After he’d walked away, her eyes strayed to me again, and I offered her a small smile—a slight tilting of lips that seemed to relax her further because her shoulders dropped a bit lower and she sat back in her chair.
I let my eyes linger on her for a moment, taking in the way the blue-and-yellow dress showed off her figure without being too clingy, how her dark hair was tucked adorably behind her ear on one side, appreciating the porcelain skin I had mapped with my fingers and the bow of her lips that I had outlined with my tongue.
Catching myself staring, I ducked my head and picked up my pencil, bringing the point to paper and losing myself in the task of drawing before I lost myself in something much deeper. Something scarier. Something better off stopped before it had a chance to start.
Chapter Sixteen
ISLA
I couldn’t help shooting another glance at Gray while I waited for Hunter to return with my iced coffee. His hand was flying over his sketchbook, as if he were desperate to get his vision out of his mind and onto the paper. He looked good like that, all engrossed in his art, the tip of his tongue poking ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. It was cute.
Hunter set my drink in front of me before claiming the seat across from me. The thought struck me that we weren’t in the best position for Gray to capture the moment, but with the way he was drawing, he didn’t seem to be hampered. Besides, this date wasn’t about Gray’s drawing. It was about getting to know Hunter, the sexy-as-sin man who was looking at me intently.
As if with a synchronized revelation, we both realized this date needed actual words to be exchanged. Well, at least ones beyond “hello” and “what can I get you to drink?”
“So, do you come here often?” he asked. He immediately followed his own question with a shake of his head and a self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t believe I asked that again.”
I laughed politely and said, “It’s fine. And yes, I do come here fairly often.” Leaving it at that in case he was an ax murderer who I didn’t want to know the neighborhood I lived in, I tried to change the subject. “What do you do? For a living, I mean, not in general. Though I guess that’s obvious. People only ask that question when they want to know what your job is. Oh, but I’d like to know what you do in general too. I’d also like to stop rambling incessantly.”
He smiled broadly and settled his forearms on the table so that they cocooned the cup. “I’m a sports marketing executive with a firm downtown.”
“I…have no idea what that is.” I smiled to offset my cluelessness.
“Basically, we put businesses in contact with major sporting events and personalities. So if you’re trying to plan a large-scale event and want a professional athlete there to support your brand and help gain media traction, we help make that happen.”
That actually sounded fairly interesting, but saying so seemed trite. “You must get into all the cool parties,” is what I said instead, which sounded cornier in reality than it had in my head.
Thankfully he just laughed. “I’ve been to my fair share. What about you?”
“I rarely go to parties.”
He laughed again, and my face heated as I realized he’d been asking what I did for a living. I smiled in hopes of playing my idiocy off. “I’m an attorney specializing in family law.”
Leaning forward, he propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “I bet that’s a tough field to be in.”
His tone was sincere, but I still found myself holding back a little. It was the first date. There was no need to go into just how emotionally draining my job could be.
“It has its ups and downs.”
From there, our conversation moved into more mundane things: TV and music preferences, hobbies, interests, the usual. Not that I was an expert in “the usual.” This was the first date I’d had that got this far.
I glanced down at my watch and realized we’d been talking for over an hour. It felt like time had flown, but I was also drained. Holding up my end of a getting-to-know-you conversation was exhausting, and I was powering down. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed talking to him.
I could sense a potential spark of…something between us. He was articulate, funny, intelligent, and kind. Not to mention handsome as hell. Yes, Hunter was definitely someone I’d like to see more of. Later. For now, I needed to decompress.
“This has been fun,” I said with a wide smile I hoped made it clear I wasn’t blowing him off.
“It has,” he said, returning my smile.
Since he’d been the one to approach me about going out, I figured I could at least do my part. “Would you like to do it again sometime?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We made plans to go to dinner Friday night at a nearby seafood restaurant. He offered to pick me up, but since I’d likely be coming from the office, it made more sense to meet him there. Like the gentleman he was, he offered to walk me home, which I declined, telling him I’d get an Uber. He did walk me out to the sidewalk, though. Unfortunately, this resulted in us staring awkwardly at each other.
We both laughed as we looked at each other, and that seemed to break whatever strangeness had crept between us. He leaned in to hug me, and I took full advantage of the opportunity to feel the firm muscles beneath his clothes. When we pulled apart, he asked if I was sure I didn’t want him to wait for my ride to show. Since I wasn’t really leaving, I definitely didn’t want him to do that.
“No. I’m actually going to run back in and use the restroom. I’ll wait inside for the Uber if that makes you feel better.”
Nodding, he said, “It does.” He gave me a sweet smile before continuing. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Definitely.”
I watched him start down the street before I made my way back inside the Bean. But instead of heading to the bathroom, I veered toward Gray’s table and plopped down across from him.
He was drawing and didn’t look up at me, but asked, “How’d it go?”
