I can’t believe I agreed to date Matt Haywood. Why would I do that? I can’t come up with a good explanation. Worse, it’s my own damn fault. I can’t back down or fall through now. That’s even more intimidating than admitting a tiny piece of me is scared shitless to go out with that beast of a man.
Dread, along with a little self-loathing, fill my mind during my Monday commute. The train ride unusually angst-inspiring as I make my way uptown. Our investors are flying in from LA for a presentation on Project X this afternoon and dinner afterward, and there’s the sliver of fear that they won’t be satisfied with my work. I’ve poured so much of myself into this game over the past year—from conception to development—and I can only assume it’s the closest I’ll ever identify with parenthood. I’m so damn proud of my video game baby and I want others to acknowledge it’s perfect and wonderful, too.
My heeled boots click against the marble floor of our building, and I strip off my wool coat as the heat inside instantly kills the crisp cold from outdoors. Since the investors are in town, we all have to dress corporate casual this week. I don’t mind since it’s not an everyday thing. I look damn good in this outfit and these heels have magical powers. In them I feel fierce, and it helps that they add a good four inches to my stature.
It’s always entertaining to see who forgets or didn’t read their reminder email and shows up clad in faded denim. Jared and I actually have a running bet, and in my eight years with the company my record’s twelve for nineteen. If the new intern, Aarav, comes in wearing a pair of jeans and one of his ironic tees I’ll add another point to my bragging rights.
Straightening my pencil skirt in the elevator, I check to make sure none of the buttons are open on my blouse before I step off at the twelfth floor. I’ve almost forgotten about my stupidity from last night—almost—and decide to put the entire dating-my-hot-trainer-thing behind me for the rest of the day so I’ll stay focused. I’ve worked so long for this, a culmination of so many different puzzle pieces, and nothing can ruin it for me. Not even an overly attractive and infuriatingly nice man with an almost shared twisted sense of humor. Nope.
Starting up my computer, I check my email and go through my to-do list for the day.
“Hi, Mia. Ready to play with the big boys?” Nick stands at the opening of my cubicle. Nick the dick. Of course, he chooses now to stop by and chat. As if I need another reminder as to why dating is horrible for my health.
“Hey, Nick.” Go away, I have shit to do. Do I have to physically kick you in the nuts to get you to stay away? What did I ever see in you? All of these questions race through my mind and are suited to my feelings, but instead I go with something more socially acceptable. “What do you need?”
“I saw you come in. Thought maybe you’d like to grab a cup of coffee in the break room. You look . . . really good.”
I was expecting a “When can we go over the budget,” or even “How was your weekend?” Instead, he’s so out of left field my mind has trouble processing, and for once I’m at a loss for words. “Uh . . .”
He blows out a deep breath, straightens the frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and eyes me appreciatively. His lips tick up at the edges with his boyish smile. “I’m not gonna lie, in all my preteen Lois Lane days I never even imagined her as hot as you.”
Okay, we’re done. “Nick. There’s this thing called sexual harassment in the workplace. Don’t make me take a walk to HR.”
“God, it’s only a compliment.” His smile fades and he shakes his head as if I’m the one with a problem. “You used to appreciate things like that.”
Forcing my lips into a wide smile, I hold his stare. “Yeah, well, that was before I met your girlfriend. How’s she doing, by the way?”
His gaze drops to the industrial carpet and he kicks at it with the toe of his shiny leather shoes. “We . . . uh . . . broke up, actually.”
“Ah.” That actually explains a lot, but nothing I’m interested in exploring further. “Okay. Well, then, I should . . .” I turn to go back to my computer but he cuts me off, stepping inside my workspace and holding my swivel chair motionless with one hand.
“Nick?” It’s sort of alarming how he’s staring at me. As if he’s going to try to kiss me or something. I flip through the different ways I can push him off of me if he does.
“Mia, I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Not expecting that.
“I care about you. I never meant to screw things up between us. I never meant for that to happen. But you’re so fucking perfect, and those tequila shooters didn’t help. I couldn’t stop what was happening between us and I realize now that I should have. Please tell me I still have a shot with you.”
A shot? What kind of crack did he smoke this morning? “You have a better chance of scoring a goal with your World Cup Soccer pinball machine. Nick, I don’t do cheaters.”
“I would never—”
“No. You would, ’cause you did already. With me. I don’t want to hear how I’m different or how you’ve learned your lesson. Save your breath. And please remove yourself from my office before I shove the heel of my shoe into your khaki pants.”
His doe eyes harden with my words and he steps back until he’s out of kicking reach. “Okay. Sure. I’ll go.” But he doesn’t. He stands there holding my stare as if he’s waiting for me to change my mind. I didn’t think he could be more of a dick, but I was wrong. “I think you’re making a big mistake,” he finally says.
