Dating-ish (Knitting in the City Book 6)

by Penny Reid

  “Did you just say blouse?”

  He blinked once, his expression growing flat. “Can I ask my question?”

  “Fine. Blouse, low cut, what about it?”

  “If a woman’s shirt is low cut, like a V,” he drew a V on his own chest, “such that a good amount of her cleavage—”

  I snorted. Cleavage. Blouse. Matt talked like my grandmother. At least he didn’t say décolletage.

  His lips became a tight line. “Well what do you call cleavage?”

  “Tits? Breasts? Boobs?”

  “Fine. Low-cut shirt, showcasing half a lady’s breasts, is it okay to look at said breasts?”

  “Yes.” I nodded once.

  “Really?” The question was an octave higher than his usual baritone.

  “Yes. Really. Unless she has a date, then no.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because she’s wearing the low-cut shirt for her date—not for you—and you don’t want to get punched in the face. But if she’s there on her own and wearing something revealing, she wants people to look.”

  “Huh.” His eyes lost focus as he stared beyond me, absorbing this information.

  “You find that surprising?” I leaned forward to switch two sheets of paper, rearranging the timeline.

  “Yes. I assumed it was rude.” After a moment, he shook himself and I felt his eyes on me again.

  “Didn’t you ask your ex these questions?” I wondered aloud.

  “No. We never talked about stuff like this.”

  “Really?” Now I was surprised. “Wait, stuff like what?”

  “Man to woman stuff. What women or men want in general terms. We were both inexperienced when we met, so I’m not sure we knew.”

  “Oh.” That made me frown. “Well, didn’t she wear sexy clothes for you? And, more importantly, didn’t you ever wear sexy clothes for her?”

  “No. She didn’t. And what is your meaning? Did I wear sexy clothes for her? What sexy clothes can men wear?”

  “Suits.” I grinned at him. “Finely tailored suits are the equivalent of a sexy black dress to women, or lingerie.”

  His eyebrows ticked up and his eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yep. It takes effort for a man to wear a nice suit. Just like it takes effort for a woman to dress up.”

  “So . . . it’s the effort? That’s sexy?”

  Crawling on my hands and knees, I picked up my notes from the floor, careful to keep them in order. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

  Again I felt his eyes study me before he said thoughtfully, “You’re already really sexy. I feel sorry for anyone who has to resist you in a black dress.”

  That made me laugh, especially the abstract tone of voice, like we were discussing AI Learning Theory, but it also made my neck hot. Suddenly, I was distinctly aware of how small his office was, and how I was currently positioned on my hands and knees, and how—if he stood and unbuckled his belt . . .

  Whoa.

  Settle down.

  That thought process sure escalated quickly.

  Suppressing the unbidden surge of sexy suggestions, I tossed him a mock-distrustful glance but couldn’t quite lift my gaze to his. “You’re just saying that so I’ll make you more bread.”

  “You caught me.” Matt’s tone mirrored my mock-seriousness. But I also noticed his smile was weird, stiff, and he was blushing just slightly. The light shade of pink heating his cheeks made me wonder if he hadn’t realized what he was saying, what his words sounded like, or what they revealed of his thoughts, until after he’d said them.

  “Hey, look who it is.”

  I tore my eyes from Matt, finding Dr. Merek leaning against the doorjamb, eyes on me, a small smile tugging his mouth to one side.

  Sitting back on my ankles, I returned his grin. “Hello.”

  “What do you want?” Matt’s tone was less than happy.

  Dr. Merek’s gaze moved to Matt briefly, narrowed, then returned to me. “Did you get everything you needed for your article?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but didn’t get a chance.

  “She did,” Matt answered for me.

  The older man inspected us both with unveiled surprise. “So you’re here finishing up?”

  “Yes. Almost finished.” I gestured to my stack of papers. “Just tying up loose ends.”

