by D. Kelly
“You are correct, and considering I’m still dating after all these years, it’s obvious I’ve been picking the wrong men.”
With a snicker, he leans back on the couch and raises his arms above his head. His T-shirt rides up, giving me a minimal view of his perfect abs.
Tristan loves being nude. If he didn’t have a roommate, he’d be one of those people who sits on the furniture naked. The thought makes me cringe—your private parts shouldn’t touch the place where invited guests sit. I’ve walked in on him in the buff more times than I’d like, which is why I openly admire him now. When I scope him out like a piece of art, it prompts him to put on clothes and keeps me from blushing from head to toe. He’s like Michelangelo’s David but with a much larger penis.
“The third date … that means tonight is the night where you begin your countdown.”
“Not necessarily.” He narrows his gaze at my feeble counter.
“Come on, Bex. I’m your best friend, and I know you better than anyone. The first two dates, he learned about you, and you took in all his superficial details. Tonight is when you start judging him.”
“I don’t judge!”
Tristan snickers. “The lady doth protest too much. You judge, Bex, but I’ll give you credit where it’s due—you get it out of the way quickly.” He brings his fingers to my furrowed brows. “Relax. You’re going to need Botox for that eyebrow wrinkle before you’re thirty if you don’t quit.”
“Nice way to prey on my insecurities. Some friend you are.”
Tris leans forward and kisses my poorly aging skin. “Any man worth his salt will love your wrinkle and you. If only you give him a chance.”
“It’s not my fault,” I mutter, leaning my head on his shoulder.
He pushes back from me, taking away my safe space. “Whose fault is it then?”
I’d love to give him an answer other than the truth, but I can’t. Even my two loving parents think I’m just as crazy as my friends do. “Mine . . . but in my defense, my parents set the bar incredibly high. Their love is timeless, their marriage is perfect, and I can’t help it if I meet a guy and know sooner than most people would that he isn’t going to be the one who can give me that.”
Tristan’s expression softens. Instead of the teasing smiles, I’m met with adoring eyes. “Are you trying to date, or are you looking for a husband?”
The doorbell rings, and I jump up to get it, but Tristan grabs my hand. “Answer me.”
I’ve never been able to avoid him when he takes that commanding tone. His protective nature is one of my favorite things about him. I bet when he uses that voice in the bedroom, his girlfriends come on command.
I shake my head. I won’t let myself think of him like that. “Would it be wrong if I wanted to do both? Date my future husband?”
His baby blues cloud over as an indecipherable expression crosses his face. When he opens his mouth to reply, the doorbell rings again.
“Your third date is here; better not keep him waiting. If he’s lucky, he might get to lucky number seven.”
“You’re a jerk.” I’m laughing as I open the door.
“But you still love me.”
Bradley’s eyes widen at Tristan’s declaration, and I flash him a smile I hope seems genuine. “Bradley, this is my best friend and roommate, Tristan. Tristan, meet Bradley.”
Tristan already has his controller back in his hands and gives Bradley a classic head nod. “Sup.”
“Uh, nice to meet you. Bexley, are you ready? I have a car waiting.”
Tristan covers a snort with a cough, and I flash him an icy glare. He decided a long time ago not to play nice with my dates since they’re not typically around for long. I often remind him—one day, one of them will stick. At least, I hope that’s the case.
“Of course. I’ve been looking forward to it all day. See you later, Tristan.”
His voice softens. “Good night, Bexley. Have a good time.”
As I lace my arm through Bradley’s, I suppress a sigh. Tristan can be so mercurial. I wish he would have answered my question before Bradley got here. There will be time to ask him about it again later. Right now, I need to focus on Bradley.
