Maybe Later

by Claudia Burgoa

  “I think you said, a ‘boring consultant,’” he corrects me, raking a hand through his thick hair which I imagine is soft.

  Stop it right there, Emmeline. You don’t want to start panting in front of him just because you want to tangle your fingers in his hair as you yank the soft strands and kiss him hard. He’s a boring consultant. Not a fun guy who’d take you against the door or would bend you over his desk.

  I should’ve never thought about my stupid client and how well he would fuck me if we knew each other. There’s a rule somewhere on the Post-its I have on the walls that says, never fantasize about your clients. Why’d I break it? Why am I even thinking about him and this guy? Would a three-some work for them?

  “Am I right?” I say trying to forget the faceless well-built man and Jack doing dirty things to me. “Or maybe you own a pot dispensary. They’re big in this area.”

  A rough laugh bursts from his belly. “At least you didn’t say lion tamer,” he says. “Unless, you know a pussy needing to be tamed.”

  I laugh along with him. This time, we’re both laughing though my cheeks feel hot as I think of all the ways he could tame my needs.

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “You look like a well-groomed businessman or a math whizz.” I have nothing more to say because I can only concentrate on his mouth and his hands.

  Horny. I’m too horny to be on a date.

  “I wouldn’t know about the well-groomed, but I confess I do like math,” he says.

  “Does liking math mean you were taking advance trigonometry before your junior year of high school?”

  “Are you judging me?” He narrows his gaze. “Because if I recall, you studied economics.”

  “There’s a difference between loving math, and being forced into that degree,” I say defensively. “My parents made me breathe, eat, and dream math—and every other school subject.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  “By the age of three, I was able to count to a hundred—not that I knew what it meant. I played violin and piano because children who play music can learn math faster.”

  “So, you could be playing with an orchestra?”

  “Nah, I stopped when I was about fourteen,” I say.

  I had too many after school activities I had to attend as well as volunteer work. Harvard wouldn’t accept me if I didn’t have a well-rounded curriculum.

  “You haven’t told me much about yourself,” I turn the conversation back to him.

  “Growing up, I liked math, but I liked sports better. Once I started high school, I had to accept that I wasn’t a jock. Dad and I had a long talk about my future. He convinced me to focus on what mattered to me. I continued playing sports for fun but stopped the competitive shit that wasn’t going to take me anywhere.”

  He frowns and asks. “Is this too intense for a first date?”

  What he says is inspiring but definitely not something ordinary people would talk about during a first date. I like it though that we’re opening different doors. Unless … Is it because we’re comfortable with each other or we have nothing to talk about? Maybe I’m boring.

  “Hi, I’m Tiffany,” the waitress introduces herself cutting into our conversation and temporary silencing my insecurities.

  “Would you mind bringing us the menu,” Jack requests with a hard voice.

  Tiffany leaves, bringing back the menus and I swear she undid a couple of buttons of her blouse. Great, make my B’s look like child’s play with those super D’s.

  “Would you mind bringing me a glass of water while I look at the menu?”

  She ignores me and directs her attention to Jack. “We’re out of ginger croissants, but our specialty is chocolate croissants.”

  “Would you mind bringing her water first. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to order,” Jack says politely.

  “When was the last time you were on a date?” he asks.

  “I can’t remember. It’s been a couple of years,” I lie. It’s more like half a decade. “How about yourself?”

  “About the same,” he answers without looking me in the eyes.

  Okay, so we’ve both been out of the game for a long time.

  “Are you wondering if something has changed?” I ask jokingly as I try to shake the awkwardness. “Because let me tell you, my friend, Tinder has revolutionized dating.”

  “I’ve heard of Tinder,” he says. “But I don’t have an account. Do you?”

  “So?” Tiffany comes back and stands right beside Jack. “Do you have any questions about the menu?”

  My only question is why we picked a cafe instead of a bar?

  I need something stronger than a cup of coffee or a glass of water. For fuck’s sake, this man is making me lose my mind. I should’ve brought a bottle of tequila and my questionnaire for this date. Everything would be so much smoother. That always breaks the ice. At least it did with Mr. Spearman.

  What would he think about this date?

  “Ma’am,” Tiffany calls me. “What would you like?”

  “The green, lavender tea latte,” I order.

  “What about you, sir?”

  “Do you want a pastry, Em?” he asks, his attention focused on me the whole time and not on those breasts that she’s pushing way too close to his face.

  “I’ll take a chocolate croissant and chocolate chip scone.”

  “What about for you, sir?” she repeats her question with a sultry voice.

  “I’ll get a latte. Half caff, nonfat milk.”

  “Anything to eat, sir?”

  “A Swiss crepe, please,” he requests handing her the menus.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a crepe?” he asks.

  “I ate earlier, but maybe instead of the scone, I’ll have a Nutella crepe.”

  “You know how to pack it,” she says to me. “We have salads too.”

  “I saw,” I respond. “Make sure to bring some whipped cream on the side.”

  “You were telling me about Tinder,” he says.

  He doesn’t pay attention to my comment or the snarky woman.