  “We might go see a movie after,” Matt said, causing me to send him a surprised glance over my shoulder. He ignored my probing look. “Then dinner,” he added.

  This was news to me.

  Matt’s eyes remained fixed on his colleague and both men were quiet for a protracted moment while I glanced between the two of them and attempted to decipher their odd staring contest.

  Eventually, Dr. Merek cracked a smile and nodded subtly. “Oh, by the way, Greta is looking for you, Matt.”

  “Oh?” Matt stood, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. “Did the NVIDIA chip come in?”

  “Yep.”

  Matt moved to where I was still sitting on the floor and offered me his hand, saying as he pulled me up, “Do you mind hanging out here for a few minutes?”

  It was hard to miss the fact that he still held my hand even though I was now standing, or the fact that his thumb was brushing back and forth over my knuckles.

  “Fine with me.” I gave him a teasing smile, since we didn’t actually have plans beyond lunch.

  “Thanks.” Before I realized his intent, Matt bent and placed a kiss on my cheek, squeezing my hand before letting it go and saying, “I’ll be right back. And pick a movie.”

  I watched him dart out the door, Dr. Merek moving to one side to allow him to pass, then jog down the hall, his sneakers making light squeaking sounds as he went.

  I turned, smiling to myself at Matt’s strange behavior, then bent to pick up my papers and laptop, all the while feeling Dr. Merek’s eyes track my movements.

  Finally, he said, “What movie do you want to see?”

  “The new Harry Potter movie.”

  He chuckled lightly. “I’ve seen it seven times already.”

  “Big fan?” I grinned.

  “No. But my ten-year-old is.”

  “Ah.” I nodded. “I sometimes babysit for my friend’s kids and we play the board game while wearing wizard hats, scarves, and wielding wands.”

  “They make you do it?”

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head vehemently. “I make them do it. I even knit their scarves.”

  He barked a laugh, leaning against the doorframe again, his eyes moving over me. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. I knit all the time. It’s an obsession.”

  “No. I mean, I’m impressed you’ve managed to get Matt out of the office. He’s here so much, we sometimes joke he should give up his apartment lease.”

  “Ha. Is that so?”

  “Yes. That’s so.” Dr. Merek’s eyes continued to travel over me thoughtfully. “I guess it’s a good thing you never signed that consent form.”

  That made me cock my head to the side. “Why is that?”

  “I’m back. What’d I miss?” Matt called from down the hall, jogging until he pulled even with his office.

  “Do you run everywhere?” I asked, both incredulous and amused.

  “No. Only when checking out the beautiful new GPUs we’re using for training our AI’s deep neural networks. Or, you know, when I get to see you.”

  That earned him a smile. “You’re sweet.”

  He returned my smile with a bright one of his own. “I speak only truths.”

  Unable to stop myself from scrutinizing this new version of Matt—and the earlier handholding, and the earlier kiss on the cheek—I couldn’t understand the origin of his sudden demonstrative affection for me.

  Maybe it’s just a part of his inherent playfulness?

  Dr. Merek glanced at the linoleum, looking like he was hiding a smile and stepping back from the door. “Okay, have a good time, kids.”

  I wrinkled
my nose at the word kids, but stepped forward to give him a departing wave. “If you let me know what Hogwarts house your ten-year-old is in, I can make a scarf.”

  Dr. Merek’s gaze moved from me to where Matt stood at my side, then back to me. “I’ll let Matt know so he can pass it on.”

  We both watched the tall man depart, Matt eventually nudging my shoulder with his, drawing my attention.

  “You’re going to make me go see the new Harry Potter movie, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded once.

  He glowered.

  “And then after, I’ll make you coconut shrimp.”

  He grinned.

  “Real-time images, like video game graphics, rely on GPUs that perform certain types of mathematical calculations—for example, matrix multiplications—”

  “Ah yes, good old matrix multiplications. Here, let me.” I selected a deep-red button-down dress shirt on a hanger and held it up to Matt’s chest. It looked very nice. Verra, verra nice. I added it to our stack.

