Page 52 of Tanner

Willa doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as I am as she flirts with Ryan. She shouldn’t. She’s only a few years out of college, and she doesn’t look a day over twenty-two.

Tanner leans down to meet my eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” I say and take a large gulp of my wine.

His eyes are on my glass as I drink, and when I put the glass down on the table, I see why. My gulp was more like a chug, as there’s only a small sip left.

“Thirsty.” It’s more of a comment than a question.

I nod my head and try to relax. “I’m surprised you come here a lot. I mean, you brought me to a speakeasy, and you told me the bar in Harlem was more your speed.”

“I’m flexible. This is just where these guys”—he motions toward Ryan and Chris, who is now trying to grind up against a girl—“have better luck with chicks.”

“Chicks?” I sound insulted.

He tilts his head. “Women. Sorry. I was only quoting them. You know I’m not that kind of guy.”

“You’re right.” I pause, looking at a girl over his shoulder.

She looks barely legal, a baby compared to me. She’s wearing a skirt that just covers her ass with a tight tank top and black hair that looks like it has enough hair spray to start a fire. She’s the absolute exact opposite of me.

“Is that what you normally want?”

He turns in the direction I’m pointing and then focuses his attention right back on me. “I’m looking at what I want.”

I let out a large breath. Not in relief or admiration. It’s more of a heavy sigh because I think I’ve just realized why Tanner isn’t the perfect man.

I squint my eyes, scared to ask. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” he states.

Shit. I run a hand over my forehead.

“How old are you?” he asks hesitantly.

I close my eyes. “Thirty.”

“Wow,” I hear him say.

My eyes shoot open. My mouth has also popped open at his apparent shock at my age.

“Is that a problem?” I ask, most definitely insulted.

His eyes look straight into mine as he answers, “No. I was just surprised. You don’t look older than twenty-five.”

I raise my brows. “While that’s flattering … really flattering actually, it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m almost a decade older than you.”

He laughs. “Eight years is not a decade. It’s eight years.” My feelings about this must be written all over my face because his smile fades. “Is my age a problem for you?”

“Yes,” I answer easily.

“That’s a double standard, don’t you think? You nearly bit my head off when you thought I was upset about your age.”

“Younger guys are sexy. Older women are … older.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

I motion back to the bar and the girls with skin as smooth as an infant’s bottom. “That’s the kind of girl you should be dating.”