aroused at the same time?
“Oh my Lord, I said that out loud, didn’t I?” She wished she could crawl under the table and stay there forever. Or at least until he’d left the restaurant. “Quit smiling, damn you.”
“I can’t help it. And you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Is that so? You’re the last person who needs to know something like that about me.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you something equally personal?”
“No. Maybe. Heavens, I don’t know.” She struggled to regain her composure.
“Let’s try it and see. After we spent the night together for the first time, a former girlfriend finally admitted, to herself and to me, that she wasn’t sexually attracted to men. How’s that for a swift shot to the nuts? The worst part was, I never saw it coming.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “How awful for you. Were you in love with her?”
“I was headed in that direction. I’d had a thing for her for at least a year before she agreed to go out with me, and we’d been dating for months. She never meant to hurt me, but at the time that was little consolation. I was pretty upset with her until I realized how difficult it had been for her to come to terms with her sexuality, let alone confide in someone else.”
“Did you stay in touch?”
“We worked together then and still do. She insisted we remain friends, but for a while I didn’t think I could do it. Seeing her so often was like having my favorite food set in front of me and then being forbidden to have even a taste.”
“And now?”
“Now we’re the best of pals, she’s found the right woman, and I’m still waiting for mine. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve met her already and just haven’t realized it.”
*
Flipper couldn’t believe he’d let that last sentence slip. Where did that idea even come from? All he knew was his brain tended to go on the fritz when he was around Tara, making him say and do unexpected things. Like that kiss, which had been right off the Richter scale. The really telling part was he wanted to do it again. But given the expression on her face, he figured his chances were slim at best. She looked like someone who’d answered the phone at dinnertime to find a telemarketer on the other end.
“Relax. I don’t plan to propose anytime soon.”
“What? I wasn’t…I didn’t…” She stopped talking when he grinned. “You’re really enjoying my discomfort, aren’t you?”
“I cannot tell a lie. Yes, I am.”
His amusement disappeared when pain flared in his shin.
“Ow! Damn it, why’d you kick me?”
“Sorry. My foot slipped.”
“Yeah, right. You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” Her mischievous smile faded when he continued to rub his leg under the table. “Are you okay? I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Story of my life,” he groused. He winced, hoping to play on her sympathies. “I think you owe me a kiss to make it better.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. It’s the least you can do.”
“I’m not kissing your leg, so you can just forget it.”
“Who said anything about my leg?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Or that either.”
“Aw, c’mon. Just a little one.” He pointed to his face.
To Flipper’s great surprise, she crooked her finger at him and, when he leaned toward her, met him halfway. He didn’t get much—just a quick peck on the cheek—but he supposed it was better than nothing. Still… His heavy exhale didn’t escape her attention.
“What’s the matter now?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“It’s something or you wouldn’t have sighed. So tell me.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Probably not, but try me anyway.”
“I’m just wishing you’d kiss me like you did before.”
“Are you purposely playing with my head, or does it just come naturally to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Before Flipper could respond, the server appeared with their food, set it on the table, and left after promising to check back later.
“If this tastes as good as it looks, it’s going to be wonderful.” Tara sampled her salmon, eliciting a groan of appreciation that had Flipper fixated on her mouth.
“Is everything okay with your meal?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“You’re not eating.”
“I was just, uh, making sure you were happy with yours.” He picked up his knife and fork and cut into his tuna.
A strained silence descended, and Flipper mulled whether to ask her what she’d meant by that comment about playing with her head. Instead, he returned to a safer topic.
“So you never did tell me where you’re from.”
“You never took a guess.”
“Hmm. I’ll say somewhere in the Northeast.”
“That covers a lot of territory. Care to narrow it down?”
“You’re not from New England, New York, or New Jersey. Maryland?”
“No.”
“Pennsylvania?”
“Wow. Very good. I grew up just outside Pittsburgh. Now, how about you? California?” she asked.
“Not even close.”
“Florida?”
“From one extreme to the other. Try again.”
“You do say ya’ll, but you don’t have a Southern accent. Somewhere out West maybe?”
“Uh-uh. Believe it or not, I’m from Alabama.”
“Really? You don’t sound like it.”
“My family moved to St. Augustine when I was twelve, and some of the kids in school made fun of the way I talked. So I forced myself to speak without an accent until it was second nature.”
“Children can be so cruel.”
