Page 20 of The Plus One Pact

He goes through his reasoning piece by piece. "Your place is more minimalist than maximalist. Cool tones. But it's not cold. You have blankets. And candles. They're the good kind. Wax and essential oil. Not the shit that smells like the state fair."

That makes me smile.

"You're educated. The sort of woman more likely to drink wine. I could see wine. It's elegant, like your dress. Or something else simple. A martini maybe."

He's close. I add the lime to our gin and tonics and meet him at the couch.

"Vodka soda," he guesses.

"Gin and tonic.”

He shakes his head. "Better guess. Smarter. You're witty."

Can he tell that already or does he think I’ll swoon for an empty compliment? "Witty people like gin and tonics?"

"They're British. Dry humor."

The logic tracks, but I’m not sure I believe the observations. We’ve only spoken for two minutes. He can’t know I have a dry sense of humor. "Is this your usual foreplay?" I say.

That makes him smiler wider. "No. I prefer more conventional methods. We can move to that. If you're ready." His eyes move to my chest. My stomach. The hem of my dress. "But I'm happy to talk first."

"One drink," I say. That's our agreement. One drink. Then one hour. This time. I can afford three, overall, but I’ve got to save some for later. So I have more material. He’s in charge of time. Apparently, he's flexible with first timers. "Do you usually have a drink first?"

"With some people."

"Whatever a client prefers," I say.

He takes a long sip, closes his eyes, lets out a soft sigh. "Ivy. You're using the good stuff. I had a feeling."

I want to find the false intimacy annoying, but I don’t. It’s nice to be noticed. My ex wasn’t paying any attention to me by the end. He certainly didn’t stop to appreciate the premium tonic water I bought. "If you're going to do something, do it right."

"True." His eyes go to mine. "Yes. That's the job. I'm happy either way."

"Whatever the drink?"

"Honestly?" he asks.

I nod.

"I don't like beer."

Is he saying that to win points? No. How would he know I don't like beer? That my ex drank too much beer. Well, he does know my name, and he could stalk my ex-husband's social media, but that's a lot of work, isn't it?

"It's funny. I love bitter. I love strong. I should love IPAs. But I don't."

"Why not?"

"Hops," he says. "Hate them."

I take a long sip. "But you'll drink that, if it's what a client wants?"

He raises his glass and motions to the couch shall we sit. "It hasn't come up."

No, I suppose it wouldn’t. The smell of beer isn’t exactly sexy.

I take my seat.

He sits next to me.