HOT BLOODED | Soldier Boy

6. HOME SWEET HOME

Getting ready shouldn't involve such a heavy pang of anxiety generally, but you'll come to find out it apparently does when you have to do so to go out with the biggest superhero of America. 

As soon as my mother waltzed out the door I was on my feet and in the shower, suffocating on cherry blossom and vanilla fumes that raised in the bathroom due to mixture of body and haircare products. I shaved, scrubbed, rinsed, like a woman possessed, I felt like I needed to be spotless, like a clean slate of freshly carved white marble. 

I was honestly thankful Ben had been so fiscal about me wearing the dress he got me, at least the outfit was one less thing I had to worry about, enough so I could focus on the stir of my stomach at any mere thought that popped in my mind. 

He had told me the address of the restaurant, obviously some place I only heard about from rich a-class people when I made small talks at parties, but to me it was nothing more than an urban legend coated by a thick layer of elitism, up until now at least. 

When I stepped out of the taxi my body felt so heavy I was afraid my heels would penetrate the ground. I stood in front of the entrance feeling utterly out of place, some big-haired and fancy dressed women walked in group past me, some acknowledging me with polite smiles, almost in recognition, something I assumed was usual to do between wealthy people. 

And then... I felt an arm snake around my waist from behind me, one that if I hadn't spent enough time tangled between I wouldn't have recognised, but I knew it was Ben, just by looking down at his fingers, which, with more pleasure than anything, I had grown quite accustomed with. 

A feeling of comfort strangely washed over me, immediately making the weight on my shoulders lighter. I turned to look at him, my anxiety ebbing under the familiar embrace of his touch.

"You look..." he began, trailing off as his eyes raked over me from head to toe. "Breathtaking."

A blush crept up my cheeks at his compliment, the butterflies in my stomach returning with a vengeance.

Ben's arm around me stayed as he guided me into the fancy restaurant. The place was even more elegant and extravagant inside, everything about it screaming of extravagance and high-class.

As we walked to our table, eyes followed us, some of curious recognition, some of barely concealed envy. I was acutely aware of the whispers and glances from others in the restaurant, their gazes burning into me like hot irons.

We soon reached our table, tucked away in a more private corner of the establishment. Ben pulled out my chair for me with a flourish, his manners as chivalrous as ever. As I sat down, I took a moment to look around at the other tables, their occupants watching us like hawks.

Ben took his seat across from me, a small smirk on his lips as he noted my tense demeanor. "Relax," he whispered, his voice low and soothing. "You look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

I gave a nervous laugh, trying to force myself to relax. "Sorry," I muttered, fiddling with the silverware on the table. "I just... I've never been somewhere like this before."

Ben leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "That's why I wanted to take you here," he said, grinning. "I wanted to show you a taste of the kind of life I could give you."

His words hit me like a truck, and I felt my stomach flip again at the thought. "What? But-"

Ben chuckled softly at my reaction, the sound low and rumbling. "Relax," he repeated, his fingers brushing over my hand as it rested on the table. "It's all just for show. You're not here to cause a scene, remember that."