“Bye, Nick!” I shout a little too loudly, and he glares before turning on his heel. He stomps toward his office, and I can’t help but add a little extra to insure he doesn’t decide to come back. “Be sure to use the cream or the itching only gets worse!” It’s immature, sure, but it brings me a sick sort of satisfaction when he drops his chin and scurries the rest of the distance before shutting his door with a slam.
Not thirty seconds pass before Jared’s at the entrance of my workspace, his hands on each side of the flimsy walls and blocking my escape. Gossip queen. I’m sure he was too busy listening through our shared wall to come save me. “So, Nick . . .”
“Total fucking dick,” I growl and shake my head.
“He was right about one thing.” Jared’s eyes light with mischief and he steps over to my desk, leaning his hip against the top. “You’re rocking that outfit. Meow. Well done, Kitten. I wish I were straight so I could properly appreciate the conservative sexuality. Total nerd babe.”
When I don’t smile or laugh he pouts and pokes the tip of my nose with his finger, “What’s with the sour puss?”
I lean back into my chair, completely frustrated with myself. It’s not all Nick’s fault. He didn’t help, but it’s still the stupid bet with Matt. I exhale a harsh breath and groan before admitting what I know will only inflate Jared’s ego. “You were right . . .”
He beams. “Of course I was. Remind me about what this time?”
“Me and Matt.”
His eyebrows shoot up and he bugs his eyes. “Oh, my God! You little vixen!” He practically dances with glee but when I shoot him another glare he stops, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Please tell me it was good. It was really good, wasn’t it? God! Of course he was. The man must be hung like a horse—”
“Jared!” I pop up out of my chair but he’s not even sorry.
“What? It’s not illogical. He’s a big guy and so—” Jared’s eyes widen again.
I hold my hands out because as entertaining as this is, there’s a more pressing matter at hand. “Jared, please! Pull yourself away from his dick. I’ve got bigger problems.”
“Burn.” One of the programmer’s from across the open hallway snickers as he passes by with his coffee in hand.
“Stop eavesdropping like a little girl, Larry!” Jared shouts before turning back to me with eager eyes. “Tell me what you did . . .”
“I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Of course that’s what he’s thinking.
Jared pats my shoulder and squeezes me to his side. “Aww, Kitten. Don’t feel bad. Not every guy goes for the . . . black heart and stay-the-fuck-away vibe.”
I pull out of his reach, my hands on my hips. “No! Would you shut up and listen. That’s not my problem. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we were having dinner. Discussing his website. Then, bam! I bet him he couldn’t last four dates with me and he took the bet.”
Jared’s smile doesn’t dim, if anything it only transforms into a know-it-all smirk. “Well, yeah, he’d be a fool not to.”
He’s missing the point. I shake my head and throw up my hands. “I didn’t want him to take the bet! I was saying ridiculous things because he told me he never makes bets.”
“Never say never. Good God, Biebs was onto something.” Jared sighs.
“Jared! This is no laughing matter. What do I do?”
He tilts his head and takes in my harried state with actual concern before he grips both of my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “You go on those damn dates, Kitten. You go on those dates and get yourself some meathead lovin’.”
“He wasn’t supposed to say yes!” I’ve already covered it, yes, but that’s where I’m stuck.
Jared doesn’t seem to share the same outrage because once again his lips upturn with that sly smile. “He tricked you.”
I shake my head; that’s not it. “No. He didn’t. If anything, I tricked him and that’s what makes this entire ordeal more annoying. If I hadn’t been so adamant about the stupid bet, I wouldn’t be going on four dates.” Why am I so damn stubborn? Probably goes back to when my mother made me eat vegetables before anything else on my plate. I went three days without eating before she caved.
“He tricked you,” Jared says again.
“That’s impossible! How could he?”
“I don’t know, Kitten, it’s pretty obvious to me. You were training with him all week, I’m sure he noticed how . . . obstinate you are.” Again with the damn smile, and that’s when it hits me. Jared’s so fucking right.
“Damn it! He tricked me!” I fall back into my chair, my hands covering my face from the reality of it all.
“That’s what I’ve . . . never mind. This is good, Mia! You can finally break your dry spell!” Jared claps as if I’ve won a Grammy.
I stare at him until it probably begins to burn.
“What?” He shuffles a few inches away.
“Matt is not breaking my dry spell. We’re going on four dates. That’s it. I already informed him sex was off the table.”
“And he agreed?” Jared’s eyes widen and his jaw drops.
“What? It’s too unbelievable he’d want to spend time with me for my stunning personality and exceptional wit?” At this I want to giggle, but it’s kinda fun to watch Jared squirm so I hold my bitchy glare in place.