“Kids aren’t accepting of anyone who’s different. Believe me, I found that out the hard way. But I learned to fit in. My parents were hurt at first because they assumed I was ashamed of my roots. I think they finally understood after my sister stopped using certain expressions she thought made her sound too redneck.”
“I’ve always thought being a redneck was more behavioral than geographic.”
“As in, you don’t have to be from the South to be a redneck?”
“Exactly.”
“Good point.”
*
As Tara and Flipper enjoyed their meals and chatted about favorite movies, TV shows, music, and books, Tara found herself impressed by his eclectic tastes. The man might look like he’d be fixated on catching the next big wave, but he was nobody’s beach bum. He seemed to know at least a little about a lot of topics, kept up with current events, minded his manners, and related to all kinds of people. The fact that he actually listened, rather than waiting for her to finish talking so he could direct the conversation back to himself, particularly impressed her.
She couldn’t help but compare him to Steven, whose self-involvement had grated on her nerves. Oh, he could charm the wings off a butterfly when he wanted to, and she’d been stupid enough to fall for it too many times to count. For a while he’d played the part of supportive partner well, but he’d been carrying on an affair almost right under her nose and had gotten away with it for a while. She shuddered to think what else he’d done behind her back.
Tara declined dessert when the server returned to take away their dinner plates, but Flipper ordered a brownie with vanilla ice cream and two spoons.
“At least try a bite,” he said enticingly. “Don’t make me eat this all by myself.”
“Why not? You can handle the calories. I can’t.”
“What are you talking about? You look great. I don’t see an extra pound anywhere on you.”
“Clothes hide a multitude of flaws.”
“I’d be happy to be the judge of that.”
“You’re doing it again,” Tara accused.
“What?”
“Flirting with me.”
“Apparently I can’t help myself.”
“Try harder.” She smiled to soften her words.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Damned exasperating man! Resisting him is challenge enough without him deliberately tempting me.
“And maybe you don’t really want me to,” he added.
“Flipper.”
“Tara.”
“I don’t want to have this discussion again.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good. Then you finally get it.”
He grinned like some sort of angelic rogue, if there was such a thing, and she shuddered deep within her core. Why does he have to be so blasted sexy?
Flipper paid and tipped the server, and then they walked outside to their cars. Tara reveled in the gentle breeze that teased her hair. She always looked forward to fall, and the lower humidity this time of year offered a refreshing relief from the mugginess and oppressive heat of the Sunshine State’s seemingly endless summer.
“I love this weather,” Flipper observed as if reading her mind. “This is my favorite time of year.”
“It is? Mine, too. And here I thought we had nothing in common.”
“We have a lot more in common than you think.”
Tara chose to ignore that comment. “Well, I’d better not dawdle. I have work to finish when I get home.”
“You’re a graphic designer, right?”
“Yes. I freelance, so if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. There’s no delegating.”
“I guess being your own boss isn’t as ideal as everyone thinks.”
“As with everything else, you take the good with the not so pleasing. Overall, I can’t complain. On nights like tonight, though, it would be nice to have help.”
“If I could, I would.”
“I know. Thanks for that. And thank you so much for dinner. I imagine I’ll be seeing you again, but I don’t know when.”
“Is there something happening that I need to know about?” he asked.
“No. I just like to visit your aquarium every so often to—”
“Check up on us?”
“Keep current on what’s going on.”
He smirked. “I guess that’s a nicer way to say it.”
“You know, you could help your own cause by giving me a behind-the-scenes tour of your dolphin and manatee habitats.”
“What is it you’re hoping to see that you haven’t already?”
“Well, for one thing, I’d like to spend time watching your baby dolphin, see how he’s acclimating to his new environment.”
“Trident hasn’t been out of rehab very long and isn’t on public view yet.”
“Yes, I know. That’s one of the reasons I want to see him.”
Flipper narrowed his eyes, and Tara expected him to turn her down flat. To her surprise, he promised to at least consider it.
“I’ll give you a call when I decide,” he added. “That’s really the best I can do right now.”
“Fair enough.”
They stared at each other while she pondered whether he’d kiss her again. I wish he would, but I hope he doesn’t. How asinine is that? Tara took all the mystery out of their farewell by getting into her car and turning the key. When she lowered the driver’s side window, Flipper reached in and squeezed her shoulder, and she placed her hand atop his for a second.
“Have a safe trip back to Gulf Shore,” she told him.
“I will. Talk to you later.”
As she headed toward the exit, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw him standing there, watching her drive away.