“This is going remarkably well, so I’m just going to set expectations. Don’t try to sleep with me this weekend. I like you, and if you even try to make this a quick and sloppy one-night stand, I’ll lose all the respect I have for you.”
He almost laughs. “Who said I want to sleep with you?”
I open my mouth to respond, but our food is placed in front of us and we’re distracted for a moment. With my penne al fumo in front of me, my stomach growls, and I realize how hungry I am. I stab my pasta with my fork, but before I can take a bite, JP holds up his glass between us.
“To...” he says, drawing it out to get my attention and waiting for me to raise my glass, “...not taking advantage of each other.”
I giggle, clinking glasses with him, keeping our gazes locked. “No bad sex,” I say.
He raises his eyebrows and nods as he swallows. “I said no taking advantage of me.”
I laugh, my cheeks flushing. “Wait. Doesn’t everyone know that superstition?”
His face draws a blank.
“You have to make eye contact with whomever you clink glasses with, or it’s seven years of bad sex.”
He laughs, taking another sip of his cocktail. “Learn something new every day.”
“I’m worried you didn’t know that.”
“I’m worried you didn’t know you shouldn’t cross your legs while the airplane lands, but to each their own, I guess.”
I throw my head back and laugh. It’s obnoxious, really, how easy this all is. The jokes. The conversation. The eye contact alone is making heat sweep through my insides and I’ve only known this man for nine hours.
As my laughter settles, I ask, “Excited for the gender reveal tomorrow?”
“I am now,” he answers. The way he smiles at me lets me know it’s me he’s excited about, and I don’t want to admit to myself, and certainly not him, that I feel the exact same.
Then realization strikes me. “We have to pretend we don’t know each other!” I exclaim, eyes wide.
He chuckles softly. “Uh, I already texted Austin that we were going to dinner.”
I shake my head. “Austin will keep this quiet if you ask him to. Text him now.”
JP stares at me for a beat, not moving for his phone.
“I’m serious. Text him and tell him not to tell Emily.”
“Why?” Confusion is etched in his features.
“Because Emily is really close to my mom, and she’ll tell her, and then my mom will harass you all afternoon,” I tell him, and he just continues to smile like I’m being ridiculous.
“I’m not afraid of your mom.”
“You should be. Of all the things you’re afraid of, my mother is top of the list.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, then takes a bite of his risotto, and I swear, even the way he swallows is so damn attractive.
“She made my last ex cry. Cry. And he’s her agent,” I emphasize, and JP laughs. “You don’t get it. She can make the biggest, most manly man shrivel into a fetus.”
He laughs, taking another bite.
“JP,” I deadpan, fork hovering over my plate.
“Julia.” He mimics my tone and leans his elbows on the table.
I freeze. Every word I want to say to explain my thoughts dries up on my tongue. As I stutter over every consonant, I finally free the words, “I like you, and I don’t even know your last name or what JP stands for, and now we’re headed to a family party where everyone knows us separately, and I have a very judgmental mother.”
