Oh my god, he isso boring.
For about five minutes, I thought this date was going to be good. Jack pulled out my chair, then asked what I wanted to drink and ordered it for me. He told me that my dress, a fluttery little white number with a pattern of blue hydrangeas, brought out my eyes. I was already starting to plan how I could get back to his place. I was starting to imagine him without clothes, imagine his hands on me.
And then I asked him about his grad program.
I haven’t spoken since.
The beer on the table in front of me is half gone, completely flat, and warm. My stomach is growling. And all hopes of getting laid are drifting away like my attention as this man continues to talk.
Men sleep with women they don’t care about and aren’t particularly attracted to all the time, so for the past few minutes,I’ve been giving it the good old college try. What looks like studious attention to his jabbering is actually me focusing really hard, trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep with him. Could I get it up for this man?
Unfortunately, every time I try to imagine him hovering over me, all I can picture is his sunglasses—which are on a red neoprene leash around his neck—slapping me in the face. Even in my smuttiest fantasies, he remains the kind of guy who wouldn’t take his sunglasses off to have sex. I bet his dirty talk is about pivot tables. I bet he comes to the sound of the New York Stock Exchange opening bell. I bet his kink is a good midyear review with HR.
Kill me.
I hope I remembered to charge my vibrator.
“And so the earnings report said the DOW was in spaghetti and sneezing the treasury yield dropped the price of ham.”
Okay, that’s not what he just said, but the actual words make about as much sense to me as those. Would he like it if I held him hostage at this table and talked to him about IEPs and curriculum benchmarks for an hour? I doubt it! But that’s not stopping him from yammering on about the DOW and blue chips and an “epic run” on precious metals.
Oh mygod, this man is boring.
There is no way I can sleep with him.
I can’t even pretend to pay attention to him anymore.
I give up on pretending to listen and let my gaze drift. Which is when I spot him. Shoulders hunched, jaw ticking, he’s bent over the bar, a pen in his hand.
Jack is still talking, something about derivatives and absolute returns, and I don’t even bother to hide it as I pull out my phone and tap out a text. Luckily, Jack is so far up his own ass, he doesn’t seem to notice.
I watch Dan receive the text. Watch the way his body uncoils. Watch his smile unfurl, the dimple in his left cheek deepening.
I sit back in my seat, take a swig of my warm beer, smile at Jack, and wait.
It doesn’t take long.
“Carson?”
Dan is standing over our table, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the window, casting a shadow over the us.
All at once I have absolutely no trouble imagining what it would be like to have sex withthisman. In fact, a series of images flashes through my mind like I’m looking through one of those old-fashioned viewfinder toys. His hands, his lips, his muscular ass. Oh god, asking him to save me might have been a mistake.
“Yeah?” I say, the word scraping up my throat, coming out breathy and filled with all the need in my body.
“I thought that was you,” Dan says. He bites his lip, dropping his eyes to the floor. His thick dark lashes brush his cheeks. When he slowly drags his attention back up to my face, there’s a light in his eyes. A playfulness I’ve never seen before. “I’ve missed you.”
What?
“Oh,” I breathe, feeling heat climb up my chest. I was prepared for him to claim a family emergency or just wordlessly drag me out of here. But a fake dating ruse?
I’m in.
“Yeah. I never should have let you go,” he says.
I nearly leap out of my chair, throwing myself at him and locking my legs around his waist. I don’t know exactly what he has planned, but I’m ready to commit to this bit. I’m in it to the bitter end, baby.Yes, and.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” Jack asks, his eyes moving between Dan and me.