“No. Yes. Whatever.” He shoos me with one hand. “I love hanging out with you and never once wanted to get freaky in the sheets.”
Right. Because Jared bats for the other team. But Matt . . . Matt would look fine as hell in bed. That well trained body leaves very little to the imagination. The stamina from long workouts would transfer to the bedroom, wouldn’t it? Then there’s the way he’s so authoritative when he’s in charge. I can practically hear the deep timbre of his voice instructing me what to do. “Oh, my God . . .” Groaning, I drop my face into my hands, this time to clear the naughty images from my mind.
“What am I going to do? I can’t back down. Not with the cocky smirk he’d flash knowing I was being downright chicken. And dating him? How’s that gonna go? We get along great, but that’s because there’re no expectations. We both know it goes nowhere. If he starts to get ideas . . . like, I can’t handle it. Not with Matt.”
“Jesus. You’re worse than women who start a Pinterest board for the wedding after the first date, only in reverse. He doesn’t want a relationship with you; he probably wanted to call your bluff. So, don’t fold. I’m sure you’ll have fun together, though I don’t know how you’ll keep your hands off of him. Or why you’d want to.”
“No. I don’t.” The words pop out extra sassy.
Jared chuckles. “Just say it. I think you want to.”
“What?”
“I give the best advice ever. You’re welcome. Now get back to work before Stanton sees the long break you’re taking! Especially with the partners in town!”
“You were the one—”
“You’re welcome. I know, I couldn’t live without me either.” He winks and turns to leave.
“Delusional,” I mutter.
“What was that?” His head snaps back to raise his brows.
“Superstar. That’s what you are,” I grind between a forced smile.
“Madonna. Nice. Break for lunch at eleven?”
I nod because really, did he even need to ask? We’re best friends and sure, we give each other a hard time, but I couldn’t survive without Jared’s advice and insight, even if I do the opposite of most of it. Twisting back to my computer screen, I wonder if he’s right. Could Matt have known I’d make a bet like that? No way. I’m not that easy to read. The real me, the one very few ever see, is guarded safely behind a good ten different levels of carefully designed defenses. Hell, most men never make it over the first firewall before I install a new virus protection and swear off relationships for another year.
Some women are really good at being a girlfriend. When they care about the man they’re dating, they go out of their way to show him. Cook him his favorite meal. Hand over the remote so he can watch his show. Yeah, I’m so not that girl. I don’t like modifying my choices for anyone, especially a man. If that makes me selfish or undeserving of a boyfriend, I’m totally okay with it.
But this bet with Matt is different. I’m not going out with him because I want to. Hell, he didn’t even ask me, I asked him—even though I thought he’d say no. Shit. This entire thing is stupid and I don’t know why, but it has my stomach twisted in little knots. Probably because it’s like a science project that leads to the worst possible conclusion of all.
That must be it. Because I like Matt. Not in a mushy way, but in a you’re-actually-not-the-douchebag-I-assumed-you-were kind of way. And I didn’t expect to enjoy learning self-defense but it’s something I now look forward to, including the ride home on the back of his bike. I don’t want to ruin that, but I’m certain after spending more time with him outside of the gym, I won’t enjoy his company anymore. It’s more probable he’ll really begin to grate on my nerves and I’ll have to give up our training altogether.
My phone buzzes from the top of my desk and I glance over to see a message from him.
Matt: Doing research. Date #1 is in the works. Hope you’re ready.
A grin takes over my face and if anyone were around to see I’d have to mask it. Since they aren’t I pick up my phone and indulge in an answer back.
Mia: Good luck with that. Every date I’ve been on sucked monkey balls.
His answer comes almost immediately.
Matt: Ixnay on the monkey balls. Got it. Back to work I go.
I think about responding but I don’t know exactly what to say. Instead, I set the phone down and pull up my email so I can answer a few questions from my boss before breaking for lunch. Not a minute goes by before my phone buzzes again.
Matt: Training tomorrow night? 10?
Unlocking the screen, I tap out my response.
Mia: Yes.
I almost suggest hitting a meal of food truck hotdogs on the way home and counting that as our first date, but then I don’t want him to think hotdogs are code for something dirty.
Matt: Good. Maybe I’ll give you a clue about our first date. I know it’s all you can think about.
Shit. I roll my eyes because sure, it might be taking up a lot of mental space at the moment but not for the reason he’s implying. Knowing he’s joking anyway, I get the last words in with my reply text and slide my cell inside the desk drawer so I’m not tempted to check it again.
Mia: You wish.
A little reminder so he doesn’t forget exactly what this is—a bet and nothing more.