Fifteen minutes later,he walked into the bar, slid his hands into his pockets, and glanced down the line of stools. When his gaze snagged on mine, his instant smirk pulled a happy little hum from somewhere deep in my throat.
Dressed in an impeccable black suit and tie, he weaved effortlessly through high-top tables and serving drones, devouring the distance to me in long, fluid strides. His dark-brown hair—that I imagined had been expertly styled all day—was happy-hour mussed now, a few strands falling over his forehead. His cheekbones rode high above his strong jaw and freshly shaved chin. And in the middle of all this apparent perfection, his nose was a bit crooked right over the bridge, like maybe he’d broken it once.
When he reached the bar, he stood over me, so close the tip of my shoe ran up against his pant leg. Staring down at me with those stormy eyes, his lips curling into a fantastic smile that was fifty percent suggestion, fifty percent hope, and one hundred percent working for me, he said, “Phoebe?”
While my foot floated up enough to trace along the muscles of his calf, I replied with, “Joshua?”
Nobody used their real names onSquee. Phoebe was a name I’d read in some romance book. Where Joshua had come from, I could only guess. Maybe it was his college roommate, or that one uncle who showed up blitzed to every family function. It didn’t matter.
Joshua, or whoever he was, continued to aim that suggestive smile at me as he slipped off his suit jacket and folded it over his arm. As he loosened his tie, as I imagined tugging it the rest of the way off with my teeth, he tilted his head toward the corner of the restaurant. “There’s an open booth back there. Care to join me?”
I turned to look. Indeed, there was. A small booth. Intimate, dark.Yes, please.
The hand he extended was warm, and his grip was gentle yet firm as he led me away from the bar. I felt every ounce of wine I’d just guzzled while trying to follow in astraight line behind him. But my attention kept slipping to his backside, which was round and firm and more than a little biteable.
Would you like to rate this match?Squeeasked, the messagepopping over his bum in my vision, five empty stars awaiting my evaluation. I certainly would. I rated all my matches, but never until the night was over. So I closed the app while Joshua slowed a step.
Busy wondering if he’d received the same message, if he’d submitted a star-rating for me, and, more importantly, what it might have been, I tripped over my own feet. Getting my shit together, I refocused my efforts on making it from the bar to the booth without falling face-first into his spectacular butt.
Joshua released my hand to let me slide into one side of the booth, then he slid smoothly into the other. The upholstery was soft and plush, velvety. I wanted to wrap myself inside it.
“This is nice,” he said, brushing a long-fingered hand over the soft black fabric. “Feels like kitten fur. I wonder if they’re always like this, or if they reupholstered them just for Vorp’s Winter Revel.”
Running my fingers along my cushion, I murmured, “Hmm, you’re right. I can almost hear it purring.”
Vorpols had, in my personal opinion, a ridiculous obsession with cats. After LunaCorp ships first traveled from New Earth’s single moon through the wormhole to Juniper-13 over a thousand years ago, several animal species were exchanged between the star systems in a campaign entitled Peace Through Pets. PTP was largely unsuccessful—many animals were eaten outright, and trestals (ten-feet-long raptor birds used for hunting on Gorbulon-7) still terrorized the New Earth Americas. But there was one glowing exceptionto the PTP disaster. As soon as the first Vorpol felt the fuzzy tail of a cat wrap around its singular leg, the entire species went off the rails for the furry little felines. Now they wore cat clothing, lived in cat-shaped houses, visited cat-themed amusement parks, and owned an inordinate number of actual cats.
Joshua leaned in close and rested his elbows on the table. His grin was conspiratorial. “As marketing strategies go, these booths are pretty fancatstic.”
Having never met a pun I didn’t love, I grinned back and replied, “Meowsively brilliant.”
His rich, warm laughter poured over me like honey. Breaking eye contact, he glanced around the bar. “I’m surprised more Vorpols aren’t dressed up tonight.”
Spotting only one set of kitten ears perched on top of an exceptionally drunk Vorpol’s head, I said, “You’re right. They rarely miss a chance to dress up for the holiday. That reminds me. Wasn’t there an Old Earth musical where people sang and danced dressed up as cats?”
“I have no idea,” he said, brushing the soft strands of his bangs back into place. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. There was an Old Earth musical for just about everything.”
“There was. I’m certain of it. In fact, I think it was called”—I leaned back, spreading my hands out before me as I announced dramatically—“Cats.”
“No.” He laughed. “Really? It was just called ‘Cats’? If this is true, how hasCatsnot been revived on Vorp?”
I gasped. “We should do it. We’ll be stinking rich. Finally able to leave this life of corporate drudgery behind us and live out the rest of our days drinking mai tais on Portisan beaches and refusing to wear any clothes.”
He sighed, staring wistfully at the ceiling. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?”
“This is so much better than an ugly sweater contest.” I said this mostly to myself, mostly because Joshua was more magnetic than Jupiter’s core.
“Wait. You too?” His eyes flared. “It was on my itinerary, but I ditched. Even though I do have an exceptionally hideous cat sweater a Vorpol I worked with on my last ship gave to me.”
“Ah. You could have been a contender,” I said, and he burst into laughter. Then his eyes narrowed, like he was about to tell me a secret. “It’s interesting, don’t you think?”
I crossed my legs. “What’s that, darling?”
“You and I were due at the same party. We might have met tonight either way.”
That is interesting, I thought, more intrigued by this stranger than I’d been by anyone in years. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very charming, Joshua?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are very beautiful, Phoebe?”
