"How many?" The waiter asked as she grabbed a menu.

"Just me," I said shyly. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that I was eating here alone, she gestured for me to follow her, then shouted towards the kitchen.

"TABLE FOR ONE!" I groaned internally, letting my deep brown curls cover the fact that I was blushing. Since I had caramel toned skin, embarrassment was very easily shown on my face.

I quickly slid into the booth, then acted as if I was going to be looking at the menu. Of course I come here so much that I already know what I wanted, but I just wanted her to go away.  I often come to Olive Garden by myself to get away from my overbearing parents'. I know it's not some fancy place, but I get tired of thousand dollar tabs, and prying eyes. The downside about being rich, is that you have the whole upper-class in your business. 

When I wasn't around my Mother, that was my time to let my hair down and be myself. She let me do whatever that was reasonable, as she would call it. I could go shopping, hang out with the friends of her choice, and do regular outings as long as I didn't embarrass them.

The waitress came back and I ordered a vegan meal, the eggplant. I wasn't allowed to have anything fattening, and I had to be a vegan. I took off my sweater, revealing my sleek, blue silk dress. I wore the most expensive fabrics, so they held your figure in all the right places, and loosened up in the others.

As unconventional as it was, I always dressed my best to go anywhere. And I loved vibrant colors, I was an artist after all. Despite what my Mother tries to make me. I smoothed my soft locks over my shoulder, then sipped on the Red Wine that I ordered.

"You unimaginable bastard!" A woman shouted about two tables down from me. I looked up, startled. I watched as a redheaded vixen threw her drink in the face of someone who I'm guessing deserved it. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Men I swear. Is this why haven't been touched in years?

I looked down at the menu with a sigh, trying not to watch as she stormed past me and out the door. I never expect to see things like this in Olive Garden, especially since it's so lowkey. After I ordered food from the waiter, I was accompanied at my table by the very same man with wine all over him. I let out a small laugh, but composed myself quickly. "Is there something I can help you with?" I asked him, amusement on my face.

"Yes," he smirked, sitting down in the chair in front of me. "I was wondering if you had a napkin."

I leaned back in my chair, passing him the napkin from my table. "Anything else?" I asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes," he cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you could write your number on it." At that, I laughed hard.

"You just got wine thrown on you, and you want my number?" I asked.

"I admit, not the best impression, but it was all innocent I swear." He smiled, his eyes glinting deviously in a way that made me quiver. "I saw you and I instantly had to admire," he explained. "She didn't appreciate your beauty but I do." He gawked, causing me to roll my eyes.

"That's not impressive," I spat, fluttering my lashes.

"Of course not," he laughed. "You must have men telling you that all the time. It probably doesn't mean a thing to you. But it's the truth." He unbuttoned his button up shirt, revealing a plain white T-shirt. "What're you doing here alone?" He asked, getting comfortable in his seat.

"I like coming here alone," I clarified, letting him know that I wasn't afraid. Though when his deep, moss green eyes met mine, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"So you want to get outta here?" He asked, gesturing towards the door. I sighed, blinking in shock.

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked him.

"Because I want to give you what you need," he smirked, leaning in closer to me. I sunk in my chair, letting my hair cover one of my eyes. I knew he was buffing, trying to woo me. I never thought for a second that he could actually have a clue what I need. I'm twenty years-old, I have been untouched for two decades. I had my first kiss when I was fifteen, and that resulted in me getting slapped in the face by my mother. She was just so upset, and I still don't understand why.

Ever since then, I've been too afraid to talk to guys. Call it PTSD, call it whatever you want. I learned when to fear my Mother, and when to push the boundaries. That's how she wanted it though.

With those thoughts in mind, I sat straight up. "How do you know what I need?" I asked him, wondering what answer he would give.

"Oh trust me," he smirked, running his hands up my bare leg. "I know what you need." His eyes glinted in a way that made me believe him, and I stiffened under his touch. "So what do you say? Huh?" He asked, and I moved his hand from my leg. "You gonna come with me? Or are you scared?" His question made me roll my eyes.

If he had been there in the room when it happened, he would never have asked me that. "What's gonna happen if I come with you?" I asked, peeking up at him through my thick lashes.

"I guess you'll have to come and find out."