CHAPTER TWO

 

FINN

I’m sitting across from a woman, eating dinner, like I do this shit all the time. Honest truth is, I can’t remember the last time I was out for the hell of it. Or with a woman who is supposed to be on a date, and is the kind to pre-plan an escape call. Considering her date, it was probably a smart move. Beside those few minutes where her attention was diverted to her friend while she explained she’d already been rescued from the particularly heinous date, she’s been great company. Damn, this chick is hot, too. And she’s tall for a girl.

I can’t decide whether I like that about her or not. Most of the women I meet come up to my belly button, which actually makes them the perfect height, when you think about it. I mean, her face is already in my crotch. All she has to do is open her mouth.

I don’t mean to think about her in that position, but my brain’s wired that way. It’s a male thing. We meet a woman we’re attracted to, who is sexy as fuck, and of course we’re going to run the gauntlet of sexual positions we’d like to see her in.

I shift in my seat. I’m not green, and I’m not going to get wood over some stranger while she cuts into her steak and tells me about her job, but that doesn’t mean I’m not uncomfortably turned on by her.

She’s passionate about her career, from the way she goes on and on about it. But hell, I asked, and her voice is sweet. Like the girl who calls into the radio show I host. The one where my alter ego says things most men think, but would never have the balls to say out loud. Stalker Girl, that’s what I call her whenever she phones in, which is at least once a week these days. I’d gotten that same funny little prickle up the back of my neck when Penny had first spoken as I do from my mysterious caller. Which is probably why I decided one night out with a beautiful woman isn’t the end of the world.

There’s a whole lot of life in how she talks, too; her facial expressions, and the way she moves her hands while describing what she does. I bet she’d be the same on my cock. Loud, passionate, and handsy.

I happen to think she’s quite fucking entertaining, so I lean an elbow on the table and watch her. It’s better than her asking questions about me.

What do I do?

I’m a fucking relationship expert, if you will. I tell people, mostly women, how they’re screwing up their sex lives, and consequently, any chances of being happy with the opposite gender. I go a bit nuts on the air, but it makes people talk. Men, women, when provoked, all seem to open up in a way they wouldn’t in polite company. I do pick up a lot of backlash for my unconventional methods, though, which is why I have no interest in discussing myself with her, or anyone lately.

Not even my brothers, who would probably think the whole situation is funny as shit. Yeah, well they don’t have people abusing them every damn day so they can make a few extra dollars. But whatever, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I prefer to keep to myself anyway.

Penny puts her knife and fork down on her plate, and dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “So should we split the bill?”

What kind of jackass makes the woman pay for her meal? Sure, this isn’t a real date, and maybe if she was my sister Louise, or a friend, I’d roll with it, but as much as women have emaciated chivalry, only little boys who still receive pocket money from their mommas can’t afford to suck up the cost of one meal for a gorgeous dinner companion. I pull out my wallet and signal the server. “I’ve got this covered. It’s the least I can do after you’ve kept me company.”

“But you rescued me from Sam Douchebag.” She discards the napkin on the table and reaches for her wineglass.

Did she make that jerk’s last name Douchebag? That makes me chuckle. She’s been nothing but polite and sweet since we started talking, but there’s a glitter to her hazel eyes, and the way she puts down her argument is impressive. Like Stalker Girl.

But no, it can’t be her. What are the chances that the woman who gets me hot under the collar on air is now sitting across the table from me? It’s ridiculous to even compare the two. My not so friendly caller knows how to use words this woman probably can’t even form with her lips. I hand over my card when the server brings the bill. “Tell you what, if you feel that strongly about it, you can treat next time.”

“Next time?” She freezes for a second, and so do I.

Ah shit, I suggested this wasn’t a onetime thing. Yeah, she’s gorgeous, and entertaining, and I’d like her to ride me into the sunset, but I’m not proposing we spend more time together, or go on an actual date. Because I don’t do that shit. Haven’t in years. Women are a pain in the ass I’d rather not have to deal with, always whining or expecting something unrealistic. “Yeah, the next time you need rescuing from a bad date and need me to catch you.”

“Oh.” She stands at the same time I do. “Of course.”

Her voice is throwing me. That’s what it is. Sure her company’s enjoyable, but it shouldn’t be knocking me off my game. “Let me walk you to your car.”

She tilts her head in agreement, and we make our way outside. It’s a little chilly, and her shoulders break out in goosebumps as we wander toward a red Mazda on the other side of the road. I sweep my hand over her skin without meaning to. Only a brush of my fingers over the skin that’s raised from the cold, but she’s warm to the touch.

She fiddles with her purse for a minute and pulls out her keys. The lights on her car blink a couple times while we stand next to it. When she turns to face me, she smiles demurely. “Well, thank you again. It turned out to be a nice evening.”

I stare down at her, zoning in on her eyes and mouth. I’ve watched her lips move so much tonight, and now they’re slightly parted and glisten as she moistens them. I clear my throat while I consider leaning in and kissing her, but I’m rusty as an old nail. The etiquette on a date that’s not a date with a woman who is obviously dating in the hopes of finding a relationship when that’s the last thing on my agenda is not something I’m certain of. But what if she is the girl who calls me? Because if it’s that girl then I want to know. The things I want to do to that woman have me gritting my teeth momentarily to keep my dick in line. “Can I take your number? Maybe we will do this again sometime.”

“Um, sure. Okay.” She takes my phone when I hand it to her and quickly types her name and number in, and that makes me less disappointed in myself for not kissing her while she gets in her car and pulls out onto the road.

Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I stride in the opposite direction as her taillights disappear into the distance. I’ve got a radio show to host. And women to piss off, hopefully one in particular. All in all, this evening’s only beginning to get to the enjoyable part.

 

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