  Meanwhile, he continued with barely a pause. “For example, matrix multiplications, they can handle huge amounts of computations in parallel. The same features are suitable for different applications, like running climate simulations or modeling attributes of complex biomolecular structures.”

  I sighed, gazing at him with a smile, my brain and other key parts of me completely aroused by Matt saying the words, complex biomolecular structures.

  Believe it or not, Matt had invited me out on a Tuesday afternoon to clothes shop. Apparently, his chairperson had suggested—less than subtly—that many professors in the engineering department had been confused regarding Matt’s tenure status.

  They thought he was an undergrad student.

  Presently, we were in the Hugo Boss store and I’d made the glorious mistake of asking him what a NVIDIA chip was, the item he was so eager to see when he left me briefly with Dr. Merek. Apparently, I couldn’t have asked a better question. His eyes widened excitedly and, like every time he spoke about his work, he stood straighter, exuding seductive confidence with his deep, thorough knowledge.

  “GPUs are recognized as proficient at training deep neural networks, the mathematical structures roughly modeled on the human brain.” His grin became massive and he leaned close, as though about to share something truly amazing. “They also rely heavily on repeated parallel matrix calculations.”

  “Get out!” I said. “That’s awesome.”

  He nodded. “I know.” He then touched my nose lightly with his index finger. “You are super cute when you pretend you know what I’m talking about.”

  That made me laugh and I shook my head at him. “And you are super cute when you talk about your computery witchcraft. How many white dress shirts do you have?”

  “Um, one. And now you know what it’s like for me all the time.” He glanced around the store as though we were within the interior of a prison.

  “Meaning?” I’d picked up this peculiarity of speech he had. Instead of asking, What do you mean? He would frequently just say, Meaning?

  “Over the course of my adulthood—and childhood, for that matter—everyday conversations frequently sound like Greek.”

  That had me wrinkling my nose at him. “What are you talking about? You have no problem communicating with me.”

  One of the sales associates approached us. “Hi there, are you finding everything you need?”

  Her gaze moved over Matt appreciatively and then to me, her eyebrows hitching on her forehead; if I was reading her expression correctly, it communicated, Your boyfriend is hot.

  “Marie?” he deferred, clearly oblivious to the pretty woman’s appreciation.

  “I think so, but could you start a room for him?”

  “No problem.” She reached forward to grab our current selections. Actually, they were my selections. Matt hadn’t touched anything but me since we’d entered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “I’m looking forward to this fashion show,” she said, and then winked at me.

  I couldn’t help my grin. She was being so adorably obvious, and it made me feel like she was giving me a mental high five, a la, You go, girl!

  “That’s because you don’t seem to mind my questions,” Matt said once she left, picking our conversation right back up as he considered the suit next to him on a mannequin. “Are we getting suits here?”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “Do you want a suit?”

  He scrutinized me like my question was a test. “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “I guess we could get you a suit, if you think you’ll use it.” I contemplated the mannequin, touching the fabric of the three-piece with my fingertips. “This is fine.”

  “Fine?” He glanced between me and the suit. “Is fine good?”

  I shrugged. “Or we could go someplace less expensive. It depends on what you want to use it for.”

  Matt stared at me, analyzing my features attentively. “See? It’s like you’re speaking a different language.”

  I laughed. “Okay. What are you going to use it for?”

  “You haven’t given me enough information in order to make a decision. I need more data.”

  I laughed again. “You have several different categories of suits, depending on the needs of the person. If you’re using it to go to a funeral or twice a year for weddings, or something like that, then you probably don’t need a very expensive suit. If that’s the case, we should go someplace cheaper.”

  “What’s the downside? Of a less expensive suit?”

  “They don’t look as nice and they’re not usually great quality, which means they wear out faster.”

  “But this suit,” he gestured to the one next to us, “will look better and last longer?”

