Chapter Three
Mateo
She just looked away like she doesn’t give a fuck, and I want to climb out of this booth and drag her away to someplace private. What did Casey call her? Teague? Teague is beautiful, on the reserved side, intelligent, and her blue eyes are more honest than any I’ve looked into in a long damn time. I know this about her because it’s part of my job. Reading women. Knowing what’s going on in their heads. Anticipating their next move. Making them comfortable. Learning what turns them on and what turns them off. Letting them know that what they’re doing is taking them down the right road to Mr. Forever.
Not that I’m Mr. Forever.
Fuck no.
I’m the Dating Guy. The guy their fathers warned them about. But in my case I genuinely mean no harm. I love women. Almost as much as I love sports. But what matters here is that I’m performing a service. Teaching them the score so they can do casual or serious and not cast blame solely on the guy if things don’t work out.
We men are simple creatures. But women like to complicate the shit out of nothing and the hell out of something.
Listen up, ladies. The only place we want to be tangled with you is between the sheets. Out of bed, keep it simple, sincere, and sexy. Bonus points on that last one. If you think you’re sexy, trust me, we will, too. Confidence goes a long way to impressing a guy.
More on the reserved side like my girl Teague? No worries. A guy likes a challenge, too.
Her eyes flicker back to mine. Yeah, I’m still staring at her. Any girl who douses me with hot sauce, sounds flustered and sweeter than sin when she apologizes, then grabs my crotch and blushes the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen is a girl I want longer than ten minutes with.
Damn shame it seems she wants nothing to do with me.
“Seems” being the key word, because I know better. I know right now her cheeks feel warm, she’s got a quiver in the pit of her stomach, and she’s thinking about my hands all over her. I picked a drink that straddled the line of “fuck off” and “come home with me.” Because there’s more than one way to interpret the cocktail currently sliding down her throat and making me hard as I watch her swallow. I want her to think about having her hands on me, too.
The quieter ones need to know they can control the situation if they want to.
Teague’s friend says something, and once again she looks away.
I should do the same but can’t. She’s like a breath of fresh air when all I’ve been breathing is women marinating in perfume. Part of the job, I remind myself.
Have I mentioned I fucking love my job? I have to stay single (it’s in my contract) and spend Friday and Saturday nights either on a date or looking for one, and Monday mornings I give the single guy’s perspective on dating, love, and sex to millions of radio listeners. I’ve got two million Instagram followers. Close to the same on Twitter. And no one knows what I look like. They’ve seen parts of me—my abs are insane—but never my face.
The mystery is part of my appeal.
You might be thinking, what makes you the expert, Mateo? Let me tell you. I don’t mean to sound like an arrogant ass, but the truth is I’ve never had trouble getting a date or getting laid. I tick off all the right boxes: looks, sense of humor, intelligence, athletic ability, wealth, kindness. Yes, I’m kind. My mother would kick my ass—and she’s got one hell of a kick—if I weren’t. Just because I hit it and quit it doesn’t mean I don’t treat my date like she walks on water. And I never get with a girl who doesn’t know where I stand.
I’ve got degrees in business and psychology from UCLA to thank for increasing my intuition with the fairer sex. Intercourse is, after all, a transaction in which the goal is to bring the other person ultimate pleasure while also taking into consideration her feelings.
I received this excellent education on a full soccer scholarship. Smarts and I ran my ass off without a shirt on? You get the picture, right? Girls, girls, and more girls. Until I narrowed it down to one. Yep, I’ve been in love. But when I broke my leg in a collision on the field and my dreams of being a professional soccer player were taken from me my senior year, my girlfriend dumped me faster than you can say World Cup.
So you see, my qualifications for being the Dating Guy are pretty fucking stellar.
But how did I, Mateo Gallagher, end up as Bennett on the number one morning music station in Los Angeles? Funny story. I banged the station manager. She’d recently been left at the altar and was sitting at the bar in this very restaurant. No thanks to my mom, I kind of know a thing or two about brides, so I cheered her up. Onetime deal. That’s all I do. The next morning while I made her French toast, she told me the radio station was looking for a new hire to give a weekly relationship report.
Boom! I had a job. It’s not exactly my father’s idea of a job, but I’m fucking twenty-three years old. I can follow in his corporate footsteps later.
Maybe.
I respect the shit out of him, though, so when I took the radio gig and the station required I remain anonymous, I was relieved I’d have to keep it from my family. My anonymity also guarantees girls are honestly attracted to me, not the radio personality. Hence the name Bennett and a fake British accent.
“You smell so good,” the girl to my left purrs. She inches closer and turns her body so her tit brushes my arm.
Casey gave me a clean shirt to change into, but I still smell like hot sauce. Guess this chick likes things spicy.
Jesus Christ. Speaking of hot sauce, Teague is licking it off her fingers, and I have the insane thought that I should be the one doing that. I grab my beer, down a few gulps, and turn my attention to Elliot’s coworker. “Thanks,” I tell her.
Elliot smirks at me from across the booth. We’ve been best friends going on ten years, so I can read him, too. His expression is telling me I’ve got a sure thing tonight if I want it.
I’m not feeling it, but that doesn’t mean we still can’t have some fun. This is a celebration, after all. Elliot just landed a huge project for the consulting firm he works at, which means a raise and promotion are in his near future. I’m damn proud of him. The guy works sixty-hour weeks and deserves a good time tonight.
