The Dating Proposal(29)

He laughs. “What? Just because I’m not wearing a pocket protector or a business suit?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised. I guess because you’re so laid back. You’re the video game guy; you’re hip. You don’t seem like a Stanford guy. You’re more Berkeley.”

“Despite them being our rivals, I’ll take it as a compliment. But it’s all true—I studied software design and business.”

“What’d you do after graduation?”

“I landed a job designing video games,” he says as the waitress brings us the quesadillas. Chris thanks her, and she leaves. “I did that for a few years and then decided I wanted to do my own thing. I started consulting, doing business strategy and whatnot for companies in the gaming space. I was asked to speak at conferences, then started video blogging, then the video blog turned into a TV show. And here we are now.”

I kick my foot back and forth under the table, enjoying his story. “And here we are now indeed.”

“And you, McKenna Bell?”

I tell him my story, that I grew up in Sherman Oaks, went to college at UCLA, spent a few years at the fashion brand Sandy Summers, then launched The Fashion Hound with Andy’s help. “Now I’m here, somehow giving dating advice on your show. Life is weird. And it’s all because a cat broke my hard drive.”

“I owe that cat a drink,” he says then takes a bite of quesadilla.

“I’ll let him know you’re game for a boys’ night out.” I take a bite of my own.

He smiles, then his face turns serious. “So, how did your second date go? Did the dude break down and cry, curl up in a fetal position, or ask you to change his diaper?”

“Eww!” I cringe, shrinking away. “That’s horrible.”

“If you think that’s horrible, consider yourself lucky. I’ve heard some hair-curling stories from the single mom who lives down the hall from me.”

“There was no diaper changing. That’s a hard pass,” I say, then fill him in on Dan Duran and his notion of a woman’s role in the home.

“I suppose it would be a bad idea, then, for me to tell you that if we dated, I’d expect you to cook all the meals and do all the cleaning?”

He’s so straight-faced as he says it that I grab my napkin, ball it up, and toss it at him. He catches it easily as I answer him, “And just for that, you’re in charge of all chores if we date.”

“Fine, I accept. But only if I get to pick the restaurants we go to.”

“You’re so controlling in our fake-dating world. Where would you take me?”

He stares up at the ceiling as if deep in thought, then his eyes meet mine. “Besides all the finest taquerias and coolest French fry establishments, I’d take you to karaoke and comedy clubs and arcades. But I’d also go shopping with you, if that was what you wanted. And I wouldn’t complain or sit on my phone the whole time. I’d dutifully check out every outfit, and I’d enjoy every second of it.”

The zip returns, and it’s multiplied. It’s quadrupled. It’s a supersonic burst of delight winging through me. “This is not fair. You’re making it too fun to fake-date you.”

“It would be fun,” he says, and the air goes quiet and still.

Is he testing the waters? Is he trying to say we should truly put ourselves out there? I don’t know that we’re going there, but I know I want to dip a toe in.

“It would be fun. It’s always been fun with you,” I say.

He smiles back at me, his sea-green eyes sparkling, reminding me of a secluded island cove. I don’t seem able to break the gaze, nor does he, and now it’s more intense, stealing my breath away. He looks at me as if he wants to know me, wants to see inside me.

It’s exhilarating, but so damn risky, so I tap the brakes. “The only issue with putting ourselves out there is that we work together.”

He nods, a bit solemnly. “It’s true. That makes everything risky.”

“And then there are those pesky trust issues. I know I sound like I’m making light of them, but they’re weighty.”

He nods. “Yeah, they can be. For both of us, I presume. Do you think you’ll always have your concerns?”

I shrug, a little sad. “I hope not. What about you?”

“I probably should let go of them, but I don’t have the time to focus on that right now. Work has to come first. Know what I mean?”

“I do.”

His hand slinks closer to me. “But if we dated, I’d try to. If we dated, I’d just want to have fun, since I know that’s what you want.”

Oh God. What I want now is him. I want him to shove that plate of swoon-worthy quesadillas aside and make me swoon, not just with words, but with his hands and tongue.

“That’s what I want. Just something light and easy,” I whisper.

“I could do light and easy, if we dated,” he says, scooting closer, his thigh now touching mine. I die from pleasure, every single molecule in my body turning liquid. I don’t want to ride the brakes any longer.

“I could do the same,” I say, and I’m aflame, lit bright from longing.

He gazes at me, his voice low and husky. “You know what I’d do next in this scenario?”