1
HANNAH
Ifucking hate Spanx.
Why the hell do I bother?
Spanx and heels. If you ever need to torture someone for information, have them wear these for a few days.
That’ll make anyone talk.
I click across the marble floor of this ridiculously upscale Chicago bar in River North, my stilettos echoing with each step. The little black dress I picked out this morning felt like armor when I was standing in my apartment mirror, but now it feels like a costume I'm not sure I know how to wear. The Spanx are cutting into my ribs with every breath, and I'm already regretting this entire plan.
But I closed the Morrison condo today. Three point seven million dollars, and I earned every penny of that commission. Ifthat's not worth celebrating with a terrible dating app meetup, I don't know what is.
After a year of being on the stupid app, I finally swiped right.
I’m ready for love.
Okay, maybe not love, but I’m certainly looking for a little action.
I’m twenty-four and live like a spinster. No dating. No sex. Nothing.
I want some action. Just one night with a little flirting and maybe a little kissing.
Hell, I might even go for a little touching.
The bar is the kind of place where everything costs too much, and everyone looks like they stepped out of a magazine. Low lighting, exposed brick, and bartenders who probably have actual degrees in mixology. I scan the room, looking for Kevin, the accountant.
Kevin was the man who was finally going to break my dry spell.
I wasn't thrilled when I learned he was an accountant, but I realized I was being a little judgy. He only had three pictures on his profile and none of them were all that clear, but he looked hot.
Good body.
And Ididhave a fondness for accountants.
I maybe should have asked for more specifics about what he was wearing. Every man in here was wearing a dark suit and the women were wearing little black dresses.
And this is why I didn’t do apps.
I sigh and scan the area.
Bingo.
There. Corner table. Black suit, black hair. Broad shoulders.
Kevin said he did boxing in his free time.
That’s him.
Hot damn!
I take a deep breath and walk over, my confidence building with each step. This is it. After a year of swiping left on every guy who looked like he might ask me to split the check, I finally said yes to someone. Kevin seemed nice enough in our messages—a little mysterious, but maybe that's exactly what I need.
"Kevin?" I slide into the seat across from him, offering my best smile.
He raises an eyebrow. Something in his expression makes my stomach flip. Not the nervous flutter I was expecting, but something deeper. Darker. His eyes are blue—not the friendly blue of summer skies, but the cold blue of a violent ocean.
