by Kitty Thomas
“We're outside.”
He laughs, and it's the most melodic sound I've heard in ages. “That's true, but sometimes even the open air can feel stifling. Sometimes you need to move. I was just going to go for a walk down by the river where it's breezier. Come join me?”
“I don't even know you.”
I honestly have no idea what kind of magic I've worked on the universe since I started this roster thing. I thought it was my confidence that was drawing men to me, but obviously not, since this one approached when I was crying and falling apart on a park bench.
“I apologize, where are my manners? I'm Griffin.”
“Like the mythological creature?”
He grins. “Indeed. So you know I'm safe.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “I'm pretty sure Griffins don't make good house pets.”
“So you'll keep me on a leash outside. It'll be fine.”
I laugh as that visual swoops through my mind.
I need to stop moping over Soren, and standing right in front of me is my ticket out of this mental spiral. His hand is extended out to me in invitation.
“You're wearing sensible enough shoes for it,” he says.
I've already lost track of the conversation and the invitation to walk with him. And I am wearing sensible shoes. My ensemble today consists of tennis shoes, soft heather grey shorts with a drawstring waist, and a darker charcoal grey racerback T-shirt. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and I look like I'm ready to go for a run.
Finally I sigh and put my hand in his, allowing him to pull me up to stand. This doesn't have to go anywhere. It's not like I'm going to marry him. It's just a walk down by the river.
“I'm Livia,” I say finally.
“Beautiful name. Griffin and Livia. I think that'll look just fine on the wedding invitations. Kidding. Relax, it's just a walk.”
But my shocked face isn't from the joke. It's the fact that I was just thinking about how it wasn't like I was going to marry him. And all at once my romantic little mind is off to the races again. Maybe... this guy? I know I just met him literally two minutes ago, but don't we often joke about things that have a bit of truth to them? Isn't that the core of a joke? Truth? Could this mean he's at least looking for something real?
We walk for miles, and much longer and farther than I'd thought we would. I find myself grateful to be wearing such sensible shoes and comfortable clothes. I can't even imagine what it was he saw in me. No makeup—though that's normal for me, workout clothes, and sobbing into ice cream. Nothing says ask me out on a date like that combination. Is this a date? Or is he just a nice guy trying to cheer me up? Maybe I remind him of his sister or something. Then again, wedding invitation jokes aren't very brotherly.
We've talked for well over an hour, and I really like him. In the space of a single afternoon he's managed to restore my faith in men.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, suddenly.
I skipped lunch and the ice cream doesn't have quite the staying power of real food.
“Actually... kind of?” I say it like it's a question.
We've found ourselves standing in front of the River Siren. It's a dinner cruise riverboat. I've never actually been on it because it's for the tourists. Griffin looks from the boat to me.
“So, let's go on a dinner cruise.”
“I'm really not dressed for it,” I say, looking down at my grey cotton workout uniform.
He laughs, gesturing at his khakis and polo shirt. “I'm not much better. But it's fine. You wouldn't believe some of the odd clothes tourists wear on this thing. It's hardly a fancy venue.”
I bite my lip. It actually sounds fun, and I could use the cheering up. “Don't you have to have reservations? Tickets bought ahead?”
“Nah. They leave a couple of tables empty in case a VIP shows up.”
I arch a brow. “And you're a VIP?”
He winks, and that devastating dimple comes out of hiding again. “Definitely. I'm friends with the owner of this little tourist trap on the water.”
“Okay. I mean... if you think you can get us in, it sounds like fun.”
He walks up to the outdoor podium where people are showing their pre-bought tickets. Griffin speaks low, so I don't hear him, but I barely catch the words from the man behind the podium. “Of course, Mr. Macdonald, we'd love to accommodate you and your lovely date.”
So I guess it is a date. But I think I already knew that.
The boat serves us Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls along with the best iced tea I've had in a while. It's comfort food—something I definitely needed after my big pity party in the park. After dinner we go up to the top deck where a live band plays swing music. Some of the tourists are already up dancing. Griffin drags me out on to the dance floor. He's a surprisingly good dancer, but I'm terrible.
Still, he's good at leading and keeps me from looking too stupid. Then the music switches to a slow song, and he pulls me in closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder thinking that for such a shitty start, this day has ended up pretty amazing.
Toward the end of the cruise we're served dessert out on the top deck under the stars: chocolate silk pie and coffee. The boat docks further up the river, closer to where we first started walking. I'm relieved we won't have to walk an hour back to the park we met in. Griffin walks me to my car in a comfortable silence, his fingers threading through mine.
I'm not sure at what point we started holding hands, but it feels natural, not forced. He feels natural—and fun. When we reach my car, he asks for my number. I give it to him, and he kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “I'll call you this week.”
I don't know it yet, but this has been the first of many dates with the smooth and charming Griffin Macdonald. And while in the coming week, one man will find himself booted off my roster, it won't be Soren.
Dayne
The Mark
Seven months ago. Last November.
I've been following Livia at a distance for the past two weeks, trying to find the right moment to make my move. From the intel I've gathered—including reports from Soren's private investigator—our suspicions are right. She's dating three men: Griffin, Soren, and a guy named Jack.