Bradley and I met in the lobby of our office building. We were both waiting for the elevator. I was going to my office on the thirteenth floor, and he was going to his on the tenth. Before the end of the ride up, he’d asked for my number. I loved his confidence, and so I gave it to him, and within an hour, he’d called and asked me to dinner. Most guys seem to text, which can be fun, but I’m a voice girl. I love hearing a man speak to me. Especially guys like Tristan who can be funny and sweet but commanding when it’s important. As I look Bradley over, I wonder if his confidence comes alive in the bedroom too. Even if it does, the bigger question is—will we make it far enough for me to find out?
Tonight, he wears his blond hair impeccably styled with sexy and stylish glasses. He’s a little shorter than the guys I typically go for, coming in at about my height at five feet, five inches. He’s wearing a suit like he has on our previous dates. Bradley is a lawyer, and so far, we’ve been driven in a Town Car for all of our dates. He motions me inside first, and as he steps in, that’s when I notice it—his fatal flaw. So much for making it to the bedroom.
I blink, hoping I’m seeing things, but I’m not. Damn it. He’s wearing loafers and striped socks that match his tie. Not just any loafers either. The kind with the tassels hanging from them. They’re expensive, no doubt, but my grandfather wore loafers with tassels. To me, they aren’t a manly shoe; they’re a grandpa shoe. Then top them off with the striped socks—ugh—that’s his second strike, and we haven’t even left my house yet.
The driver drops us off at a hotel in Hollywood. Warning bells are going off in my head, and Bradley must notice.
“Bexley, relax. I’m not expecting you to sleep with me although I wouldn’t be opposed. The bar here makes iconic drinks, and the restaurant has a year-long waitlist. I settled a case for the chef recently, and he offered me a table whenever I wanted one.”
I give him a small smile as he helps me from the car. “Dinner I can do. Drinks I can do. Sex is not on the table.”
He nods and brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Then dinner and drinks, it is.” The gesture is sweet, but I swear there’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Well, right back at you, Mister Matching Striped Socks and Tasseled Loafers.
We’re seated immediately in a quiet corner of the restaurant with two of their specialty drinks. His is something with gin and mine is a fruity concoction that makes me wish I was on a tropical island instead of on this date. That’s probably not a good sign.
We both order surf and turf with salads and share a laugh about our identical orders.
“How was your day?” he asks, before nursing his cocktail.
“Busy but good. How was yours?”
“Same. I was back and forth between court and my office at least five times. I should have opened my offices within walking distance to the courthouse, but the building amenities where we are were too good to pass up.”
He’s right. Our building has a top-notch restaurant, a Starbucks, car wash service, and dry cleaning on-site, and they’ll pick up and deliver to your desk for free. The best perk is an on-site concierge office. They’ll assist any business or employee in the building with pretty much anything at the push of a button.
I take another sip of my tropical escape before replying. “You must pay a ton in parking with all that back and forth.”
Bradley raises what looks to be an expertly waxed brow at me. “My driver is on call twenty-four/seven. My time is much too valuable to be spent driving when I could be working.”
I’m trying not to judge him, but he sounds like a pretentious ass. “That’s understandable. It’s impossible to multitask and drive. One of my favorite things to do on the weekends is take a long drive up the coast. At some point, I’ll pull off
and get some food and eat it on the beach. Do you ever do anything like that?”
Bradley lifts his glass and motions to the waiter that he’d like another. “Bexley,” he says with a smile. “I don’t have a license—there’s no need for one. I’m constantly working, and when I’m not, I’m attending events, conferences, or socializing. My time is best spent staying focused.”
This guy’s a total douche, and what pisses me off more is that Tristan is going to love the fact I couldn’t even get past the third date—again.
“How do you find time for dating?” I ask as I reach for my glass. If I get buzzed, maybe he won’t seem so obnoxious.
He brings his glass to his mouth and eyes me carefully over the top of it as if I’m some skittish kitten and he needs to be careful what he says. In turn, I take a huge gulp of my tropical drink and wish he turned me on as much as the drink does.
“Dating for me, is a casual thing. I’m not looking for love; I’m looking for someone to socialize with and to fulfill my needs if you know what I mean.” Bradley licks his lips, and before I can tell him what I think of him, the food arrives. He doesn’t even pause before he begins eating, and since I’m starving, I’m content to follow his lead. No point in missing out on an amazing meal.