  “Yes. This is a medium-quality suit.”

  “Where can one acquire a high-quality suit?”

  “Um . . .” I glanced to the right, trying to remember where Janie said Quinn bought his suits. “There’s a designer in Chicago, Daniel George, who will hand-make a suit, or even shirts, using fabrics and a cut specifically chosen for you.”

  “It’s literally tailor-made.”

  “Correct.”

  “And it’ll look the best?”

  “And last for a long time, yes. But it’ll cost a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”

  He gave me a flat, teasing smile. “For a writer, you sure do use the big words.”

  I rolled my eyes, turning from him. “Fine. The expenditure will be exorbitant.”

  He came up behind me, peering over my shoulder as I thumbed through a rack of dress pants. “Is there any place like that? For women?”

  “Not really. I mean, you can get custom clothing made, but most women don’t.”

  “Because it’s expensive?”

  “That, and because there’s already so much to choose from ready-made that runs the gamut of inexpensive to upscale.”

  “Where do you shop? For yourself?”

  “The only thing I ever pay retail for is yarn.”

  He paused, like he was trying to untangle a puzzle. “Meaning?”

  “I usually shop consignment. I like it because a) it’s a lot cheaper, and b) consignment shops have a bunch of brands rather than just one, so it’s like going to multiple stores at once.”

  He paused again, considering this information, then said, “Huh.”

  I looked at him because the way he said huh was peculiar. “What?”

  “Your methods are efficient.” He was smiling at me, giving me the sense that he very much approved of my methods. My efficient methods.

  Watching Matt try on clothes was a ridiculous amount of fun.

  Since it was after lunch on a weekday, the store was very slow. Therefore, a few of the sales associates meandered over, having nothing better to do, and soon it became a one-man fashion show.

  At first, he was very stiff. Glowering when he emerged from his dressing room, clearly uncomfortable. It didn’t help that he had no idea ho
w to put on nice clothes.

  One of the sales guys, Mason I think, noticing how Matt had left his shirt untucked and was wearing dress pants without a belt, shook his head, saying, “You need an intervention, bro.”

  As it turned out, Mason and Keely—the female attendant who had set up Matt’s dressing room—were dating and were happy to tag team him, where Mason was bad cop and Keely was good cop.

  “No, bro. Don’t wear it like that.” Mason unbuttoned the top two buttons of Matt’s shirt. “You can’t button it all the way. You only button it all the way if you’re wearing a tie. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

  “No,” Matt answered honestly, turning to look at himself in the mirror once Mason and Keely had adjusted his clothes. His frown turned upside down and he blinked, like he didn’t recognize himself, but he liked what he saw.

  It was such an adorable moment, I could only tuck my hands under my chin and watch quietly.

  “You look so great,” Keely said enthusiastically. “This is like one of those makeover shows.”

  “How long y’all been dating?” Mason asked me at one point while Matt was changing.

  “Oh, um. We’re not. We’re just friends.”

  Mason blinked at me, his eyes traveling over my body. “Is he gay?”

  Keely smacked her boyfriend on the shoulder, laughing. “He’s not gay. He’s clueless.”

  “Clearly.” Mason mouth transformed into a dissatisfied line.

  “Don’t worry, Mamma.” Keely gave me a wink, leaning close. “He’ll figure it out. Sometimes you have to lead the horse to water.”

  I shook my head, and it was on the tip of my tongue to correct her, to say that I wasn’t interested in him that way, but I couldn’t. Because over the last two weeks, we’d worked together, seen a movie together, eaten dinner and lunch together, and now, shopped together. The more time I spent with Matt, the more denying the escalation of my interest in him sounded like a lie.

  14

  Pizza Shoes

  A pair of sneakers with a button on them that allow its owner to order pizza (by pressing the button . . . and that’s it). I swear to God, I’m not making this up.

  Source: Pizza Hut

  My hopes were starting to revive without me explicitly telling them to do so.