Dating Games(18)

He parts his lips to say something, but I hold up my hand. Now it’s my turn to interrupt him.

“I’m sure you have no qualms about picking up drunk girls at a club or a bar and taking them home with you. What happened a few weeks ago… That’s an isolated incident. I was drunk and dealing with some personal stuff, which caused me to make the horrible decision of going home with someone I don’t even know.”

“You know who I am. I told you. My name’s Julian.”

I blink repeatedly, something about that name sparking a memory. I snap my fingers. “That’s right! Julian! Now I remember. I kept calling you Julius Caesar.” I laugh, recalling the numerous times I’d slurred “Et tu, Brute”, to which he responded that his name was “Julian not Julius”.

“You didn’t remember my name?” He appears genuinely hurt.

I shrink into myself, a momentary feeling of guilt washing over me before I brush it off.

“Listen, Julian, I appreciate you taking the time to come over to say hi and not ignore me. If I were in your shoes, I would have done just that. Hell, I tried to do that. But I’m here to work on a story that could land me a promotion.” Agitated by his presence, I fidget with my hands. “As you overheard at the bar, my boyfriend broke up with me because I’m not serious enough. So this promotion can certainly prove otherwise.”

“A story?” He gives me a wry smile, causing his dimples to pop. If he weren’t irresistible enough to begin with, he has to have dimples, too? It’s like the big guy upstairs put together everything I find attractive about a man, then gave him the opposite personality I need. And as much as looks are important, personality trumps all.

“Yes. I’m the sex and dating editor for Blush magazine.”

“But you’re up for a promotion?”

“Assistant editor of the entire magazine. As long as I nail this story.”

He peeks over my laptop at my notepad, squinting to decipher my chicken scratch. “August Laurent?”

Indignant, I cover my notepad with my hand, pulling it toward me and flipping it over so he can’t see. “He’s the subject of my story.”

He doesn’t react. I take his silence for confusion.

“He’s the most sought-after escort in the country. Apparently, he lives right here in Manhattan,” I explain. “No one’s been able to nail down this guy for an interview, so that’s what I’m trying to do. My sources say he frequents this place, so if you’ll excuse me…” I lock eyes with him, hoping he gets the hint that I have no desire to continue this conversation.

Finally, after a stare down that feels like it lasts hours, he reluctantly gets up. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Thank you.” I reach for my coffee, taking a long sip, trying to calm my overwrought nerves. The last thing I need is to be distracted and miss spotting the man who could be the mysterious August Laurent.

“For the record…” When I hear Julian speak, I lift my head, meeting his sincere eyes. “It was nice to see you again, Evie.” His lips curve up at the corners. “Really nice.” Then he disappears into another section of the coffee shop.





Chapter Eight





I can’t get Julian out of my mind the rest of the morning, despite a valiant effort on my part to do so. Every time I think of his sapphire eyes and the earnestness in his voice when he confessed he was happy to see me, my body heats as my stomach erupts in flutters I haven’t experienced in too long now.

Whenever I consider the possibility that maybe there’s something more there, I remind myself it’s all part of his game. Men like Julian crave the chase. Once they’ve captured their prey, they’ll either destroy it in a way that makes it unrecognizable, or release it back into the wild with the hope of finding something tastier, perkier, younger. I’m too smart to allow Julian to capture me again.

Since my focus is essentially nonexistent, thanks to one Julian…whatever his last name is, I decide to call today a loss and return tomorrow, refreshed and rejuvenated. After collecting my things and shoving them into my laptop bag, I do like all New Yorkers do and check my social media on my phone to avoid eye contact as I head out of the coffee shop, paying no attention to the couple walking in.

“Evie.” It’s not a question. More like a statement of surprise.

I lift my head, admiring the long, sleek lines of the suit-clad body, sucking in a breath when I peer into a pair of familiar hazel eyes. Eyes that once looked at me with such devotion as the owner declared his love. I swallow hard though the lump in my throat at the comfort I once felt whenever I peered into them. Now I only feel inadequate.

“Trevor…,” I breathe, unsure what else to say.

“Hey.” He looks as uneasy about our unexpected meeting as I do.

I’ve been living in our apartment the past few weeks, but we haven’t seen each other. Every night, I prepared a dinner plate for him, thinking he’d be hungry whenever he got home from the office, yet I was always asleep when that happened. By the time I woke up in the morning, Trevor would already be gone, his plate in the dishwasher. It probably sounds like nothing, but the gesture fills me with hope that this separation won’t last. That he’ll see how much he needs me in his life.