The Dating Proposal(20)
She rubs her palms together. “You want me to hold other tools hostage?”
Yeah, like my dick.
Whoa, where did that come from?
Oh yeah. Maybe the filthy thoughts that keep jostling their way to the front of my brain.
“Sure, I have a wrench that’s been naughty. Maybe you can put it in its place?” I joke.
“I’m prepared to kidnap it if need be. But, in all seriousness, what do you have in mind?”
I’m flying blind here. I’ve no idea if she’ll be interested in my proposal, but I have a gut feeling she’d be awesome at it. Plus, Bruce went bananas for her videos and insisted I get her, so here I go. “Would you like to do a dating segment on my show?”
She freezes, mid-drink of water.
Her elbow doesn’t move. Her lips are parted. She stares at me as if I’m speaking backward, a record played in reverse.
She blinks and sets the glass down. “You want me to do a segment on your show? Me? A fashion gal? On your show on geek culture?”
This may be harder than I thought. But I go for it, making my case. “You’re a natural on camera. You’re funny and personable and chatty. And I thought it would be great if you came on to tackle some of the dating questions the guys send me. You already answered one at SassyAss, and it was brilliant.”
She laughs, a nervous undertone to it. “And because I nailed one answer at the coffee shop, you want me to answer more on Geeking Out?”
“We’re trying to reach more women, and even though the questions would be from guys, you have such a natural appeal to both men and women that I think it would help us expand our viewership.”
“But I’m not a dating expert,” she says, flustered. “I’m sort of the opposite.”
I need to make it clear that’s what I want. That’s her charm. “That’s perfect. You don’t have years of polished answers that a so-called relationship expert could give. You speak from the heart, and you’d be speaking from your experiences out there as you date again. You could talk about what went right and what went wrong on your dates, and answer questions.” I push past the gravel in my throat from thinking about her dating. It honestly shouldn’t bother me so much. I do my best to wrestle the tic of annoyance far out of sight. “Sort of like reporting from the front lines.”
“Dating is definitely the front lines,” she says, and it sounds like she’s considering my proposal, like I’m getting her close to the yes both Bruce and I want. “But, Chris, you really think I’d be an expert?”
I make an impassioned plea, locking my gaze on hers. “I don’t want a shrink or a Dear Abby. I want a real woman who's putting herself out there. Who speaks honestly and openly. I don’t want someone giving canned advice my viewers can find in any magazine or BuzzFeed piece. I want someone in the same situation my viewers are in. Dating again, figuring it out.”
She tucks one strand of hair behind one ear then another. “And it would be questions and sort of a ‘what works’ thing? Like what I’m doing now for my site with fashion, but more focused on advice to men?”
“Absolutely,” I say with enthusiasm, because I can feel her bending. “And, to be completely frank, you have an audience. I want you and your audience.”
“Greedy man,” she says as if she’s chiding me.
“I’ll give you my audience if you give me yours,” I say, dangling another carrot.
“Ooh, I love it when you talk business growth.” Her eyelashes flutter.
“I can talk business growth all day long.”
She lifts a brow. “You surf, you’re handy, you’re a video-game expert, you’re the Pied Piper of geeks, and you like business strategy. You’re too . . . fabulous.”
I straighten my shoulders, preening. “That’s me. Fabulous.”
“Seriously. How do you know all this stuff? Business and video games and fixing stuff?”
I tap my chest. “I was a double major. Business and software design.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Me too. Business and English.”
The waiter appears with our salads, sandwiches, fries, and sauces, asking if we want to know which ones he picked.
She shakes her head. “I’m all in when it comes to the sauce surprise.”
“It’s like Christmas morning.”
The waiter deposits the plates on the table then clasps his hands together, almost like he’s praying. “Now, can I get you anything else?”
She shakes her head, and I say no. After the waiter leaves, I point my thumb at him. “Is he the happiest person you have ever met?”
She whispers, “Clearly he’s eating all the ketchup.”
I waggle a fry in front of her. “C’mon, you know you want it too.”
She moves in closer and opens her lips, and damn, she has the sexiest mouth, with pink gloss and lips I want to kiss. But I’ll have to settle for feeding her a French fry.
She takes it and does an obscene eye roll that shoots electricity through my blood.
What the hell? I’m turned on by a woman eating a French fry.
Forget trust issues.
I have lust issues.
She moans as she chews, places a hand on her chest, flutters her eyes closed, and finishes the fry in the most sensual way any person in history has ever finished a French fry.