by Max Monroe
I shrug both shoulders. “If that’s what you want to do, I think it’s a good idea.”
He nods before looking out the window, pondering something. I don’t dare ask what. When he finally looks back at me, I close the folder and take out my notepad to jot down whatever he comes up with. “Which restaurant do you have in mind?”
“What’s that new place downtown?”
My eyebrows draw together as I try to figure out which one he means.
“The one that’s supposed to have the best dessert.”
Ah, now he’s speaking my language.
“MoMo Milan,” I say happily, and he grins.
“That’s the one.”
From what I’ve heard, they have a homemade donut and ice cream that’s absolutely to die for. The only problem is that they have a reservation list a mile out. I could probably pull some weight if I mentioned the paper, but then we’d be risking a leak from someone…
“I…uh…think it’s pretty hard to get into.”
He waves a hand between us. “I’ll take care of it. I know a guy who has connections at restaurants all over. Built a house for him a couple years ago. We’re still in touch, and he’s always telling me to let him know wherever I want to go.”
“Wow. Well, that’s handy.”
He winks. “I’m a handy kind of guy.”
“I really think you need to introduce me to all the people you’re building houses for from now on.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” he says with a little smirk, just as my phone vibrates on the table. I’m almost afraid to look at it at this point, but I do.
Gloria: Where’s your copy, Holley? This thing goes to print in three hours!
Shit. For as much as I didn’t want another awkward message from my dad, getting that message from my editor—when I know well and good I’m not done writing my article—might be worse.
I start furiously putting away all my shit. Time to pack it up and get back to the grind.
“You’re leaving?” Jake asks, and it almost sounds like he’s disappointed. When I look up at him, though, he’s smiling. I shake off my misgiven feelings.
“Yeah. I have to have my article turned in in less than three hours. I’m right down to the wire.”
“But I thought you were working on that last night?”
“I was. But it’s not completely done yet. And, what, are you the deadline police?” I glare at him, and his grin turns sly.
“So, what’s it say about me so far?” He waggles his brows. “Let me guess, that I’m charming, handsome, intelligent, and the greatest man you’ve ever met?”
“Greatest man I’ve ever met?” I repeat with a roll of my eyes. “A little full of ourselves, aren’t we?”
The handsome bastard just grins back at me.
My phone buzzes on the table again, and I pick it up to look at the screen. Unfortunately, it’s another message from my father, and it’s the one that breaks the camel’s back.
Dad: You know what looks really funny mating? Turtles. Went in a gas station bathroom one time, and they had a picture on the wall of a couple of turtles going at it. Funny-lookin’.
Without hesitation, I turn off my phone and slam it into my bag, standing from my chair and pushing it in under the table. Jake picks up his coffee and takes a drink, his mesmerizing eyes staring at me over the rim of the cup the whole time.
“So, I guess I’ll see you Tuesday,” I say. “You’ll let me know what time you make the reservation for?”
“Yep.”
“And, you’ll, um, need to get there a little early…and so will I. Just so we can make sure we’re all set before your date arrives.”
“Will do.” His smile is warm. “I’ll see you Tuesday, Holley from the Tribune.”
Suddenly, Tuesday seems really far away…
Something in my chest burns, but I ignore it. Surely, it’s indigestion from knowing I’m this tight on my deadline.
“See you then, Jake from the Ocean.”
Jake
Unwelcome nerves churn in my gut as I step up to the bar and order a beer. I’d like to order something stronger, but I also don’t want to come off as even remotely tipsy on my first official date as Bachelor Anonymous.
Christ. This is nuts. How I ever let Chloe get me into this mess defies logic.
And there’s no denying that diving back into this—dating instead of fucking—feels like a colossal change.
I glance back to the table by the bathrooms where I know Holley sits, waiting to take notes on my awkward first-time interaction with a woman I know nothing about.
I’m still looking that direction when a small hand wraps around my bicep and gets my attention.
“Excuse me,” she says. “Are you Jake?”
“I am.” I swallow past the discomfort lodged in my throat. “Bianca?”
Her mouth morphs into a megawatt smile. “That’s me.”
She’s beautiful—that’s clear right off the bat. Long, tanned legs are heavily visible under the short hem of her tiny black dress, and her breasts are perfectly round and perky. She has a blond bob cut with fashionable bangs, and her makeup is done with the hand of a professional. Her eyes are a pale, icy blue, and they sparkle under the lights of the bar.
If we were going strictly off physical appearance, this woman would be the kind of woman I’d have taken to my bed over the years. Of course, the distinction I should be making is that it wouldn’t have been my bed.
Instead, it would have been a bed at a hotel or her bed. But never mine. It was always important to me—of the utmost importance—to separate Chloe from the fuck buddies of my life entirely.
They didn’t belong in the same compartment as her. Because Chloe—well, it’s safe to say she’s my world.