  “Do you have a profile on there?”

  “A fake profile,” I emphasize.

  “Why even bother if you’re going to use a fake profile?”

  “I don’t know. It’s practice for whenever I do decide to date,” I explain. “It’s not easy to put yourself out there. You’ve said it yourself, you haven’t gone out in a long time.”

  Grabbing my glass of water, I try to drink it, but I’m so distracted by his enigmatic smile that it slips out of my hand. I stand up too fast, almost tripping on my chair. Fortunately, Jack’s reflexes are in tune because once again, those perfectly formed arms catch me before I fall.

  “This is a sign,” I mumble.

  “Or a blessing,” he says, tightening his grip. “I like the feel of you in my arms.”

  Our eyes connect, and I’m dying for his lips to touch mine.

  “Let me help you with this,” Tiffany says, interrupting our moment and what would’ve been our first kiss.

  We lose the connection as we watch her, and the busboy fixes the mess I made.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I apologize and mumble. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left.”

  He takes a step closer to me and whispers. “Am I so terrible that you think we should end this?”

  We look at each other and smile. I thought I had him figured out, but he keeps surprising me, and I definitely want to know more.

  Once they change the tablecloth, Tiffany brings our drinks and extra napkins giving me an annoyed glance.

  “I promise I’m going to be a grown-up,” I state awkwardly wanting to jet out of the cafe.

  He smiles tenderly and lifts his cup of coffee, “I think we’re doing just fine,” he says as he takes a sip of his coffee.

  I laugh as his nose and cheeks are smeared with foam.

  “What is it? Do I have something on my face?” he asks scrunch
ing his nose.

  I take a napkin patting his cheek. “You have a little foam here.”

  He doesn’t say a word but tries to clean his face, smearing it around instead of cleaning it. He dips his finger in the foam, pokes my nose and swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, a zing makes my skin tingle and my entire body jolt, awakening it. My breath hitches and something inside my chest loosens up. Maybe he is different from what I’m imagining.

  I need to give this a chance

  Our gazes connect and the intensity of the moment is too much to handle for one night and one date.

  “So, your first date in a while,” I repeat, moving my gaze to the latte I haven’t touched.

  “I played piano too,” he says, not taking the bait. “My mom wanted me to be a pianist up until I was ten and she finally realized it wasn’t for me.”

  I envy him for having parents who understood him and supported him since he was a kid. We would’ve loved to have just some of the understanding he’s gotten from his parents.

  “What kind of law do you practice?” he asks interrupting my thoughts.

  “Law?” I frown.

  “You mentioned you studied economics instead of pre-law,” he says.

  I nod a couple of time, understanding why he’s drawing that conclusion.

  “Oh no, I’m not a lawyer. That was the plan, but I found something better.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “My job is complicated,” I say.

  Because not every man reacts well when I explain that I own a company.

  “I wear many hats,” I continue, “but I love what I do.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re secretive.”

  “Just like you, Jack. The only thing I know about you is that you like math, read The Great Gatsby in college, and played the piano.”

  He glances at me casually.

  “It was in high school,” he corrects. “What else would you like to know?”

  At that moment, the waitress arrives with our food. I remain quiet until she leaves as I wonder what I’d want to know about him. The answer is everything.

  “Would you like to answer my questionnaire?” I suggest, half joking and half hoping it might lighten up the ambiance.

  He rolls his eyes, muffles a chuckle and shakes his head. “Please don’t, maybe we can lighten this up over a couple of beers, wine or whatever your poison is.”

  “Wine would work,” I say, breaking off a piece of my croissant. “But maybe next time. Today, we’re breaking the awkwardness of the first date with something sweet.”

  I chew on the flaky pastry, taking a second to enjoy the mixed flavors before I continue speaking.

  “We don’t want to know everything about each other today,” I clarify.

  “Does that mean there’s the possibility of another date?”

  “Or we can call this a trial date,” I suggest.

  “This isn’t working for you?” He frowns.

  “I … what do you think?”

  Jack sets his fork down and takes my hand. “It’s not perfect, but I wouldn’t ask for a do-over,” he concludes.

  There’s the tingling feeling again.

  “Why not?” I ask curiously, debating if I should claim my hand back or not.

  “So far we’ve established good communication. And there’s the number of dates to sex ratio.”

  “The what?” I laugh hysterically.

  He smirks at me and kisses the tips of my fingers. “There’s a rule, isn’t there? Each successful date equals a sex date when both parties are ready.”

  “You use your mathematical powers for sex?”

  “Only for very good sex,” he says with a lopsided grin.

  “Let me get this straight. If I’m not ready until the twentieth date, but we have eighteen successful dates, you get—”

  “Eighteen dates of just sex, guaranteed,” he concludes, leaning back on his chair and watching me with a pair of blazing, bedroom eyes.

  Me too buddy, me too. Let’s just get a room next door at the Ritz Carton and cut the tension.

  His face changes, and he gives me an intense, worried look. “But I have to know what happened on the two unsuccessful ones?”

