Sam

“OK, where to start? From the sound of things, I guess you aren’t on Tinder, then?” I ask.

“Oh sure, I’m on the Tinder all the time. I mean, just before you came over even, but, you know, for the sake of argument let’s pretend I’m not, shall we? What would we do then?” Ian asks followed with a deep laugh.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Black.”

“Let’s go with Ian. I liked the way you say it, and besides, Mr. Black is my father’s name.”

“Alright then, Ian—what do you do with yourself when Will’s not around? Maybe there’s an opportunity hiding in your everyday routine.”

Doubt sprawls across his face. “Not likely, my time is spent at the gym or on a job site and I can’t recall many opportunities presenting themselves in either scenario.”

“That can’t be all you do,” I say, as my thoughts linger on his delectable body in appreciation that those activities are all he does. “That’s it? Nothing else?” I ask.

“I occasionally treat the crew to a beer and a bite while I grab a steak at Flamingo’s, but I don’t see how that could be relevant.”

“Hmmm. That’s a little upscale from the nightlife at school but we can work with it. They have a bar, don’t they?”

“Yes, but I would hardly think of it as a bar scene,” he says in an attempted back pedal.

“Still though, it’s a place to start. We’ll go there tonight,” I say pleased with myself for seizing the opportunity.

“Wait? Us?” he asks with surprise.

“Sure, I’ll be your wingman. Besides, when was the last time you went on a date? I bet you could use a little practice, so… you’ll practice with me.” Try as I might, I can’t hide my smile as I speak the words and if the look on his face is any indicator, a similar dirty thought occurred to him as well. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. “I’ll be back at seven and we’ll go. Sound good, Ian?”

“Well darlin’, I don’t see how there’s any saying no to an offer like that,” he says.

The space between us is now electrified and—while the last thing I want to do is leave, I need to get home and find an outfit. Nothing too slutty, but his eyes need to be on me tonight and nothing else.

“Tonight is the night. Be sure to dress for success. You won’t let me down will you stud muffin?” I ask in a sultry voice before I close the door behind me.

Stuff muffin? Really Sam? Thank the lord he can’t see the deep reds covering my face as embarrassment consumes me whole.

* * *

Overall, that went better than expected. You have an opening, now how are you going to close? The question rolls in my mind as I search for the answer. I pull everything out of my bags in search of something perfect. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I will know it when I see it. Ian is no impetuous twenty-something so I expect his tastes to are too refined for tight little jean shorts accompanied by a tank and a sports bra, though that would be just fine for an evening at the Flying Saucer back at school.

The afternoon disappears outside my window while I make myself ready for the evening.

A peek at the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s six forty-five and panic wells up from my gut. A few last touches in front of the vanity and I’m off, heels in hand.

The timing works out perfectly. Dad pulls in the garage which throws Mom into overdrive, trying to set the table and have everything ready for a nice family meal. I feel a little bad about dissing them, but fortune favors the bold, as they say. “I’m heading out to catch up with some old friends. Don’t wait up. I might be late,” I say as the door latches closed.

Our garage door has just finished its descent as I scuttle from driveway to driveway. “Phew.” I love my parents, but the less they know about this the better. Besides, there’s really nothing to tell. At least not yet.

As I approach the safety of Ian’s front door, it opens before I can reach for the bell.

“Please, come in. Wow. Well, I don’t know what you think a wingman’s responsibilities are, but the way you wear that dress, I may end up being your wingman,” Ian says smiling.

I struggle for words while my eyes drink in the sight before me. He’s wearing a black, button down collared shirt with the top three buttons undone, with a patch of his chest hair open to the night. His sleeves are rolled up to just below his elbows and the bottom is left untucked over his jeans. I don’t know if the jeans are designer, or just fit him exceptionally well, but they cover his ass and legs like they were sewn on around him. He’s shaved, sort of, with a clean neck, but a three or so day stubble of beard on his face. He looks so hot right now, I have zero interest in leaving the house.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, mister. I’m glad you took my advice.” I finally manage.

The space between us is rife with tension as if it hadn’t dissipated from earlier in the afternoon. The way his eyes caress my body as he looks me over, I have no interest in dinner and my patience is wearing thin. I’m ready to get down to business right now. Tear this damn rag off and take what is yours already.

“Shall we go?” I ask. “Or would you prefer to stay?”

Not taking my bait, Ian grabs his keys. “Let’s get this train wreck over with, shall we?”

“Train wreck, huh? You think I will be bad company or something?” I ask.

“Oh no, nothing like that, darlin’. Let’s just say my expectations for the evening extend no further than a good lobster tail and, of course, fine conversation with you. Anything more I can only anticipate going badly, given the literal decades since I last dated.”

“What will help put your nerves at ease?” I ask as I bring my finger to my pursed lips. “I’ve got it,” I say running my finger down his chiseled chest. “You sir, have my personal guarantee tonight will exceed your expectations. My. Personal. Guarantee.”

“That’s a bold stance Miss Rogers. How can you be so confident?” he asks in a slow, deep voice.

“Like I told you this afternoon, I have a plan.”