The jerk scribbled on a notepad as Ryan ordered, gave them a bland server’s smile, and returned to the bar. Her gaze dropped to his tight butt as he walked away, but just for a second. She let out the breath she’d been holding and turned her attention to her actual date. Not the jerk. The nice guy.
C’mon, Elissa, get a grip.
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and her heart rate dipped back to the normal range.
“So, Elissa, my mom says you’re an accountant. What company?”
“JMS Accounting.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of them. Well regarded.”
“Do you work in accounting?” Her mother would totally set her up with another numbers nerd. Odds were he was in finance or banking, possibly an accountant himself. Elissa liked numbers, excelled at numbers, but often found her fellow accountants a bit…well, boring. There was a stereotype for a reason.
“Adjacent, I guess. I’m a loan officer for a mortgage company.”
Bingo! She hated that she was right. She hated even more that she’d made a game out of this. She should do better.
“What do you do in your off hours?” she asked. Workout, hang with his bros at some fancy-pants bar, or read literature, her brain filled in before he could answer.
Shut up, she told it. He’s nice.
“I hit the gym and run, and I read. Mostly mid-century American literature. What about you?”
Two out of three wasn’t bad. No, bad Elissa. This is not a game.
He could be holding something back. If she was that boring and predictable, she would. She chose her next statement with all the care of grabbing a knife from a disorganized knife drawer.
“I swim and hike, and I like funny books.” She watched him closely. Even more important than someone’s own preferences for how they spend their free time was their reaction to someone else’s choices.
His eyes swept along her arms, looking at the proof she worked out as she mentioned her favorite ways to exercise, but otherwise was unfazed. But when she mentioned she read commercial fiction, and funny fiction at that, he rolled his eyes ever so subtly. Mid-century literature was all well and good, but he didn’t have to yuck her yum. This discussion was depressing. And, as loath as she was to admit it, she missed the banter she’d enjoyed last week with Jerk-Ryan. It may have ended poorly, but she’d had fun until his untoward offer.
“Who’s your favorite author?” she asked.
Maybe he’d surprise her. Maybe it wouldn’t be Hemingway, or Updike, or Orwell. All great writers, but everyone knew them. Maybe he’d pick someone she’d never heard of, and she could add a new book to her never-ending to be read pile.
“Hemingway.”
Nope. She kept her polite smile plastered on.
“But I also like Kerouac. How about you?”
Better. Not an author she would have guessed from him.
“Oh, Douglas Adams is my all-time favorite.” She could see the wheels turning in his head. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Don’t panic and always bring your towel.”
Her polite smile faded when nothing replaced the confusion. Oh well. They didn’t have to enjoy the same things to have an interesting conversation. Besides, it would give her a chance to tell someone new about her favorite things. Certainly better than being arm candy for an obnoxious jerk.
“Here you go. Two house margaritas, frozen, no salt.” Jerk-Ryan’s voice startled her out of her reverie. Speak of the devil. “Anything else I can get for you?”
Again with the bland, customer-service smile. But did his gaze keep sliding to her? No, she was imagining things. Either he’d forgotten about her, or he was trying not to be an asshole. She’d take the blessing and call it a win.
“No, thank you,” Elissa murmured.
“Thanks, man,” Nice-Ryan said.
Jerk-Ryan returned to the bar, and Elissa tore her attention away. Something about the man drew her eye, made her want to watch him. But it was unfair to the man at the table with her, who’d been nothing but polite.
“Cheers,” he said.
