Maybe Later(28)

It’s been a long time since a guy looked at me as if I were interesting. Or maybe it’s the first time I noticed somebody watching me so intently. Today, I’m not trying to be invisible. Usually, I like the anonymity. It’s so much easier to just be myself and not have to depend on acceptance from others.

For a second, I’m transported to earlier today and my last conversation with Jackson Spearman. The man who is hiding in plain sight. We’re not so different from each other, are we?

But what is he hiding?

Or who is he hiding from?

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, scratching his jaw.

I stare at his handsome face and smile. Why am I thinking about someone unattainable when I have a chance to get to know this man?

“Sorry, I was thinking about work,” I respond trying to forget Spearman and his big secret.

“Any special case or just in general?”

I stare at him for a second and then laugh. He still thinks I’m a lawyer. “You already know some about me. What about you? I guessed you’re a financial investor.”

“I think you said, a ‘boring consultant,’” he corrects me, raking a hand through his thick hair which I imagine is soft.

Stop it right there, Emmeline. You don’t want to start panting in front of him just because you want to tangle your fingers in his hair as you yank the soft strands and kiss him hard. He’s a boring consultant. Not a fun guy who’d take you against the door or would bend you over his desk.

I should’ve never thought about my stupid client and how well he would fuck me if we knew each other. There’s a rule somewhere on the Post-its I have on the walls that says, never fantasize about your clients. Why’d I break it? Why am I even thinking about him and this guy? Would a three-some work for them?

“Am I right?” I say trying to forget the faceless well-built man and Jack doing dirty things to me. “Or maybe you own a pot dispensary. They’re big in this area.”

A rough laugh bursts from his belly. “At least you didn’t say lion tamer,” he says. “Unless, you know a pussy needing to be tamed.”

I laugh along with him. This time, we’re both laughing though my cheeks feel hot as I think of all the ways he could tame my needs.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You look like a well-groomed businessman or a math whizz.” I have nothing more to say because I can only concentrate on his mouth and his hands.

Horny. I’m too horny to be on a date.

“I wouldn’t know about the well-groomed, but I confess I do like math,” he says.

“Does liking math mean you were taking advance trigonometry before your junior year of high school?”

“Are you judging me?” He narrows his gaze. “Because if I recall, you studied economics.”

“There’s a difference between loving math, and being forced into that degree,” I say defensively. “My parents made me breathe, eat, and dream math—and every other school subject.”

“That sounds painful.”

“By the age of three, I was able to count to a hundred—not that I knew what it meant. I played violin and piano because children who play music can learn math faster.”

“So, you could be playing with an orchestra?”

“Nah, I stopped when I was about fourteen,” I say.

I had too many after school activities I had to attend as well as volunteer work. Harvard wouldn’t accept me if I didn’t have a well-rounded curriculum.

“You haven’t told me much about yourself,” I turn the conversation back to him.

“Growing up, I liked math, but I liked sports better. Once I started high school, I had to accept that I wasn’t a jock. Dad and I had a long talk about my future. He convinced me to focus on what mattered to me. I continued playing sports for fun but stopped the competitive shit that wasn’t going to take me anywhere.”

He frowns and asks. “Is this too intense for a first date?”

What he says is inspiring but definitely not something ordinary people would talk about during a first date. I like it though that we’re opening different doors. Unless … Is it because we’re comfortable with each other or we have nothing to talk about? Maybe I’m boring.

“Hi, I’m Tiffany,” the waitress introduces herself cutting into our conversation and temporary silencing my insecurities.

“Would you mind bringing us the menu,” Jack requests with a hard voice.

Tiffany leaves, bringing back the menus and I swear she undid a couple of buttons of her blouse. Great, make my B’s look like child’s play with those super D’s.

“Would you mind bringing me a glass of water while I look at the menu?”

She ignores me and directs her attention to Jack. “We’re out of ginger croissants, but our specialty is chocolate croissants.”

“Would you mind bringing her water first. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to order,” Jack says politely.

“When was the last time you were on a date?” he asks.

“I can’t remember. It’s been a couple of years,” I lie. It’s more like half a decade. “How about yourself?”

“About the same,” he answers without looking me in the eyes.