PartOne
The Potential
Bad Date
It wasthe last bad date she would ever have, but Liv Stellack didn’t know it at the time.If she had, she probably wouldn’t have allowed it to go on so long.
Or she might have decided to stick with it, considering the afterparty.
As it was, though, the guy had a strike against him the moment they sat down and he sent the hostess off for drinks.It was a Friday just after Thanksgiving and Liv had left the office early, but she was already wishing she’d stayed home.
“I prefer to order for myself,” she said, gazing levelly over her menu.“And I don’t like white wine.”
The Hobson was downtown, its restaurant on the ground floor heavy with leather booths, expensive light fixtures, and whiskey tastings on the weekends.It had sounded like a great idea except for the cigar bar, but that section was well behind glass double doors and only the faintest tinge of smoke crept into the dining area.
“Really?”Neal—his last name was forgettable, but at least he’d put it in his online handle instead of choosing something stupid—gave her what he probably thought was a very charming grin.Nice shoulders, good suit, his dark hair a little long on the top and mussed artistically just the slightest bit, he ticked all the boxes.He’d held the front door for her too, that preferred first move of chauvinists and gentlemen the world over.Even his chat game was on point—they’d texted, pretty agreeably, for about a week now.“I thought all girls liked white wine.”
“Not this one.”She attempted a smile, deciding she’d give him one last chance.Maybe he was just nervous; even an attorney used to verbal sparring could be tongue-tied or anxiety-rude outside the courtroom.“What are you having?”Maybe if she got him distracted about hisowndecisions he’d leave her alone to make hers.
“Steak.You want the farmer’s salad; it’s good for you.”
I’d prefer the lemon chicken, thanks.She leaned back in her chair, examining him.Well, he’dseemednice over chat, but you could never tell until they got right in front of you.“I said I’d order for myself, Neal.”
“Women’s lib.”He grinned, showing expensively capped teeth probably whitened once or twice a year.“Speaking of which, I’m glad you didn’t dress up.You don’t need it.”
Well, this particular grey frock had a decent neckline and long sleeves to keep her from freezing to death; that was the same reason she’d worn tights and her beloved grey pashmina.She’d even put her hair up to balance out the rest of the ensemble.
The words even stung for a bare moment before she realized the technique—the bastard was negging her, for God’s sake.
As if she didn’t get enough of that at work.“Thanks.”She decided a taste of semi-insult could be good for the gander, too.“I’m glad you didn’t dress up either.We can be slobs together.”
His jaw loosened; he stared at her over the table for a few moments, blue eyes narrowed.A woman under thirty might have mistaken that look for interest.“Uh.Yeah, I guess.”
Well, now she knew.Liv was batting zero once more.You have to try, at least, her friends said.She’d agreed, grudgingly, once Mika pointed out a four-year dry spell after the man who had been Liv’s college steady took a surprise solo vacation to Cancun and popped the question to someone else entirely was long enough.
She’d gone along with the great roulette spin of online dating because her buddies meant well, especially Mika.But her bestie was a perpetual optimist even when it came to men.Usually it balanced out Liv’s caution nicely.
When it misfired, though, the event was a doozy.
The whole thing was depressing, but not nearly as bad as actually dating this guy would be—and now she was old enough to knowthat, too.Maybe their text sessions hadn’t been as nice as she’d thought; he always brought the conversation around to himself, but men were just like that.It was the cost of doing business, so to speak.
I should have ordered some DVDs.Or a new vibrator.Anything but this.“So, do you come here often?”What was the earliest graceful exit she could make?Maybe she’d have to suffer through an entire meal.Was it acceptable to ghost him after drinks?
And if it wasn’t acceptable, did she care?
“No, actually.First time.”The little double-blink he gave at the end of the sentence said he was lying; even a lowly paralegal could tell as much.“The, uh, the reviews are great.So where do you wanna go after dinner?”
After dinner was never part of the deal, sir.“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, diplomatically enough.He’d probably been lying about taking art history classes in the evenings, too.
“It’s a Friday.”The charming smile had returned, smooth and seamless.“We should go clubbing.You like that?”
I love dancing.But not with this guy, she was thinking.Besides, clubs were sonic assaults full of date-rape drugs and pushy men, and she’d been glad to leave them behind halfway through college.“Maybe,” she hedged, just as help arrived from an unexpected quarter.
As in, the waitress saved her.“Here we are.”A sprite in black and white, with a dyed-black pixie cut and a set, professional smile, the young woman held a pad of probably unnecessary paper with a pen poised at just the right angle.She rattled off the specials with the ease of long practice.“Would you like some appetizers?”
Neal didn’t even ask, rattling right into ordering steak for himself and “the farmer’s salad for the lady,” with a wink and an ingratiating grin.Liv set her jaw and answered the waitress’s inquiring glance with the merest fraction of a shrug.
“Excuse me,” she said, barely waiting for Neal to finish talking—he wanted to order dessert as well, and thought port would go nicely with it.“Where’s your restroom?”
