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Silence grows between us, forming an awkwardness that's a living, breathing thing, which I'm frankly not accustomed to and is slowly seeping the oxygen from my bloodstream. In short, I'd rather have my sex tapes leaked than bear another second.
"You reading a book in there?"
"Mhmm," she hums sweetly, flipping a page. "It's titled Seven Signs Your Date is a Sociopath."
"A sociopath, huh?" I swirl my drink with a smirk, watching flecks of mint dance by like a flurry of snow. "I'm not one for labels, Jules. I like to think of myself as having a flexible moral compass."
She snaps her menu down—thank God.
"Why am I here?" she asks, annoyance written across her pretty features.
Her tone may be blunt, but she could never foresee the bomb coming her way. One that, upon detonation, will ruin what miniscule connection we have going for us right now. Which is why I intend on toying with her while I still can, before all words cease to fail her—or she's hurling her five-star meal across the table.
"Well, you see..." I twiddle my thumbs as I let the tension grow between us, humor bubbling in my gut when seriousness marks her expression. Reeling her in further, I clear my throat, pleased when it comes out hoarse. "The other night..." I sigh deeply, avoiding her worried stare... then shoot her a sparkling smile. "I was scrolling on Charmr, when I came across quite a shock..."
With an irritated scoff, she lurches back into her chair. I soldier on, weathering her frown.
"My homeboy's ex girl, Alison!" Feigning second-hand offense, my palm shoots to my twitching lips, a laugh lodged in my throat as Juliana's head shakes disapprovingly, duped not once, but twice. "The thing is, they had just broken up. Not even two weeks ago. And there she was, out scouting for her next hookup. Can you believe that?" I allow for a pause, soaking in her murderous gaze like whispers to a nosy socialite. "I know, I know. Heartless. Absolutely horrible. Well, I didn't want to hurt his feelings—so, let's keep this between the two of us, okay?—but..." I swallow, seconds from some life-altering confession:
"I swiped right."
Juliana rolls her eyes, so far back I think she might lose them. Then she's collecting her things—her phone, her purse, certainly her better judgment or dignity or both—moments from ditching my ass before we've even seen our appetizers.
"Then there was this barista." She freezes, halfway out of her chair. "Far from the typical girl you'd find on that site..." When a blush stains her cheeks, and she's inching back down to her seat, I wink. "So, I swiped... and swiped and swiped and swiped. What can I say? It's simple, really. The bigger the tits, the faster I—"
She throws—literally chucks, amidst upper societal elites—her napkin across the table at full force. I catch it mid-air, unable to contain my laughter. Sure, what I said about her is true. But the playboy in me can't have her thinking that.
"You haven't matured a day in five years," she hisses low as a few heads turn in our direction, embarrassment hot on her cheeks. "You should really consider growing up."
"And you should lighten up, dollface."
Satisfaction burns in my middle when her lips part slightly, too long to go unnoticed, before her face scrunches like a raisin. "You're a walking cliché."
"Am I?" I chuckle, deep and rich, leaning closer, entering her space across the intimate table. Shamelessly, I let my gaze wander, taking my time appraising her silky hair and tight dress. Surprised when my voice comes out thick. "Do tell."
She wets her lips. "I-I'm sure it's not hard to guess."
Fuckkk.
My jaw ticks in restraint, noting her subtle signs of submission as if they're written boldly on a billboard solely for my viewing. The waver in her voice. The flush on her chest against the candlelight. The caution swirling in her green eyes, twisted in anger yet pleading for more...
"Enlighten me, Jules."
Her pet name comes out like sweet honey, sending a shiver clattering across her skin. But a fire trails shortly behind, as she bares her teeth. "Fine," she huffs, expelling the tension in the air. "Aside from your permanent grin, bulky Rolex, and douche-bag hairdo..."
OUCH. When I flinch ever-so slightly, I swear her eyes twinkle. She had that locked and loaded.
"You tricked me into this date, after I made it crystal clear that I never wanted to see you again. Then, you had the audacity to show up late to said date. Then, when I left—as I rightfully should've—you baited me back in here with veiled promises."
"Hmmm..." I tap my chin. "Veiled promises, you say?"
"Yes," she snaps, done with my bullshit. "You haven't even told me how you know about my mobile game."
Rule two strikes red-hot.
The real answer?
Her brother blabs about everything, including his nerdy sister, who has been attached to her computer since high school, programming indiscernible lines of gibberish and playing cozy, pixelated video games that would put me to sleep. So, it comes as no shock, when Jeremy, out of love and admiration, as well a genuine interest, being the fellow techie he is, spouts off about his little sister's accomplishments.