  “Well you can’t call this one a success,” I say crossing my arms trying to imitate the seriousness on his face. “Are we negotiating something?”

  “Establishing parameters.” His voice is a little rough. He’s either thinking about work or trying not to bend me over the table and fuck me.

  Let’s pick door number two. We should stop talking about the sex dates and just do it.

  “Maybe we had a fight during one of those twenty dates. The tenth one because I wanted to visit my best friend in Boston and you had plans with your family,” I describe. “On our one-month anniversary.”

  “Why did you make plans without consulting me?” He asks baffled.

  “I made them before we started dating, but you wanted to introduce me to your family,” I say indignantly. “Which of course was yet, another fight. You can’t understand that I’m not ready for that step. I’ve told you a million times that I don’t do families well. But did you care? No.”

  “You could’ve rescheduled your trip,” he offers with a harsh voice as if he’s in character.

  “I’ve been postponing it for too long already,” I fight back. “Do you know how hard it is to get time off?”

  “But meeting my family is important.”

  “If I’m not ready to have sex with you, do you think I’m ready to meet them?” I glare at him. “And you wanted us to stay with them?”

  He shakes his head and chuckles.

  “They own a two-bedroom condo. We’ll stay at a hotel. I’ll make sure my assistant gets us a two-bedroom suite.”

  “I’m going to Boston!” I remind him firmly.

  He chuckles. “You don’t want to get into a fight with me.”

  “Because I’ll lose?” I challenge him with a glare.

  He licks his lips, and his intense gaze almost penetrates my soul. “No, we would have to have makeup sex which means … you skip all the other dates.”

  “Angry sex?”

  “The best sex,” he offers. “I like that twenty-date rule, but we might want to start the next one soon.”

  “Wait, I need to know what would’ve happened if my scenario were real.”

  “Who knows?” He lifts a shoulder.

  “Most likely, you’d leave upset,” he pauses, drinking some of his coffee, “I would go visit my parents. After a few hours I’d come to realize I’m a fucking idiot. I’d pay a charter to fly me to Boston before the day was over.”

  His answer makes my heart beat fast.

  “You would?” I ask surprised and hopeful.

  No one has ever put me before everyone else. The scenario is fake, but if the story ended as he describes it, I would be riding cloud nine—with him.

  He drums his fingers on the table and asks, “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  I open my mouth to answer, be with you, but before I do, he curses under his breath.

  “I have family coming over,” he explains, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How about Tuesday?”

  I take out my calendar, pretending to check if I’m busy. He doesn’t need to know that I make my own schedule and if I wanted to, I could be available for him any day of the week—almost at any time.

  “Are you looking for an excuse to ditch me?” He taps twice on the table. “Give me a fair try. I can be charming. If you want, I can read another classic before we see each other again.”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing next week.”

  “Dinner,” he says with a low voice. “Have dinner with me.”

  His voice is so soft, just like his gaze, and even though I’m not sure if this is a good move, I say, “Okay. Call me Tuesday morning, and we can go from there.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday, April 25th, 10:44 a.m.

  JS
pear84: How is your Monday?

  AWalk90: It’s not perfect, but I’m dealing. Can you imagine? One of my clients had this ridiculous meeting at four o’clock in the morning. I had to attend, translate and then send a written proposal. Who needs sleep right? I’m on my sixth cup of coffee, and I can’t keep my eyes open. I think I’m moving to Japan.

  JSpear84: Japan? That’s too far and the time zone wouldn’t work for me. I must say, you impressed me with your skills. Are you sure I can’t hire you?

  AWalk90: That’s exactly why I learned Japanese, so one day I could impress you.

  JSpear84: First, I have to point out that you’re the grumpy one today. Second, I have to ask, how long did you spend learning Japanese? Did you learn with a native?

  AWalk90: I took lessons at a young age. It’s a long story. I spent a summer in Japan when I was thirteen. I know four languages. Play three different instruments, among other party tricks.

  JSpear84: I know how to play the piano and guitar.

  AWalk90: You must be as talented as Mozart, or maybe Bach.

  JSpear84: Mozart when he was about two years old. I stopped playing the piano long ago. Now I just play guitar when I’m alone at home. It relaxes me.

  AWalk90: What a coincidence. I play guitar too, and I taught myself to play the ukulele.

  JSpear84: Well now I understand your intense love for music.

  AWalk90: I wouldn’t call it intense, I’m passionate about what I love.

  JSpear84: Your favorite music genres are indie, alternative, and anything 90s. Yet, you know about every genre.

  AWalk90: You might be right, but you missed country, classical and blue grass.

  JSpear84: Country huh?

  AWalk90: My parents hated country, that’s why I learned to love it, so I could annoy them.

  JSpear84: How was your weekend?

  AWalk90: I was busy. I went to the museum on Saturday, and on Sunday I drove to Albuquerque. There was an antique show, and I got a few pieces I can sand down and paint.

  JSpear84: Did you go with your boyfriend?

  AWalk90: I thought we established that I don’t have a boyfriend.

  JSpear84: You could have gone on a date with your husband or your fiancé.