“Good. He’s really nice.”
“That’s good.” He sounded distracted, which made an ache lance down my sternum. Maybe it was selfish, but I was used to having all Gray’s attention. It made me feel…icky not to have it.
“Whatcha drawing?” I asked, trying to peer at the picture.
He sat back quickly and flipped the book closed. “Just doodling.”
When he moved to put the sketchpad back in his bag, I said, “Wait. You’re not going to let me see it?”
“See what?”
“Tonight’s drawing. Didn’t you do one?”
He looked almost sheepish, which was a new look for him. “I didn’t draw this one.”
“Why not?” Wasn’t that why he’d come? I mean, I was glad he’d been here. It was like having moral support with me. But he was supposed to get something out of these dates too. Why else would he want to sit in a coffee shop for over an hour?
He shrugged. “It just…felt wrong. I could tell this date was different from the others. I didn’t want to objectify it.”
I sat back in my chair, thrown a little off-kilter by what Gray had said. “It was different. It felt different. Like this one could actually go somewhere. But you still could’ve drawn it. That was the deal.” I said the last part with a smile, but he didn’t return it.
“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
His whole demeanor was off, and it was making my stomach feel queasy. I desperately wanted to get us onto more familiar ground.
“So what are you up to now?” It was only eight o’clock. And while I had work I could be doing, nothing was pressing. Hanging out with Gray was the more appealing option.
“Nothing. Probably just going home to watch some TV.”
“Want company?”
I expected the quick acquiescence I always got, but instead, he hesitated. If my time with Hunter seemed to fly, those next few seconds with Gray nearly ground to a halt.
He looked i
ntently at me, as if trying to read me only to find out I wasn’t written in his language. But eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for because his body relaxed.
“Yeah. Of course. We’re about two episodes behind on Top Chef.”
“Sara is totally taking it this season.”
“No way. Eric has it locked.”
“Keep dreaming.” I stood as he grabbed his satchel. We walked out into the night and back to his apartment where we watched Top Chef and made a bet to see who could better create one of the winning dishes this season. It was the perfect end to a pretty great night.
Chapter Seventeen
ISLA
We were on our second drink each—me, white sangria with cucumbers, and Hunter, some red wine I’d never heard of.
“Are you some sort of wine connoisseur?” I spun the ice with my straw, a nervous tic I’d evidently just developed for no apparent reason. Where the hell is Gray? When I’d expressed my apprehension about going on a real date and pleaded with him to go, he’d promised me I wouldn’t be in this alone—that he would come to the restaurant too. I wasn’t exactly sure why that made me feel better, having him here, but I couldn’t deny that it did.
“A connoisseur?” Hunter laughed one of those low, delicate laughs that I’d come to look forward to when we talked on the phone, mainly because I could picture the smile that went along with it—a straight row of bright white teeth, dimples bracketing his dark pink lips. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself that.”
“I would. I don’t drink anything I can’t pronounce.”
“My grandparents had a wine cellar. I remember going down there as a kid because it was colder in the summer. I used to wander around the bottles, pull some out, and pretend I was old enough to drink them.”
“Did you ever do it?” I leaned in, my eyes alight with the image of a young Hunter guzzling illicit substances in his grandparents’ basement.
“Nah.” He sounded as disappointed as I probably looked. I’d been looking forward to a good story. “What about you? You ever do anything wild as a kid?”
“Guess it depends how you define wild.” I hadn’t exactly been reckless as a child, and I certainly matured exponentially after my parents’ deaths, but there were times I remembered breaking the rules.
He shrugged, his smile beaming as he waited for me to answer. “Craziest thing you’ve ever done.”
“I stole a pack of condoms from a CVS in sixth grade.”
His eyebrows raised, he let out an “Okayyy.”
Gray really needs to get here. Who the hell tells their hot-as-hell date who’s also totally normal that she pilfered prophylactics in middle school?
“It’s not how it sounds,” I spit out, but there was no real denying that it was exactly how it sounded. “We’d just learned about sex in health class, and my friend Kate and I were too embarrassed to ask the teacher what a condom looked like. She’d said something about it stopping the spread of AIDS and other STDs, but I couldn’t understand how.”
I continued, but it was like my brain was no longer in charge of deciding what words were coming out of my mouth, like the first time I realized what I was saying was when I heard myself speak rather than when I composed the thought. I heard myself say something about condoms looking like donuts in my mind and being surprised when I found out that wasn’t the truth.
Hunter’s mouth stayed agape for much of my verbal purge, but it did nothing to stop my rambling. A few more comments about Kate blowing up the condom to see how big of a penis could fit in there, and I was officially finished with my story. And probably also finished with my chances with Hunter.
