Maybe Later(29)

Okay, so we’ve both been out of the game for a long time.

“Are you wondering if something has changed?” I ask jokingly as I try to shake the awkwardness. “Because let me tell you, my friend, Tinder has revolutionized dating.”

“I’ve heard of Tinder,” he says. “But I don’t have an account. Do you?”

“So?” Tiffany comes back and stands right beside Jack. “Do you have any questions about the menu?”

My only question is why we picked a cafe instead of a bar?

I need something stronger than a cup of coffee or a glass of water. For fuck’s sake, this man is making me lose my mind. I should’ve brought a bottle of tequila and my questionnaire for this date. Everything would be so much smoother. That always breaks the ice. At least it did with Mr. Spearman.

What would he think about this date?

“Ma’am,” Tiffany calls me. “What would you like?”

“The green, lavender tea latte,” I order.

“What about you, sir?”

“Do you want a pastry, Em?” he asks, his attention focused on me the whole time and not on those breasts that she’s pushing way too close to his face.

“I’ll take a chocolate croissant and chocolate chip scone.”

“What about for you, sir?” she repeats her question with a sultry voice.

“I’ll get a latte. Half caff, nonfat milk.”

“Anything to eat, sir?”

“A Swiss crepe, please,” he requests handing her the menus.

“Are you sure you don’t want a crepe?” he asks.

“I ate earlier, but maybe instead of the scone, I’ll have a Nutella crepe.”

“You know how to pack it,” she says to me. “We have salads too.”

“I saw,” I respond. “Make sure to bring some whipped cream on the side.”

“You were telling me about Tinder,” he says.

He doesn’t pay attention to my comment or the snarky woman.

“Do you have a profile on there?”

“A fake profile,” I emphasize.

“Why even bother if you’re going to use a fake profile?”

“I don’t know. It’s practice for whenever I do decide to date,” I explain. “It’s not easy to put yourself out there. You’ve said it yourself, you haven’t gone out in a long time.”

Grabbing my glass of water, I try to drink it, but I’m so distracted by his enigmatic smile that it slips out of my hand. I stand up too fast, almost tripping on my chair. Fortunately, Jack’s reflexes are in tune because once again, those perfectly formed arms catch me before I fall.

“This is a sign,” I mumble.

“Or a blessing,” he says, tightening his grip. “I like the feel of you in my arms.”

Our eyes connect, and I’m dying for his lips to touch mine.

“Let me help you with this,” Tiffany says, interrupting our moment and what would’ve been our first kiss.

We lose the connection as we watch her, and the busboy fixes the mess I made.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I apologize and mumble. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left.”

He takes a step closer to me and whispers. “Am I so terrible that you think we should end this?”

We look at each other and smile. I thought I had him figured out, but he keeps surprising me, and I definitely want to know more.

Once they change the tablecloth, Tiffany brings our drinks and extra napkins giving me an annoyed glance.

“I promise I’m going to be a grown-up,” I state awkwardly wanting to jet out of the cafe.

He smiles tenderly and lifts his cup of coffee, “I think we’re doing just fine,” he says as he takes a sip of his coffee.

I laugh as his nose and cheeks are smeared with foam.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” he asks scrunching his nose.

I take a napkin patting his cheek. “You have a little foam here.”

He doesn’t say a word but tries to clean his face, smearing it around instead of cleaning it. He dips his finger in the foam, pokes my nose and swipes his thumb over my bottom lip, a zing makes my skin tingle and my entire body jolt, awakening it. My breath hitches and something inside my chest loosens up. Maybe he is different from what I’m imagining.

I need to give this a chance

Our gazes connect and the intensity of the moment is too much to handle for one night and one date.

“So, your first date in a while,” I repeat, moving my gaze to the latte I haven’t touched.

“I played piano too,” he says, not taking the bait. “My mom wanted me to be a pianist up until I was ten and she finally realized it wasn’t for me.”

I envy him for having parents who understood him and supported him since he was a kid. We would’ve loved to have just some of the understanding he’s gotten from his parents.

“What kind of law do you practice?” he asks interrupting my thoughts.

“Law?” I frown.

“You mentioned you studied economics instead of pre-law,” he says.

I nod a couple of time, understanding why he’s drawing that conclusion.

“Oh no, I’m not a lawyer. That was the plan, but I found something better.”