“Really?” I whistle, hating that older men are my kryptonite. They’re always more mature, and they tend to have their shit together. “Over forty. Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
He chuckles. “Flattering. Did you grow up here?”
“Born and raised. Left for California to get my master’s degree. Had a cushy job that paid well and did that for years. I returned home a month ago.” I take a sip and let the liquid sit on my tongue. “Where do you live?”
“New York. The city has always been home.”
I nod. “New York explains a lot.”
“Yeah? Like what?” He doesn’t seem offended.
“Does that count as a question?”
“Yes,” he tells me.
“Your entire demeanor is very … New York. Important. I don’t know how to describe it. You carry yourself differently. Now, it’s my turn. I want something juicy. What’s the most trouble you’ve ever been in?”
He drinks without hesitating and gives me no answer.
“That bad?”
“Some things you couldn’t waterboard out of me.” He refills his glass. “Same question.”
“I went skinny-dipping in the ocean with my boyfriend when I was seventeen. We left our clothes on the beach, and someone stole them while we were in the water. We had to walk back to the B&B naked at two in the morning. I knocked on my grandma’s door, dripping wet, with nothing but my hands to cover myself. She opened it, looked me up and down, and shook her head.”
“And then?”
“She told on me and got me grounded for theentiresummer. And my punishment was housekeeping duties for a month at the B&B. She still randomly mentions it.”
“What a little rebel.” He grins, and it’s a real one, dimples and all.
“Worst date?” I say.
“Oh, easy. A woman took me to a couples meditation retreat. It was three hours of us sitting on a rubber doughnut cushion, facing each other, in a room full of strangers.”
“Three hours?”
“I lasted forty minutes. Then I had a fake emergency.”
I’m laughing hard, and the tequila isn’t helping. “Asshole.”
“I’m not proud of it.” He looks like a completely different man than the one who checked in two days ago. “Now yours.”
“I made the mistake of mentioning I loved to hike in my bio on a dating app once. This guy picked me up for what I expected to be a scenic walk with a picnic and a view. It was ten miles through the mountains with elevation changes. He packed tuna for both of us. By mile six, I had blisters on the backs of both my feet, and I was bleeding. It was awful.”
He drops his head back against the chair. “The audacity.”
“There was no mayo. We ate dry white bread and dry-ass tuna. It was torture.”
The sound of his chuckle mixes with the waves below.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask. The alcohol makes me too brave.
His eyes move back to mine, and then he picks up the shot glass.
“Oh, you’re not going to answer?”
A smirk crosses his face, and he drinks.
