Page 193 of The Bluffing Game

BRADLEY: I love Mexican food.

SAGE: Me too.

BRADLEY: Maybe on our date, I’ll take you to Mexico in my private jet.

SAGE: Private jet? Wow.

BRADLEY: What can I say? I’m a man who likes the finer things in life.

SAGE: Cool. That sounds great. Can we chat later? I have to go. Would be kinda rude to stand up my date, chatting with you.

BRADLEY: I wouldn’t mind.

SAGE: My date might.

BRADLEY: Until we chat again. I hope I can get to know you soon.

SAGE: Thanks, Bradley. Have a nice evening.

I close out of the app quickly, even though my heart is racing.

Bradley messaged me last night, and according to his profile, he is more my type than anyone I’ve messaged in the last week on the app. However, no matter how much I want to chat with the gorgeous blond banker, I have a date with Chad, and I am determined to see if we will have a good connection. Not because he looks that promising on the app, but because going on dates is a way to get my mind off Dalton and his weird ways. I can’t figure the guy out, and I am determined to convince myself that I don’t want to either.

I look around the patio of the Los Almos restaurant and attempt to locate my date, Chad. He said he’d be wearing a red shirt and blue jeans and that it would be easy to find him because he looked exactly like his photos, which I hoped wasn’t true, since he was sticking his tongue out in one photo and making a funny face in the other. I took that to mean he has a good sense of humor, and hopefully, that is correct. We’ve only exchanged a few messages, but he was the first guy to send me a message, so I feel like maybe that was a sign—and the fact that he owns a helicopter and a castle in the French countryside doesn’t hurt. I know it is unlikely that he will be the one, but dating is a numbers game. The man I am most excited to meet is Bradley, as there is something really fun and personable about him, but he hasn’t asked me on a date. Not that we’d spoken much as yet.

“Sagey, is that you?” a nasal, high-pitched voice calls from the far end of the restaurant.

I look to the back, hoping it’s not Chad. My heart drops when I see the bright red shirt, looking like a fire engine, on the man who is waving madly at me. I slowly make my way over to Chad. He’s got a huge smile on his face as I approach, and I try to plaster a similar smile on my own face.

I’m annoyed with myself because I didn’t think to ask whether his photos were recent. Based on his receding, thinning hair and how much older he looks than in his photo, I am pretty confident the top photo on his profile isn’t accurate.

He lets out a low whistle as I walk over, and I regret wearing the short dress that I have on.

“Sagey, you look absolutely amazing.” He grins as he looks me up and down.

“The name’s Sage,” I correct him. “There’s no Y.”

“I know there’s no Y, but I like the name Sagey a little bit more.”

He cocks his head to the side and licks his lips, but before I can call him out for being a pig, he pops a mint into his mouth. So, maybe his lips were just dry, and he isn’t an absolute creep.

“You are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met in my life, Sagey.”

I press my lips together because, obviously, I’m not going to argue with the man over the fact that that’s not my name. I reach my hand out to shake his hand, but instead, he steps forward and wraps me into his arms, pressing me closely into his body. I try not to throw up as he rubs my lower back and breathes in like he’s trying to steal my essence.

“You’re even more stunning than you look in your photograph,” he says as he finally steps back. “Man, did I get lucky.” He looks like he wants to high-five himself. “My luck is finally changing.”

“Yeah, I can see how you would feel that,” I say as I continue standing there. I give him a once-over in the same inscrutable way that he looked me up and down. “I wish I could say the same, Chad.” I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t let him think anything between us is ever going to happen.

“What do you mean by that?” he says, looking confused.

“I mean, you don’t really look like your photo.” I try to be kind and polite.

“I swear to God, Scout’s honor, that photo is all me. No filters, no nothing.”

“I’m not saying the photo wasn’t you at some point in time, but how recently was it taken?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, laughing, and takes a seat. “Please, Sagey, sit down.”