She gave me a once-over, trying to figure out what kind of nobody ended up on a date with Chris Jones. I smiled. I was too star-struck to tell if she was trying to be intimidating or if that was her default setting. And even if I had noticed, I probably would’ve let it slide. The whole idea of a boob-measuring contest over amanseemed pointless to me.
Chris, visibly ready to leave the conversation, took my hand and began steering me away.
“We really have to go, Jess.”
As he led me toward our table, I looked back, giving her a playful wave. Jess watched us leave, looking beyond intrigued.
9
CHRIS
This is going fan-freaking-tastic, Christopher Jones.
I requested my usual table, tucked away in the corner, with soft light and the best view of the city’s skyline. The perfect first date spot. Or so I thought. But when I glanced at Jules, ready to catch an impressed look on her face. Nothing. Not even a flicker. Maybe she wasn’t the “ohh and aah” type. Or maybe she was still processing the Jessica Rogers shitshow. Probably both.
I pulled out her chair like a gentleman, trying to reclaim some control of the night. The hostess handed over the menus.
“Someone will be right with you, Mr. Jones.” She said, tossing one last flirty look over her shoulder. Subtle, but I caught it. Did Jules? If she did, she was playing it cool. Good. If she planned to get mad at every woman who flirted with me, this whole thing would be dead in the water.
“So, if you like fish, you have to?—”
“You slept with Jessica Rogers?” Jules cut me off mid-sentence. I blinked, and before I could recover from her directness, she continued, “She’s twelve.”
I gave a sheepish half-smile. There was no easy way out of this, but hey, if we were going there…
“She’s twenty-two.”
“Exactly. She’s a child,” she shot back. I swear I saw a glimpse of amusement in her eyes. “But, honestly, she’s gorgeous. You should call her back.”
I hesitated, trying to read her face. Was this a trap? I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a date with someone whose birth year started with “19,” let alone someone with a regular job and a normal life. The truth was that Vanessa was right. My dates were pretty damn predictable. Models, actresses, and a tennis player who at least kept things interesting.
But Jules? Something told me this was going to be anything but predictable. And I couldn’t help but grin at the thought.
Eager to steer the conversation back on track, I leaned in, trying to sound smooth.
“As I was saying…You should try the salmon. It’s fantastic.”
But Jules was far from done.
“So, what was Jessica Rogers trying to warn me about? Are you a psychopath, or…?”
I laughed nervously. “Do you ever do small talk?”
“No.” She said with a straight face, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s the script here? Should I ask about your family, then? Or maybe go for the classic ‘What’s your favorite color?’”
She was smiling now, like she was genuinely having fun watching me squirm. Damn, I loved that smile. And the way her eyes crinkled and almost disappeared when it was a real, unguarded one. I couldn’t help but smile back. This was far from a typical date conversation, but I was kind of loving it.
“My favorite color is blue. I have a mom, a dad, and twobrothers. Boring. So... ask away. Whatever you’re curious about.” I said, leaning back a bit, letting her take the reins.
“Alright,” she grinned. “Will you tell meyourscript to win the girl over?”
There it was, that little emergency light going off in my brain. It felt like a trap. She wasn’t wrong; I had a bit of a script. I mean, most guys I know have one. But you don’t admit that, right?
She laughed, leaning back.
“It’s okay. I used to have one too. Like… a hundred years ago when I was last single, pretending to be all ‘mysterious’ and ‘seductive.’”
Oh, I wanted to hear the script so bad. But I’d rather have cannonball Jules than mysterious Jules.