I think most dads would say the same about their daughters, but I challenge that I mean it more. When you’re in the close heat of the jungle, stalking the lowest of the world’s scum, only to get pulled out, put on a plane, flown to the US, and driven straight to the hospital to have your newborn daughter placed in your arms—her mother having passed away during childbirth—something changes in you.
I was all she had, and suddenly, she was all I had too.
A little tiny human, counting on me to see her through life without a mother. The responsibility was nearly crushing—even for a trained Navy SEAL like myself—but she gave me the strength to find something in myself I can’t describe.
She gave me purpose. She gave me light in the darkness.
And as much as I was a man with physical needs, I was a dad who lived by a concrete code of morals and honor.
The two were never to cross.
I chuckle to myself. I never thought in a million years Chloe would be the one to rewire the whole thing.
So now, it’s about more than that. And Bianca may be beautiful, but I need to know if there’s anything under the top layer. Is she funny? Does she have depth? Is she the kind of human I want to be around for more than an hour and a half?
These are questions I never even bothered to ask before. Now, though, they’re important.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, sticking out a hand for her to shake.
She takes it readily, but her hand goes limp within mine. I hate to be so judgmental, but a limp-fish handshake is not a great sign. I like strong and bold.
“You too,” she answers. “You’re even better-looking than I imagined.”
I laugh. Well, then. What was I just saying about bold? I guess we could work on the handshake.
“Thanks, I think. Though, I have to admit, I didn’t have much to do with it.”
She smiles a little, but I can tell she doesn’t understand, so I elucidate, “You’d have to thank my parents’ genes for the looks. They’re responsible.”
“Their jeans?” she asks.
My eyebrows pull together, but I push on. “Yep. Their genes.”
“Is it a special kind of denim?”
Oh
, for the love of intelligence.
I cough behind my hand to conceal the absolute riot act happening in my head and remind myself to be a gentleman.
But the truth is, with one simple comment, I’m as done as they get.
There is no way in hell or heaven I could stand to end up with someone like Bianca. There’s someone out there for her, I’m sure. But I’m not that guy.
And yet, I have to take the polite, gentlemanly road and sit through an entire dinner with her. The only self-preservation will be my ability not to take any of it too seriously.
“Yeah,” I say instead of wasting my time trying to explain how chromosomes work. “It’s, like, a poly-stretch blend, I think.”
She nods like she understands exactly what I mean.
My brain knocks on the inside of my skull, begging to be set free. I do my best to ignore it.
“Anyway,” I say, widening my eyes and taking a deep breath. “I guess we should head for our table.”
She smiles and nods, and I gesture for her to lead the way.
Once her back is to me, I scan the restaurant, looking for Holley. We’re going to have to have a talk about her picking this one for me—for anybody, really. She can’t convince me she couldn’t have searched for another option.
I finally spot her in the far back corner of the restaurant, her head bent to her notebook as she jots something down with a pen.
When we make it to the table, I pull out Bianca’s chair and get her settled and then take the seat across from her—the one with a direct view of Holley Fields over my date’s shoulder.
I keep staring there until Holley looks up and meets my eyes unexpectedly. It makes her startle, and I take a little perverse pleasure in it. It’s the least she owes me for this.
“So, Bianca,” I begin, forcing myself to look away from Holley and look my date in the eye. “What is it you do for work?”
“I’m a brand spokesperson on Instagram.”
“And…sorry, I’m not really in touch with a lot of today’s social media stuff…what does that entail exactly?”
Her red-painted lips quirk up at the corners. “I talk about different products on my Instagram page, and they pay me.”
“Is Instagram the one with the bird or the one with all the pictures?” I ask. I know Chloe is always talking about them, but I honestly can never remember what’s what.
Bianca’s eyes widen, and her lip, I think, might even quiver. “You don’t know what Insta is? Do you have a profile?”
I shake my head. “I pretty much leave all of that stuff to my teenage daughter.”
She grimaces into a fake smile, and I almost fucking laugh.
Hell, now she’s questioning what she’s doing here with me, too.
She looks at me again, though, moving her eyes over my face and body and squaring her shoulders. “Never mind.”
I take a deep breath and decide to try again. The more effort I make, the quicker this dinner will be over, and I can ask Holley what the hell she was thinking. “Are you from San Diego originally?”
“No, I moved out here instead of going to college.”
Right. Okay. I make it a point not to comment on how that may not have been her best idea.
“Have you ever been to Balboa Park?”
She squints as she thinks about it. “Is that, like, the place where they filmed Rocky?”
“Yes,” I lie, just because I can, and once again, explaining seems like the most torturous thing in the world.
“Oh my God, no, I haven’t. But we should, like, totally go! My brother always loved that movie, and Sylvester Stallone is a total artifact. Posting to Instagram with him would be a huge flex.”
She laughs, hard, and the loud, screeching sound of it nearly startles me out of my chair.
I didn’t think this thing could get worse, but my God, it just did.
It really, really did.
Holley
Date number one for Bachelor Anonymous is officially underway.
And I have the horrible pleasure of being the journalist who is being forced by her editor to stalk their every move in the name of selling papers.
