The First Taste(7)

“Well, then you’ll be happy to hear I don’t date, either. Not cute biker chicks in tight jeans, even though they’re my type, and not prissy city girls, who are most definitely not.”

She reels back as if I’ve slapped her, but takes a beat before she speaks. And in those few seconds, understanding crosses her face. “You have an ex too.”

“I do.”

“Being called a prissy city girl doesn’t bother me.”

“I didn’t think it would.” The more I stand here, the more I think Amelia might be just what I need this weekend. I have no complaints about my life, but before Bell came along, I was a lot more spontaneous. Sometimes I even thought about getting out of New Jersey. But the truth is, Jersey is my home. I wouldn’t have lasted long before coming back. It’s certainly more my speed than the city, but it’s been a while since I spent an evening somewhere other than Timber Tavern, the only bar I’ve hit up since Bell was born. It’s also been a while since I got to flirt with someone who wasn’t a high school classmate, or a friend of one, or a friend of a friend of one . . .

On a whim, I hide her divorce papers behind my back. “What’re your plans tonight?”

She scoffs. “It’s Friday night. What aren’t my plans? I have drinks with friends in an hour, then a late dinner, and who knows after that.”

“Cancel them.”

She gapes at me. “Cancel my plans? Why would I?”

“Come out with me. Sadie says there’s a place around here with great pizza.”

She laughs, tilting her head and exposing the smooth column of her throat. “First, I don’t eat carbs, so there’s no way you’re getting me to do anything with the promise of pizza. Second, I just told you—I don’t date.”

“And neither do I.”

“Then why are you asking me out?”

“Because despite what you may think, I’m a gentleman, and it’s only good manners to buy you dinner first.”

“First?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “What’s second?”

We stare at each other. I let her figure it out on her own. It’s rare to meet a woman like me, someone who truly has no interest in finding a partner. I’ve heard that claim from enough girls to know when they’re bullshitting me, and unless Amelia is a Grade-A con artist, she definitely isn’t looking to get serious.

When she understands, the wrinkles on her forehead ease, and she parts her lips. I answer with a knowing smile. Suggesting sex within half an hour of meeting someone might normally get me slapped, but I get the feeling Amelia appreciates a more direct approach.

“I don’t date,” I say, “but I’m still a man with eyes.”

She makes no secret of looking me up and down. “You’re not my type either,” she warns. “I like men who carry a briefcase and see a barber regularly.”

I run my hand through my black hair, which I know is too long. “How’s that working out for you?”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Perfect.”

“I have some tattoos too,” I say. “And own a motorcycle. Since that’s normally how I get most girls, I suppose those are turn-offs for you.”

“They are,” she says immediately, straightening her shoulders. “I’ve never understood the appeal of a bad boy.”

“Then tonight, we’re a match made in heaven, aren’t we? It shouldn’t be hard for either of us to say goodbye afterward.”

She bats her eyelashes a few times, not because she’s flirting but because she’s thinking. Considering. Which means it’s basically a done deal. I’ve never gotten this far with a girl only to have her walk away. “Why even bother with dinner?” she asks.

I take a moment to study her, her shoulder-length, perfectly coifed blonde hair. Her defined red lips that look like a heart when pursed, which is often. Yeah, based on the fact that I’m noticing details—something I try not to do anymore—I know I’m feeling her tonight. Most guys would jump at the opportunity to skip the small talk, but that doesn’t really appeal to me. I like women, always have. Just because Shana f*cked me in the head doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time around them—just so long’s it’s surface stuff.

I don’t want to scare her off by suggesting I might want to have a conversation with her, so I just shrug. “Because I’m starving.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Indulge me then. I need my energy.”

“For what?” she asks.

I arch an eyebrow at her. I’ll definitely need sustenance to handle her for a night.

She reads my expression, and her cheeks redden. “Oh.”

I mentally high-five myself for making this obviously composed woman both laugh and blush in such a short timespan.

She squints over my shoulder and after a few seconds, shakes her head. “No. It’s a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

Huh. I expected some pushback, but not a hard no. “What’s bad about it?”

“I just haven’t been with anybody since—” She focuses behind me, as if there’s something holding her attention. I know there isn’t. She doesn’t want to refuse me, but it’s easier if she pretends not to see me. “So, I wouldn’t be . . . it’s been a while since I did it.”