Page 74 of Just Ten Seconds

“Cocky much?”

“Very,” he jokes as the waitress brings us our wine. We each take a sip. “Okay, so you’d we wearing a dress. Let me guess the color.” He taps his lips with his finger. “Green. To bring out your eyes. You have these beautiful hazel eyes. When we first met, I thought they were green, but when you came to my house, they were darker. I think it’s the lighting. The café is very bright.”

“It’s dark in here, so they must look pretty boring.”

“The opposite. In the candlelight, you can see the flecks of gold and green, and it’s beautiful.”

If I don’t watch it, I might end up with drool hanging out the sides of my mouth. I shake my head and then laugh to myself, looking down at the crisp white table linens with a grin. “You’re good. Very suave.”

“Suave? You think that was a play? I have more moves than that.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Netflix and Chill? Stick to the eyes thing because it works.” I gulp my pinot and then place it on the table.

“What’s your suave move when you’re on a date?” He raises his glass to his lips.

“God, it’s been eons. I haven’t been on a date in six years. I do have one patent move Always go for the D.”

Dean spits his drink out, and I nearly lose it from laughing hysterically.

“Drink. I meant, drink. You …” I have to cover my mouth from giggling so hard. “Your face was priceless. As was this sweater.” I have pinot noir all over my sweater. Suppose it serves me right.

“I’m so sorry.”

I brush the wine droplets from my top and let him off the hook. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt. I don’t mind really. The memory is worth it. Back to where we started. What’s your favorite drink?”

“I’m a beer guy.”

“Me too. Well, beer girl. I always drank wine when I went out because it’s the adult thing to do. The ladylike thing, I guess. But I love beer.”

“Then, I shouldn’t have ordered the wine.”

“This is great. It’s just nothing comes close to a tall stout.”

“Favorite beer?”

“Spaten in Oktoberfest.”

“You are well traveled.”

“That I am. Although I don’t see any vacations in the near future. What about you?”

“I’m a Caribbean kinda guy. Bahamas, St Lucia. Give me a beach, and I’m happy.” He leans in on his elbows and asks the next question, “If you could go on a road trip with three people, dead or alive, who would it be with?”

That’s a good question.

“Only three people—Marilyn Monroe, Maya Angelou, and Oscar Wilde.”

“Those are about the three most quoted people ever. You could add Yogi Berra to the list and have every bit of life advice before you reach the desert.”

“And find out if Marilyn really overdosed.” I raise a finger like I’m catching someone in the act. “You?”

“Ryan Reynolds because he’s hysterical, Tom Hardy because he’s a complete badass, and Mike Rowe because that guy is pretty much my hero.”

“Damn. I want to go to your party instead of mine,” I add.

“I’m sure that’d be for completely opposite reasons than mine.”

“One hundred percent!” I say with a huge grin.