Thanks a lot, Gloria.
Bianca reaches out and touches Jake’s hand flirtatiously. Jake glances down at it with a weird look in his eyes. I try to read their lips as Bianca laughs and pulls her hand away, but I’m failing miserably. Obviously, I should have trained harder for this moment. Taken up lip-reading exercises on the internet. Searched for a coach to help me study. Something.
Now all I am is a regular creepy woman in the back of a restaurant staring desperately at a couple on their first date. I was trying to be inconspicuous, but in the future, if I want to have anything to write about at all, I’d better choose a closer table.
It’s almost cruel, however, the way that Bianca’s laughter carries. Now, I don’t need to be closer to hear that at all. It’s this horrid mix of Fran Drescher and Janice from Friends, and it’s ricocheting off the walls of this upscale restaurant like it’s on a mission to make everyone’s ears bleed.
Jake glances over Bianca’s shoulder at me, and I have to wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. It’s a damn shame I don’t know how to play charades well enough to spell it out for him without making a scene.
And hey, that’s probably a good thing. Maybe he’s not thinking that at all. Maybe he’s thinking she has the most beautiful laugh he’s ever heard and my insinuating otherwise would offend him.
Bianca cackles like a hyena again, and I cringe.
I have to hope he doesn’t find that lovely, though. For the love of God, I hope.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I purse my lips in question, but I reach down to pull it out.
Eight thirty at night? My dad is already in bed, and—man, this is pathetic—I don’t really know anyone else.
For better or worse, Raleigh got all our friends in the breakup. I guess I could be sad about that if I really tried, but the truth is, we were only really friends with his friends from high school and their wives. And, to be frank about it, the wives and I never really jived.
In the end, even the women chose Raleigh’s side. Although, I don’t know if they had much of a choice. They were married to all his bros, and that group of friends was very much a “bros before hoes” kind of crowd.
I swipe up on the screen to unlock it, my eyes nearly bugging out of my head when I get a look at the sender of the text.
Jake: Just curious, did you get Chandler Bing’s approval before setting me up on a date with his ex-girlfriend Janice?
Me: You’re bad.
Despite the fact that I was clearly just thinking the same thing, I choose to pretend I’m above such snobbery.
I’m so not above it. Not at all.
And the thing is, I think he knows I’m not.
Jake: Although, I think even Chandler himself would be thinking, “Could this woman’s laugh BE any louder?”
I have to fight my laugh as another text rolls through.
Jake: Holley, it’s almost like it’s staged. Please, I beg of you, find out if she’s doing it on purpose.
Me: I’m not asking about it.
Jake: Well, I’m not either. I have to sit through the rest of a date. She might poison my food.
In order to prevent a Bachelor Anonymous protest right in the middle of his first date, I try my hand at reassurance.
Me: Just…ignore the laugh. It’s really not that bad.
He looks over Bianca’s shoulder and pointedly rolls his eyes at me. And the truth is, he’s right. There’s a better chance of snow in hell than ignoring Bianca’s laugh for the rest of the meal.
Jake: Not that bad? HA. You should take this comedy act on the road, Holley. Also, you’re going to owe me so much for this one. Could you really not find a woman who doesn’t know the difference between genes and jeans?
I shouldn’t text back, I know I shouldn’t, but I’m too curious for clarification to stop my fingers from tapp
ing across the screen.
Me: What?
Jake: Oh, and hypocrites. She doesn’t understand why anyone would think hippos are an insult. They’re “adorbs.”
I cover my mouth and look over at him. His eyes are dancing with both pain and the kind of amusement you can’t make up.
Apparently, Bianca’s ditziness is worse than any of us thought.
Their food arrives as I look on, and Jake glances over Bianca’s shoulder at me with relief in his eyes. Something to chew on—something to occupy his mouth. Perhaps, something to occupy hers so she doesn’t laugh any more.
I lean farther into my table and make a couple notes that I will definitely not use for my article because they’re a little mean-spirited, but I kind of want to remember them later so I can have another laugh.
Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but I have very little to live for, okay? I’m single. I have no pets. My best friend is my dad. And I’ve been forced to play fucking matchmaker. Really, I’m allowed to have this.
My waiter arrives with my prime rib, and I salivate just looking at it as he sets it down in front of me. I shove my notes to the side, Jake and Bianca and Chandler Bing long forgotten. It’s all about me and the meat right now.
I cut into the tender beauty and pop a piece in my mouth, a moan setting off a small alarm in my brain that I’m embarrassing myself. It makes me look up and across the room. Jake is staring at me, but his eyes flit away and back to Bianca before making real and true contact with mine.
I go back to my meat, slicing off another bite and shoving it in my mouth.
Man, that’s good. Juicy and tender and moist…
Yikes. Why does it sound like I’m describing something else all of a sudden?
I shake off the thought and tuck back into my meal with single-minded dedication. To be honest, I kind of forget that I’m supposed to be watching Jake and Bianca and taking notes about their interaction.