“Wow.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, though he ended up in almost the same position by the time he settled. Somehow, I’d managed to make both of us completely uncomfortable in a matter of a minute or so. “That’s…definitely wild. Did you ever get caught?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Kate and I were the only ones who knew about it. Well, until now, that is.”
“I feel special,” he said, looking more relaxed than he had a moment ago. Hunter was picking at the crab dip when I noticed Gray sitting at a table near the bar. He gave me a nod and took a sip of his beer.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course,” Hunter said, standing slightly when I did.
I practically ran toward the bar and the restrooms on the other side of them. With the urgency with which I excused myself, Hunter probably thought I had stomach trouble. When I was safely out of Hunter’s sight, I texted Gray. About thirty seconds later, he appeared beside me.
“Where the hell have you been? I was just over there talking about AIDS.”
“Wait, like the disease?”
“Yes!”
He brought a hand up to his mouth to disguise his chuckle, but I saw it anyway. And truthfully, there was no point in hiding it. I deserved to be laughed at.
“Why were you talking about AIDS?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. He asked what crazy things I’ve done, and I told him how my friend and I stole condoms in middle school, and…” I threw my arms up, and he returned my frustration with that cute grin he always gave me—a combination of amusement, I think, and something I couldn’t quite identify. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Okay, okay. Well, for starters, do not talk about sexually transmitted diseases anymore. He may start to think you have one.”
I let out a noise that sounded like a disgruntled toddler about to throw a tantrum. “What else?”
“Do you know about any of his hobbies or anything?”
My brain was spinning, but I remembered him saying he liked sports. “Sports, I think. He watches it and plays for some local football league or something. And he does something with sports marketing.”
“Okay, good. Go back and ask him how his team’s doing.”
“Got it. Okay.” Before returning to the table, I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself. “Wish me luck.”
“I wish I could say you don’t need it.”
“I wish you could too.” I wasn’t sure why I did it—habit maybe?—but I gave Gray a quick kiss on his cheek before heading back to Hunter.
Our entrees were sitting on the table when I slid into the booth. “Looks delicious,” I said. And then, “You could’ve started eating so it doesn’t get cold.”
He eyed his plate of sushi and then we both laughed.
“I swear I’m usually not this…dense or weird or…” I wasn’t even sure what to call it.
“I believe you. You’re a lawyer. I’m sure you’re extremely intelligent.”
“Extremely might be an exaggeration.”
“Self-deprecating?”
My response was a genuine smile before I stabbed a piece of our shrimp appetizer and put it into my mouth. I’d already forgotten what Gray had said I should talk to Hunter about, which only confirmed my hypothesis that me on a date was about as effective as a turtle trying to win a race.
We talked about our plans for the next few weekends. He had his nephew’s baptism and a golf outing coming up, and I had virtually nothing worth mentioning—mainly since it probably included hanging out with Gray. But the mention of golf reminded me of sports, which reminded me of what I was supposed to be talking about.
“So how’s your football league going?”
He looked confused for a moment before he responded with, “Oh, that doesn’t start again until the end of August.”
“Oh. I thought you said you had a game recently.”
“We did. It was the championship game, but we lost.”
Fucking Grayson. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, and then the two of us sat in silence while we ate.
“Good,” Hunter said, pointing to his sushi. He hadn’t bothered to finish chewing, but somehow his comment didn’t come out as impolite. “You want to try some?”
I definitely did not want to try some, becau
se the idea of eating raw fish was about as appealing as licking a stranger’s sock after a midday run, but again my mouth answered before my brain could formulate its reply.
“Sure.”
I watched as Hunter cut a bite of the seaweed, rice, and fish combination and then brought it to my mouth. I could do this. I’d pretend it was medicine or a shot of cheap tequila and down it before my tongue could evaluate the flavors. Then I’d chase it with my sangria and hope for the best.
The moment it touched my tongue, I almost gagged, but somehow I managed to force it down. It wasn’t the worst thing I’d tasted, but it wasn’t the best either. My sangria tasted better than ever. I wondered if I tried the sushi again if I could develop a taste for it.
Sushi always seemed so sexy to me. It could only be enjoyed by the cultured and well-traveled, a culinary delicacy to be experienced by the few that could appreciate the finer things in life.
Of course I knew none of that was true, but I couldn’t help but feel that I was left out of some elite club of sushi-eating, world-traveling wine connoisseurs. Which was why I’d stayed in my wheelhouse and ordered sangria and some sort of chicken stir-fry dish. I found myself wondering what Gray had ordered, and though I didn’t know for sure that he wasn’t fond of sushi, something told me—or maybe I just blindly hoped—that he didn’t.
Hunter looked at me expectantly. “What do you think?”
“Spicy.” I could feel the heat as soon as I put it in my mouth, but it was gradually becoming more intense. I took another drink.
“The alcohol and water probably make it spicier,” Hunter said. “I should’ve warned you.”
Misadventures with a Sexpert Page 12
