“Yeah. Did you pack a dress by any chance?”
“Yes…” I say suspiciously.
“Go put it on. And be quick. We don’t want to miss it.”
“Miss what?”
“Meet you in the lobby in fifteen,” he says without answering.
I’m intrigued.
Ryder is not Mr. Spontaneous, so I definitely want to see where this is going.
I tell the girls I’m bailing on dinner, and fifteen minutes later I stride into the lobby in a little black dress, very little makeup, and with my hair down. His eyes flare with appreciation when I approach. He’s wearing black pants and a dark gray sweater, his dark hair artfully tousled as usual.
“Come on, we gotta get out of here quick,” I urge, already heading across the lobby. “My teammates are coming down for dinner soon. Someone might see us.”
He trails after me, hands in his pockets. “God forbid.”
“Oh, are you ready for Case to hate you five seconds after you two called a truce?”
Ryder flinches. “Good point.”
As we quickly exit the hotel, I’m sure to keep three feet between us in the event that we are spotted.
“I can’t believe you actually brought a dress with you,” he says with a grin.
“I always have one on hand these days. My aunt Summer is a fashion designer, and she has this strict rule that any time you travel, you should bring an LBD with you. Little black dress,” I clarify at his raised brow. “I used to think it was a silly rule, but a couple years ago I was in New York for the weekend, and my cousin Alex and I were invited to a runway show at the last minute. The only outfit I had with me was jeans and a shirt that said…wait for it…Hockey players like it rough.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. Google it. It’s actually on all those official stock photo sites. Me sitting in the front row with my aunt and cousin, and I’m wearing that ridiculous shirt. They’ve never let me live it down.”
He’s still chuckling as we slide into the back seat of an Uber. I still have no idea where we’re going, and I don’t know Portland well enough to recognize any of the streets we drive on.
“Where is this mystery ride taking us?” I ask him.
“Nowhere, really.” He’s the epitome of innocence, his large warm palm against my bare knee.
And he’s freshly shaved, when normally he’d be rocking a five o’clock shadow. I check him out from the corner of my eye, resisting the urge to run my fingers over his smooth jaw. It’s so chiseled. I think I like him clean shaven. Although I also wonder what he looks like with full facial hair. Like a scruffy, glorious god, I bet.
When the car comes to a stop and I notice where we are, my jaw drops. The bright, shining marquee in front of the theater advertises we’re here for a production of Samson and Delilah.
My mouth drops open. “Oh my God. You’re taking me to the opera?”
Ryder shrugs. “You said it’s the only date you’re interested in going on.”
“I was lying.”
“Yeah, I know.” His eyes gleam. “And now you’re being punished for it.”
“You are such an asshole,” I say, but I’m laughing.
I’m also downright astounded. I can’t believe he brought me here.
“It already started, though. Curtain was at seven thirty. We missed a lot already.”
I’m not sure I care. I’m more interested in the fact that we’re here in the first place.
Ryder pulls up the tickets he purchased and passes his phone to the ticket taker at the door. The suit-clad man scans the barcodes and lets us into the theater. We walk down the empty red-carpeted lobby, following the signs to our seats. I’m startled to realize we’re not sitting in the mezzanine, but on the second level in one of the opera boxes.
“How the hell did you swing a box?” I whisper.
“Baby. We’re in a tiny theater in Maine. These seats cost like fifty bucks and almost every box was available.”
He called me baby.
It happens very rarely, but when it does, my heart turns into a pile of goo in my chest. I think it might be time to start examining what this means. But not tonight. Right now, I’m too focused on this completely unexpected outing.
We have the box all to ourselves and are provided with a perfect unobstructed view of the stage. As we settle in the plush seats, I lean closer to Ryder and whisper, “I’ve never actually been to the opera.”
“Me neither.”
Since we’re so late, I have no context for what’s happening on the stage. A woman in a beautiful gown and a man dressed as a priest sing a duet, her high voice blending perfectly with his rich tenor. There’s a frenetic feel to it, as if they’re outraged about something.
“I wish we had a program,” I murmur. I would search the details on my phone, but despite Ryder mocking it, the theater is at least at eighty percent capacity, and I don’t want to disturb any of the other operagoers. “Do you know the story of Samson and Delilah well?”
“Sort of? If memory serves, Delilah is a total cocktease and spends all her time trying to figure out the source of Samson’s power.” Ryder speaks in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the action below.
“This is actually kind of incredible,” I marvel, as Delilah releases a series of high, perfectly tuned lilting notes that bring actual goose pimples to my bare arms. “I regret missing the beginning.”
“Me too.” He sounds sincere.
As we watch, he reaches for my hand, interlacing our fingers.
“I think this guy is the one who bribes her to seduce Samson.” Ryder brings his mouth close to my ear so I can hear him over the woman’s haunting wails. “And then at some point, Samson falls asleep and she cuts his hair. And then he gets his eyes gouged out, which is pretty punk rock for a Bible story.”
I laugh quietly.
Down below, the tone shifts as a new set is revealed onstage. It’s a bedchamber. Delilah now wears a white nightgown that, at some angles, appears almost sheer beneath the stage lights. A new character joins her. A beautiful man who I presume is Samson because he’s sporting a long luscious wig with golden waves cascading down his back. Either that, or it’s his real hair and I’m jealous.
Delilah starts singing to Samson in a sweet soprano that is belied by the sensual movements of her body. I assume this is the seduction. Something about the way she’s rolling her hips and blatantly attempting to bang the beautiful man elicits an odd tug between my legs. Never thought I’d be turned on by an opera, but here we are.
“What kind of pornography have you lured me into?” I whisper to Ryder.
“Like you’re not into it.” His voice is a soft, teasing whisper.
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.”
Before I have a chance to react, he slips his hand beneath the hem of my dress.
My heart stops.
“Not into it, huh?”
“Nope.”
His fingers dance along my thigh before he curls them to rub the knuckles over my suddenly damp core.
“Really?” One teasing finger skims under the crotch of my thin panties. I gasp when the tip pushes inside me. “Then why are you so wet?”