I've met Jack once. He's kind of a douchebag and definitely not at the same level of success as Griffin, Soren, and myself. My job is to get on her roster and get Jack out. It's tricky business because we all run the risk that she might decide to take me on but drop Griffin or Soren. We've got backup plans for that, but you never know. Then there's the even bigger risk that she'll reject me outright, and there may not be a bounce back from that. Any further attempts after a hard rejection just make me look like a dangerous stalker.
Soren is counting on the gold digger aspect—that she'll go for whoever has the deepest pockets. But I have my doubts about this. It's no question that she's looking to marry up, but does that make her a gold digger? I'm not so sure. She's not asking anyone to buy her a bunch of things or pay any of her bills. She's maintained a certain independence and desire to take care of her own living expenses. Though I'm sure men have bought and paid for things anyway. I know Griffin and Soren have spent money.
And marriage is the big cash out, so she may just be patient enough to wait it out. She is remaining chaste with all these men after all, even when it seems clear she wants to go further. So she's not a prude. I will definitely be pushing and testing this button myself at the first available opportunity. Few people in the modern world have this level of self-control, which makes her oddly unpredictable.
I admit, I'm intrigued. When Griffin and Soren first laid out the plan, I wasn't sure I was on board. But just watching her laugh and engage with the world in the sweet uncomplicated way she does these past couple of weeks, and I'm seriously considering it. There's something refreshing about this girl—something untainted and pure, even though I'm sure she isn't a virgin.
And she's beautiful. She has clear light blue eyes like a pristin
e lake in the mountains and this beachy sun-streaked hair that goes halfway down her back in soft waves I want to slide my fingers through.
Livia doesn't play these cheap silly games of the average gold digger. And she doesn't act entitled. She isn't looking for dumbasses with deep pockets. She wants a smart man that she can respect. It's a dance. It's a game. And I've got the money to burn. I'll play if she will. Plus Soren and Griffin will kick my ass if I leave them and their grand plan in the lurch.
I'm still not sure I'm prepared to jump into a forever thing with them and this girl. That's why I need to interview her.
Livia is shopping at a high-end boutique today. She has several nice dresses ready for purchase along with a bottle of perfume which I happen to know is Soren's favorite fragrance on a woman. I wonder if she's cataloging all of these preferences for each man she dates. I wonder if she has a list somewhere to keep it all straight or if she truly cares enough to remember.
The sales clerk is ringing up her purchase when I make my move. I have a navy silk tie in my hand from the men's section. I just grabbed the first thing I saw so I could get in line behind her.
I drop my tie on top of her things and pass my black card to the clerk.
“Please, allow me,” I say. I'm not sure how I hope she'll react. A rejection of my offer could just mean she wants me to insist, like women who try to go for the check at dinner but really want you to stop them. Or maybe she'll say no flat out. Or maybe she'll say yes with greedy little dollar signs behind her eyes. A foolish part of me hopes she won't do the latter.
She turns to me and smiles. It's a genuine, electrifying and open smile that lights up the entire space. And God help me, but she's already got me. For a moment it's easy to forget she's the mark in a game she doesn't even know she's playing.
“Thank you, that's very kind of you.” She steps gracefully aside so I can sign the receipt.
Huh. She knows I can afford it. I did just flash my black card, and this girl is savvy. She knows about black cards. But even though I've been watching her, I didn't expect this reaction. She seems completely unfazed by this gesture but at the same time appreciative of it. She's not ashamed. Not indignant. It's as though I merely opened a door for her. She isn't shocked by this kind of treatment. She's not impressed or overly charmed. But... she's not entitled either. She's not a brat.
I can't put words to how this simple exchange makes me feel.
I sign and wait as the clerk puts our things in two separate bags. Livia looks a bit overburdened by bags already. She's been shopping in the other stores nearby as well. This gives me my next opportunity.
“Let me help you out with your bags,” I offer.
She takes a good long look at me. I'm not sure if she's assessing my danger or my dating potential.
In case it's the former I say, “It's broad daylight. I promise I'm not a serial killer.”
She smiles and hands over her bags while picking up my small bag containing the tie. “Okay. I'll carry yours if you carry mine. And I know you're not a serial killer. They don't give out black cards to serial killers.”
I laugh. She's probably right about that. I like this girl. It's been a long time since I've really liked a woman. Not just been attracted. Not just wanted to sleep with, but genuinely liked. And suddenly I'm a teenager worried I'll mess up and the pretty girl at school will turn me down. I'm not sure what to do with this sudden burst of whatever thing it is she's making me feel. It's so foreign, so long forgotten, and suddenly I have zero doubts about this.
There's no guilt. No hesitation. I want this girl. I want this image, this idea, this plan that Soren and Griffin laid out for me. I want us. The four of us. She has no idea the precarious line she walks. I'm determined not to fuck this up.