A waitress drops off some food and more drinks. The girl on my right asks me what I do. Philanthropy, I tell her. It’s the truth. My parents raised my younger sister Isabel and me to give back, so I volunteer pretty regularly. Usually when Izzy drags me to a shelter or fun run.
I’m nothing if not honest.
There’s one charity organization that’s all mine, though. When I had to give up soccer, it nearly destroyed me. I’ve been one with a soccer ball since before I could ride a bike, so the thought of not being around the sport hurt more than the break in my leg. As soon as I was up and strong enough to keep my injury to myself, I signed up to help coach soccer for underprivileged kids. The gig is part time, which temporarily has my dad off my back about coming to work with him.
Elliot is telling the table about his trip to New York last week and I’ve heard it, so my eyes wander back in Teague’s direction. She’s laughing at something her friend said, but it’s like she can sense my eyes on her, because her gaze meets mine while her mouth is still open. I can think of something else I’d like her to do with those sweet parted lips.
She quickly looks away as if she read my dirty thought. Which, come on, can’t be true given the wholesome nature pouring off her like honey.
It’s goddamn refreshing meeting a woman I can make blush from across the room.
We continue stealing glances for the next half hour, our eyes meeting and disappearing. When a guy slides into their booth and five minutes later has his arm around Teague, I’m not too proud to say I’m jealous.
I am surprised by her openness with him. Until it hits me: she knows him. I study the way they act with each other and decipher they’re only friends. At least for now. The way the guy is taking up too much of Teague’s personal space tells me he’d like to get between her legs.
Join the club.
And I mean that in the nicest, most respectable way.
I know how to please a woman, and nothing makes me happier than giving multiple Os. I’ve had a lot of practice since having my heart shattered eighteen months ago. The first girl I was with after my ex dumped me could barely walk after the night we spent together.
To say I was proud would be an understatement. I felt like Superman. And that morning I made the decision to spend my twenties not being tied down.
When the Dating Guy job came up, it was like fate.
“Mateo, you ready to head out?” Elliot says, signing off on the check and tucking his credit card back inside his wallet.
“Whenever you are.” We’re headed to Create on Hollywood Boulevard. Elliot likes to hang out on the club’s outdoor patio, and tonight is all about him and celebrating his accomplishment. The guy is a financial wiz.
Our small group files out of the booth, and lucky me, we’re headed in Teague’s direction. Perfect. I can tell her it’s been a pleasure.
Only I don’t get to speak first. Elliot does. “Hey, Harper,” he says to Teague’s friend. “You guys want to head out and join us?”
“Harper” looks from Elliot to Teague. Teague’s casually got both hands wrapped around a beer glass, and on her right hand at the base of her thumb is a small anchor tattoo.
The ink is a surprise.
I like surprises.
She gives Harper a shrug. Up to you. But the guy with them says, “Thanks, but I’ve got dibs on these two tonight.”
“Eww,” Harper says. “I’m your sister, not a prize. And neither is Teague.” She lifts her chin and looks at Elliot, both apologetic and appreciative. “It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, though, so thanks for the invite, but we’ll have to pass.”
“No problem,” Elliot says. “Have a good one.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
I linger, waiting for Teague to turn her pretty profile my way. When she finally does, I extend my arm across Harper’s brother. “I’m Mateo, by the way.”
Teague meets my offer with a firm handshake. “Teague.”
I hold on a couple of seconds longer than gentlemanly before slowly releasing her small hand. “It was a pleasure, Teague.”
“Really?” she asks, baffled.
“Really.” I smile, then turn my grin to Harper in a show of good-bye and walk away. As a rule, I always leave them wanting more.
Know the Score
April 10
This past weekend I met a girl who displayed her sexual interest like a 20 million-LED sign outside of Staples Center. Was I interested? Hell, yeah. But here’s the thing: come on to a guy with body language that screams you want to get physical right away and that’s most likely all you’re going to do. Don’t get me wrong, hookups are sexy, but is the bloke really into you? Nope. He’s only into introducing his dick to your hot pocket.
Tweak your approach and engage in conversation first, though, and our radar might pick up on the key ingredients necessary for a relationship that extends beyond one night. I’m talking about confidence, wit, respect, and team spirit. Those four things go both ways, but let’s focus on that last one. Dating is a lot like sports. There’s a learning curve, competition, wins and losses, hard work, and desire. Most importantly, it’s essential to work to your own strengths. Not as smooth as you’d like to be? Watch and learn. Feel like you’re off your game or you have no game? That’s bloody bullshit. Every one of you has got a personality, and the effort to figure it out is worth the risk of awkwardness. You’re never a loser until you quit trying. So whether you’re new to the dating world or experienced in the fine art of flirting, the meteoric task to meet someone special—and yes it is a gargantuan mission—is worth it. I haven’t scaled that mountain myself yet, preferring, as you all know, to play the field, but you hear me.
I know. Half of you are thinking, Bennett, you cad. If you aren’t in it to go all the way, why go at all? Let me circle back to my weekend. Forget Hot Pocket Girl, I also bumped into a BOFA. Breath of fresh air. I’m as dapper as they come, and she couldn’t have cared less. Yes, you could say she gravitated toward me, but the unexpected way she did it was what made us both take notice. She played it off, which, let me tell you, made her even more interesting. Her blush didn’t hurt, either. This girl needed no kick-start to being engaging, and she didn’t even know it. I fancied putting my anchor down for the entire night with her, but she had other plans.
That, my friends, is what keeps me going.