“No thoughts on what I said?” he asks between bites. At least he doesn’t talk with his mouth full—he earns brownie points for that.
“I have plenty of thoughts, but ultimately, it doesn’t seem like we’re on the same page. You’re a great guy, Bradley, a catch by any means, but I’m looking for a husband, and you’re looking for arm candy.”
His mouth drops slightly, and then he releases a full-bodied laugh. “Brava, Bexley. Perhaps we aren’t the love connection I thought we’d be, but you’re spunky, and I could use a good friend who will tell it like it is.”
“Seriously?”
“Completely. I’m a candid person; life is too short for games and lies. I’m wealthy, Bexley—have been all my life. Grew up in wealth and have developed my own personal fortune on top of it. I don’t want, nor need, a wife. I tend to attract a specific kind of woman, and usually, they’re the kind looking for a few kids and a huge divorce settlement. I’m a busy man who is happy in his own company. Give me a cigar, an expensive bottle of scotch, and a good book any night over a family.”
I’m seeing him through completely clear eyes now. “Wow. Well, at least you know what you want.”
He places his napkin to the side of his plate and leans back. “Now tell me the truth: are you truly looking for a husband, or am I just too pompous for you?”
Heat sears my cheeks, the alcohol removing some of my inhibitions. “You’re a bit high maintenance for me, but I’m also not into casual dating unless I see a future, and I’m really good at figuring out who isn’t a match early on.”
“That’s fair. Finish your dinner, and I’ll take you home. I meant what I said—we will be friends, Bexley. You’re exactly what I need in my life.”
Somehow, I’m okay with that. I think I can help Bradley loosen up a bit, and he could definitely use it, even if he doesn’t know it yet. There’s something about him that’s endearing, and I’d bet under all his pomp and circumstance, he might be open to falling in love more than he’s ready to admit.
“Where’s Bex?” Adam asks as he plops down on the couch and grabs the second controller.
“Third date.”
Adam laughs. “Poor bastard. He has no idea this is the beginning of the end, does he?”
I can’t concentrate on this game. “Beer?”
Adam nods, and I grab us both one from the kitchen before sitting back down. “Dude, this game is sick. It’s going to make you famous.”
“I don’t need to be famous. I just need it to work and stop crashing on level five.” My frustration gets the best of me as I toss my controller aside. Knowing a whole team of beta testers are working on this game around the clock, I should probably be in the office, but I’ve been there so much lately, and I needed a break. I thought Bex and I could have a pizza and movie night. I forgot she was in the middle of another round of dating roulette.
“You’ve got months still before you have to finalize this game.”
I open my mouth to give him all the statistics, but he beats me to it.
“I know, one glitch can tank games. One glitch may forever remain unfixable. Breathe, Tris. You’re great at this, but you need time to reset. Your mind will work better if it’s fresh. When you launched your last game, you said you weren’t going to do this to yourself again.”
He’s right, but it’s not easy to disassociate from work when you’re the boss. The livelihood of everyone rests on my shoulders.
As I run my fingers through my hair, they get stuck in a knotted curl, which reminds me I’m way past due for a haircut. “I know. Maybe I just need to get laid.”
Adam laughs. “Now you’re talking. Want to go to the bar?”
“Nah, not tonight. I want to stick around and make sure that sleaze doesn’t try anything when he drops Bex off.”
Adam eyes me suspiciously and finishes his beer. “So, what is my ex-girlfriend up to these days?”
“Knock it off. She’s not your ex; she’s not anyone’s ex. That’s her issue. She hasn’t changed as long as we’ve known her. You’re still one of the few reigning date-seven champions, in case you’re curious. That takes mad skills. I guarantee you, this guy she’s with tonight won’t be seeing date number four.”
