One Baby Daddy (Dating by Numbers #3)(69)

“God, I’m ravenous. This is so good, don’t you think?” She’s hovering over her plate, forking bite after bite in her mouth, talking with a full mouth.

I’ve never seen such a thing.

“Uh, haven’t had a chance to take a bite.”

I have a forkful halfway to my mouth when she reaches across the table and lifts the fork to my mouth while saying, “Eat, eat. Enjoy.”

Wanting to see if the gnocchi is really good or if the alcohol has taken over her taste buds as well, I take a bite, letting the brown butter sauce set on my tongue. Fuck, this is a ton of calories, but hell, call it eating my sorrows. I’ll work it off tomorrow.

“That is good.”

“Best dinner option I’ve had since I’ve been here. I mean, the steak was melt-in-your-mouth steak. The lobster with mashed potatoes? Boy, were those smooth on the tongue. But this gnocchi, talk about a myriad of flavors.”

“It’s pretty damn good.” I chuckle. Eyeing her from over the table, I say, “So you keep saying this is your third time here. Am I really your third blind date?”

She points her fork at me and nods, eyes squinting. “You are. You’re the third guy I needed for my tripod of dating. Do you feel special?”

Not really. I feel like I’m on a date that’s trying to tell me something. Like maybe I shouldn’t be dating yet. Then again, I’ve had more fun tonight than I have in a while, so maybe I should feel special.

Plopping more gnocchi in my mouth, I answer, “I do feel lucky. From the looks of it, I get to experience the looser side of you.”

“Eh, eh, eh.” She boldly waves her finger at me. “You’re not getting in my pants, so don’t even think about it. I didn’t shave my legs, so not going to happen, fella.”

Oh fuck.

I snort cough and take a sip of my water, trying to hold back the bout of laughter eager for release. “Didn’t mean loose as in, sexually loose. Just, you know, personality loose.”

“Oh.” Eyes to the ceiling, she ponders my answer. “Misread that one, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Are you going to tell your hockey buddies you went on a date with Noely Clark from Good Morning, Malibu, and she told you she didn’t shave her legs?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.” I smile. Even though my hockey buddies consist of Calder and Calder alone right now. “So what happened with the first two dates?”

“Are you asking me to provide a postpartum on my first two blind dates?” Anything to help me forget at this point.

“I mean . . . not really. Was wondering what went wrong. Did you not shave your legs for those dates as well?” I tease her, liking how she can easily take it.

“I shaved and wore a dress. Both times.” As if to throw it in my face, she crosses her arms over her chest.

“You wore a dress?” My eyes grow wide. “And you wore a turtleneck for me? That’s some messed-up shit, Noely.”

Laughing, a little too loudly—thank you, whiskey—she says, “With a statement necklace. I didn’t wear a statement necklace on my other dates, so frankly, you’re the real winner.” She showcases her necklace with her fingers, touching the gems carefully, like she’s on QVC trying to make a sale.

“Am I?” I cock my head to the side. “I get turtleneck with unshaved legs and the other guys get dresses with no sight of hairy Mary anywhere?”

“Hey.” She leans forward and whisper-shouts. “Don’t make me pull my pant leg up right now. It’s a light stubble. A stubble!”

“Keep the pant legs down there, lady. No need to disgust people in the middle of their dinners.”

Lips pursed, she says, “You’re a freaking smartass, you know that?”

“Well aware.” And for a second, I’m starting to feel like myself again. “So tell me about the dates. You shaved your legs and wore dresses, so that wasn’t the problem. What happened? Fart by accident?”

Her mouth drops open in shock, her eyes wide. “I will have you know, all flatulence was held in, thank you very much. It wasn’t anything like that. The first dates actually went really well, like, super well. It was the dates after that kind of fell apart.”

“Give me examples. I want to make sure I don’t screw anything up this go around.”

Not that I’m looking to start anything with Noely, but you never know. She might be fun to hang around with, a good friend I can possibly rely on. My first friend out here.

“Well, the first guy, man, was he . . .” She pauses and glances toward the table she was looking at earlier, her face softening, her eyes yearning. Hmm . . . does she still have feelings for Mr. Suit over there? Pointing behind her hand, she motions to the suit and boobs. “Right over there, the guy with the girl whose boobs are swallowing her neck whole, that was my first date.”

Conspiratorially leaning forward, I follow her finger even though I know exactly who she’s talking about. It’s hard to miss the boobs. The girl has nothing on Noely. She looks far too fake, whereas Noely has that all-American girl feel: gorgeous, funny, and personable.

Then again, Noely has nothing on Adalyn.

“He seems like a nice guy. I mean, his eyes are trained on that girl’s face rather than the blatant display of cleavage. There’s something to be said about that.” Which is true. Any pervert would be spending his night eyes deep in her cleavage, but this guy has the respect to keep his eyes trained forward, listening intently to the woman. Date number one can’t be that bad.