Catalina and Diego never got over each other after high school, but years later they meet by chance, and multi-millionaire Diego sweeps her off of her feet.
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Diego and Catali...
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I'm sitting at Vine, waiting for Diego. He suggested the restaurant. It's a sleek, new Asian-fusion place on Beach Drive in downtown Palmira. I walk into the bright, minimalist restaurant decorated with white walls and blonde wood. When did Palmira become so cool? I didn't see a sign for an early bird special anywhere.
I'm way early, twenty minutes early. I like to over prepare for things. I didn't get much sleep again, because I was thinking about Diego and why he wanted to meet. Why he'd me to a business lunch instead of a date. Why he kissed me with such hunger.
"Would you care to order?" I'm startled when a waitress looks at me expectantly.
Smiling, I shake my head. "I'm waiting for someone. I'd love some water."
She nods and glides away. My mouth is Death Valley dry, and I reach for my lip gloss in my purse, so I have something to do with my hands. I give my bottom lip a quick swipe of pink goo, then smack my lips softly.
I'm wearing the only little black dress in my closet. He did say "business proposal," so I thought I'd look the part. I dug out my New York clothes. Hair slicked into a ponytail, glasses off, contacts in, nails polished with a simple, clear shine. My black, mock-croc handbag hangs on the back of the chair, and I slip the gloss back inside.
I'm wearing pointy black kitten heels, and I almost feel good. Sexy.
This is rare, the sexy feeling.
I mean, I've had sex. A fair bit of it. But every hookup, every date in New York, was underwhelming. I had anticipated my social life to be like Sex and the City, and what I got was more like a bad episode of HBO's Real Sex: quirky, choppy and sadly hilarious.
I know I'm attractive to guys, but none in New York seemed all that interested in keeping me around for anything other than a friend with benefits. They were too busy looking for the next girl's Internet profile, the next photo, the next fuck.
No one that I've dated has ever really looked at me. It was beyond frustrating – more like demoralizing and shallow.
Except for Diego. He always made me feel different. Like something other than Geeky Cat who liked Star Trek and comics and video games. He made me feel like a supermodel. During our brief time together, he made me feel whole, sensual, loved. More so than any guy has since. We grew up together glued to screens, but then that one summer, we connected in real life. I've never felt a connection like that with anyone else.
It's depressing to think that no one else might ever measure up to him. Probably I knew that while we were together, which is why it hurt so much when I found out that he hadn't protected my secret. Our secret.
"Cata."
My tongue sticks to the roof of my parched mouth when I hear his voice.
His voice, even deeper and richer now that we're six years older, startles me. I'm daydreaming and staring out the restaurant window when he walks up, silent as a panther. Rising, I tilt my face to his and offer my cheek for him to kiss. It seems like the proper, adult thing to do.