Even though I'm carrying all the bags, I open the door and let her walk out first, knowing each gallant gesture disarms her and gets me closer to yes. Though to be honest she doesn't seem to have a big guard or giant walls around her, which is pretty unusual these days. Part of me is charmed by it and another part of me wants to shake her and ask does she not know the thoughts that go through men's minds? Does she not know the wolves who would eat her alive? Part of me wants to punish her and another part wants to protect her—from men like me and Griffin and Soren.
She pops the trunk when we get out to her car. It's a bit of a walk since she parked on the other end of the lot and was walking store to store. She drives a modest but clean Ford Focus, obviously purchased with her own money.
I put her bags in, and she hands me mine. “Thanks for the rescue,” she says, flashing that brilliant smile again. It's so blinding that even the sun overhead can't compete with her.
She's definitely flirting with me which makes me wonder if she's trying to up her man harem to four or if she's already thinking of dropping someone.
“I like you,” I say. Maybe it's not the best line in the world, but it's genuinely true, and I'm banking on her sensing it. “Let me take you out to dinner.”
She laughs. “He buys me dresses, opens doors, carries my bags, and wants to feed me, too. Is dragon slaying on the agenda, because I want to be sure to get a good seat.”
I take her hand in mine. It's a risk, but she's letting me this close into her space and knows I want to date her. And doesn't fortune favor the brave? “Come to dinner with me. I can't let you starve.”
She laughs at this. We both know this girl would never starve in any situation. Men would stumble over their own feet to feed her if she were in true distress. And I would no doubt be one of them.
She sighs. “In all seriousness, my dance card is pretty full right now.”
Shit. Is she really going to keep that Jack douche on the roster? He was a bit of an asshole to her earlier in the week, and I was hoping to play that to my advantage. Even if she says no, this much flirting could buy me another chance if we bump into each other in a few weeks. I can wait for Jack to do something stupid and leverage his foolishness in my favor.
“Squeeze me in,” I say. “I'm sure you've got time for one dinner. You have to eat. I'm flexible.”
“Dammit. Okay. Yes. I will go to dinner with you... wait... maybe we should exchange names. I think we're doing this a little out of order.”
I can't believe I didn't remember to introduce myself. I really am behaving like a teenager. “I'm Dayne.”
“Livia.”
“Okay, Livia. You tell me when you can fit me in among all your suitors and I'll take care of the rest.”
Livia
Mr. Black Card
Seven months ago. Last November.
I meet Dayne at the restaurant. He seems almost relieved by this, and I'm not sure what to make of that. Does he have secrets he doesn't want me to know? Is he borrowing someone else's black card? I sigh. I'll figure him out if he sticks around long enough.
It's a first date, and I don't let men pick me up on the first date for my own safety. It's true that he probably isn't a criminal. The black card joke wasn't entirely a joke. It's a very exclusive card, and while I may not know all the qualifications to have one—except for the poorly kept secret that you have to charge at least a hundred thousand dollars a year just to be considered—I'm pretty sure that a brand like that wouldn't give their card out to a man with any kind of criminal record. Him just having the card is practically a background check all on its own.
Then again, there are knockoffs out there, and it's not as though I could scrutinize the card without seeming tacky.
The restaurant he's chosen is a tiny hole in the wall Italian place. It's not fancy or expensive but it's very romantic, and the food is amazing. I'm wondering if this is a gold digger test. I don't mind it. I mean I am sort of ruthlessly maintaining a roster of men to date until someone proposes. I can hardly blame the guy for seeing how I'll react to this dining choice.
In another situation I might take it as a sign that he's stingy or cheap, but he's already proven that isn't so. He seems like a generous person
, and that's what matters because no one wants to be with a man who hoards his money like a dragon guarding a golden egg—someone who keeps a running tally of “all he's done for you”.
I'm actually thrilled by the restaurant choice. It shows he's not trying to buy me like a common whore. I might actually like this guy.
Part of me hopes he does something disastrous tonight to give me an excuse not to see him again. I can't date four men. It's too many, logistically. I can't spend my whole life doing nothing but dating.
And I don't really want to drop anyone. I could probably drop Jack, but even though he can be an arrogant prick, I'm not sure if I'm ready to boot him out just yet—though he is the obvious choice for dismissal. A few months ago it would have been Soren, but he's been the perfect gentleman lately.
When I walk inside the restaurant, I spot Dayne at a small candlelit table at the back, but I allow the Maître D to walk me to the table. As we approach, Dayne stands. The Maître D pulls out my chair, and Dayne and I both sit.
I really love that. The standing thing. Part of why I meet men for the first date besides safety is to see if he'll stand when I approach. It's an old-fashioned gesture of respect, and I love chivalry. I love doors opened, checks paid, standing, that hand at the small of my back leading me into a crowded venue. All the things that so many women fight and claw to erase, I savor and enjoy. These things make me feel cherished, and since the roster started, I've dropped any man who doesn't do them. This is how I want to be treated, and a man is never going to get better than the first few dates.
“I love this restaurant,” I say.
He seems disappointed by this. “So you've been here?”
“Yes, but it was with girlfriends for lunch. Definitely not the same romantic atmosphere,” I say to reassure him that even though I know this place and love the food, he's the first man to bring me here. It really was a good restaurant choice.
