Player(30)

“Then that’s what you should order.”

“But won’t a guy be grossed out by me stuffing my face with meat?”

A slow smile crept onto his face. “Absolutely not. All any man wants is to watch a girl stuff her face with meat. Besides,” he said, looking back at his menu, “there’s no polite way to eat a salad. I’ve seen enough girls pick at a salad over dinner to know.”

I laughed. “I never thought of it that way. There really isn’t a way to eat it aside from shoveling lettuce in your mouth like hay.”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Get the steak.”

“Done.” I closed my menu and set it on the table. “So, where should we start?”

Sam met my eyes and laid his menu on top of mine. “Well, the first thing you need to figure out is, what do you want? What are you looking for long-term and short-term? A relationship? Love? Sex? Nothing? You won’t always know until you’re sitting across from them.”

“Well, I don’t know if I ever want to date anyone just for sex.”

“You say that now. But what if you were at dinner with a great-looking guy, total charmer, loads of chemistry. Only problem is, he’s dumb as a bag of hair. You’re attracted to him, but you don’t want to take him home to meet your mom.”

I nodded. “Okay, I see your point. Why does it feel so much less…predatory for a woman to do that? When I think about you thinking some girl is too dumb to date, but you’d sleep with her, it makes me want to sit you down and get you to come to Jesus.”

He shrugged. “Because men are notorious predators. But this is another reason I tell women what they won’t get from me. They can take it or leave it. I don’t lead anyone on. You’ve got to know that plenty of guys aren’t like me though. Don’t believe their lines. Make them earn your trust.”

“Okay. So, figure out what I want.”

“But don’t settle. Just because a guy buys you a steak doesn’t mean you owe him anything.”

“Or I could just buy my own steak.”

“Or that. If lesson one and two were a success, you’d have found yourself a date, which is a crucial part of the whole dating thing. So, what kind of guy makes it into this chair? What kind of guy are you looking for?”

“Well,” I said, unrolling my silverware to give myself something to do with my hands, “he’d have to be funny, smart. I don’t think I could date anyone who didn’t have a good sense of humor. He should be passionate about something.”

“Anything?”

“Sure. Music. Movies. Magic.”

“I mean, who doesn’t love an illusionist?”

I laughed. “Depends. I can handle some sleight of hand, but if he’s pulling quarters out from behind my ear while we’re having sex, we might have a problem.”

He choked on his water, bursting out laughing once he swallowed. “I imagined him pulling a quarter from somewhere else.”

“So did I. I just didn’t want to say vagina at the dinner table.”

“What else?” he said on a laugh.

God, he was handsome, his suit dark and tie to match, his shirt crisp and white. His black hair was pushed back from his face, those finger ruts deep and inviting. And his eyes, golden and glinting with amusement and something else, something I couldn’t place and wanted to badly.

Did he even know? Did he notice the girl from the table next to us had dropped her napkin no less than three times next to his chair to try to get his attention? Did he feel their eyes on him, sense that they wanted him to look, to see them, or if nothing else, to see him?

Did he know, or did he just not care?

“Well,” I said, turning back to his question, “it would be nice if he liked to dance since now I know how much I love that. Someone understanding of my schedule and life. I’d barely ever see a guy with a nine-to-five. Someone who wanted me just for me, who loved me for exactly who I am without wanting to change a thing. So basically, a unicorn. Or a jackalope.”

His brow quirked. “A what?”

“A jackalope. You know, a jackrabbit with antlers?”

Sam blinked at me. “A…what?”

I laughed. “The unicorn of the American South. Mythical creature found in folklore. Taxidermists’ paradise? Breeds during lightning flashes? You catch one with whiskey, which is honestly my kind of animal.”

He still looked confused.

“No? Anyway, it’s not important. What I mean is that they’re not real, much like my expectations.”

“There are seven billion people in the world. I’m sure there’s a guy out there who fits the bill.”

The waiter appeared before I could argue.

“I’ll have the fourteen-ounce rib eye, mid-rare, with spinach, mushrooms, garlic butter, and caramelized onions. Oh! And could you bring me some olives on the side? And I’d like mashed potatoes and broccoli, please.”

He took my menu with a nod. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same.”

I smiled at Sam, shaking my head as the waiter read it back and headed off.

“Is this another practical application? Are you flattering me or trying to make me feel more comfortable by ordering the same?”