Maybe Later(30)

“What is it you do?”

“My job is complicated,” I say.

Because not every man reacts well when I explain that I own a company.

“I wear many hats,” I continue, “but I love what I do.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re secretive.”

“Just like you, Jack. The only thing I know about you is that you like math, read The Great Gatsby in college, and played the piano.”

He glances at me casually.

“It was in high school,” he corrects. “What else would you like to know?”

At that moment, the waitress arrives with our food. I remain quiet until she leaves as I wonder what I’d want to know about him. The answer is everything.

“Would you like to answer my questionnaire?” I suggest, half joking and half hoping it might lighten up the ambiance.

He rolls his eyes, muffles a chuckle and shakes his head. “Please don’t, maybe we can lighten this up over a couple of beers, wine or whatever your poison is.”

“Wine would work,” I say, breaking off a piece of my croissant. “But maybe next time. Today, we’re breaking the awkwardness of the first date with something sweet.”

I chew on the flaky pastry, taking a second to enjoy the mixed flavors before I continue speaking.

“We don’t want to know everything about each other today,” I clarify.

“Does that mean there’s the possibility of another date?”

“Or we can call this a trial date,” I suggest.

“This isn’t working for you?” He frowns.

“I … what do you think?”

Jack sets his fork down and takes my hand. “It’s not perfect, but I wouldn’t ask for a do-over,” he concludes.

There’s the tingling feeling again.

“Why not?” I ask curiously, debating if I should claim my hand back or not.

“So far we’ve established good communication. And there’s the number of dates to sex ratio.”

“The what?” I laugh hysterically.

He smirks at me and kisses the tips of my fingers. “There’s a rule, isn’t there? Each successful date equals a sex date when both parties are ready.”

“You use your mathematical powers for sex?”

“Only for very good sex,” he says with a lopsided grin.

“Let me get this straight. If I’m not ready until the twentieth date, but we have eighteen successful dates, you get—”

“Eighteen dates of just sex, guaranteed,” he concludes, leaning back on his chair and watching me with a pair of blazing, bedroom eyes.

Me too buddy, me too. Let’s just get a room next door at the Ritz Carton and cut the tension.

His face changes, and he gives me an intense, worried look. “But I have to know what happened on the two unsuccessful ones?”

“Well you can’t call this one a success,” I say crossing my arms trying to imitate the seriousness on his face. “Are we negotiating something?”

“Establishing parameters.” His voice is a little rough. He’s either thinking about work or trying not to bend me over the table and fuck me.

Let’s pick door number two. We should stop talking about the sex dates and just do it.

“Maybe we had a fight during one of those twenty dates. The tenth one because I wanted to visit my best friend in Boston and you had plans with your family,” I describe. “On our one-month anniversary.”

“Why did you make plans without consulting me?” He asks baffled.

“I made them before we started dating, but you wanted to introduce me to your family,” I say indignantly. “Which of course was yet, another fight. You can’t understand that I’m not ready for that step. I’ve told you a million times that I don’t do families well. But did you care? No.”

“You could’ve rescheduled your trip,” he offers with a harsh voice as if he’s in character.

“I’ve been postponing it for too long already,” I fight back. “Do you know how hard it is to get time off?”

“But meeting my family is important.”

“If I’m not ready to have sex with you, do you think I’m ready to meet them?” I glare at him. “And you wanted us to stay with them?”

He shakes his head and chuckles.

“They own a two-bedroom condo. We’ll stay at a hotel. I’ll make sure my assistant gets us a two-bedroom suite.”

“I’m going to Boston!” I remind him firmly.

He chuckles. “You don’t want to get into a fight with me.”

“Because I’ll lose?” I challenge him with a glare.

He licks his lips, and his intense gaze almost penetrates my soul. “No, we would have to have makeup sex which means … you skip all the other dates.”

“Angry sex?”

“The best sex,” he offers. “I like that twenty-date rule, but we might want to start the next one soon.”

“Wait, I need to know what would’ve happened if my scenario were real.”

“Who knows?” He lifts a shoulder.

“Most likely, you’d leave upset,” he pauses, drinking some of his coffee, “I would go visit my parents. After a few hours I’d come to realize I’m a fucking idiot. I’d pay a charter to fly me to Boston before the day was over.”