Adam stands and pockets his keys and his phone. “As much as I’d like to stick around to see the loser she’s with tonight, I’ve got an early meeting in the morning. I can’t tell you how much I miss the days of raging frat parties and naked beer pong.”
“Yeah, no way do I feel sorry for you. I’m sure your job for one of the biggest internet porn providers is extremely taxing.”
“It’s harder than you’d expect. It’s almost wrecked porn for me, if you want the truth. I see more clits and dicks in a day than I ever thought possible.”
I shake my head. “Still not feeling sorry for you.”
Adam covers his heart and stumbles backward. “You wound me. I’m the better friend in this relationship.”
“Agree to disagree on that one.”
I reach for the controller I tossed aside, and he thumps the back of my head. “I came over to help with your game and try to cheer you up. You get to play video games all day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to work your way through a marketing meeting with breathy moans and slick skin slapping as your soundtrack? I mean, even if it’s not a constant turn-on, sometimes the dick rises to the soundtrack it recognizes. Breathy moans are hard to ignore.”
Breathy moans are hard to ignore. I hear Bexley when she’s getting herself off sometimes, and damn . . . I shouldn’t get hard because she’s my best friend, but I totally fucking do.
“How do you get around it?” I ask him.
“I’ve become a master at giving presentations sitting down due to my slipped disc.”
I laugh. “You’re not even thirty; they actually buy that?”
“My boss is older than shit, and I’m pretty sure he’s hiding his hard-on under the same table as the rest of us. The women definitely prefer us sitting so they don’t have to avert their gazes. It works for everyone, and I’m not the only one who does it. I just have the best excuse.”
I stand and give him a quick bro-hug goodbye. “You’re never boring, Adam. Thanks for cheering me up.”
“Anytime. Text me tomorrow and tell me when you want to go to the bar. Seriously, you need to get laid. I’ll be your wingman.”
“Will do.”
After locking the door, I decide to take a quick shower. Bex hasn’t been gone that long, and I know she’s going to ask me about the husband question from earlier. That’s one thing about Bexley: she doesn’t forget a thing.
Maybe that’s why she’s so picky with her dates. I’m surprised
she manages to ever get laid, but every once in a while, she steps out of her dating cycle and has a one-night stand. It’s her preferred method of sex. She says that way there’s not much time to find out his bad habits, his sob story, or that he has a total lack of motivation. Unless he’s lazy in bed, and then she deems him completely unmotivated anyway.
It’s hard to imagine anyone getting the chance to fuck Bex and being lazy about it. As I strip down and turn on the shower, I think about what’s been going on with her lately. Ever since we met, Bex has either become easily bored with men or annoyed by their habits. It was kind of funny in high school, almost a game. Even for part of college, because we were still kids, but now . . . we’re nearing our thirties, and she’s missing out on so much life.
She’s never mean when she breaks it off with the guy she’s dating. However, she is blunt if they ask why she doesn’t want to see them anymore. That’s what concerns me the most. Fortunately for Bex, I think the seven-date rule works in her favor. Men don’t typically develop an emotional attachment until after they get lucky. We’ll work hard for sex, but if the girl hasn’t put out by the seventh date, most men will cut their losses.
Bex is one of the best people I know, but I’m worried about her. I don’t know any other women with such strange dating processes. What if she looks back as an old cat lady one day and realizes her entire life has passed her by? She swears that won’t happen, but so far, the odds haven’t been in her favor.
Shaking Bexley from my thoughts, I rush through my shower routine. I dry off quickly before wrapping the towel around my waist and head toward the kitchen. I’m starving. I scope out the fridge and grab another beer. I knew I should have gone grocery shopping today, but Bex and I usually go together. Guess I’m going to order a pizza after all.
Once the pizza is ordered, my game beckons me. I’ll only play for a couple of minutes, and then I’ll get dressed. That’s what I tell myself at least, but when the doorbell rings, pulling me back to reality, I grab my wallet and hope the guy has seen worse than a dude in his towel.