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"And where do you take your Tinder dates?" I return her question.
She smilesyou wish you knew. "Oh no. You didn't answer. Where is date two?"
"Drinks again," I say. "Then, a restaurant. One the woman will like. If she has expensive tastes and loves sushi, then I'll take her to Nobu."
"You don't have a default place?"
I shake my head. "I try to suggest somewhere she'll like. Or I ask her."
"Do women usually answer?"
"Of course. It's the twenty-first century," I say.
She looks me over slowly, noting my casual linen shirt and shorts. "I guess I can't imagine you on this casual date, with this modern woman, who decides where you'll go."
"What am I doing now?"
She bites her lip. "I did demand we go here. That's a good point."
"But you think I'm an old-timey romance hero?" I ask.
"A detective, actually." She smiles. "So you know all the best spots. And you always pick the right one. Since you've followed leads all over the city."
I shake my head. "And where did you get this idea?"
"From your clothes. And a few of my sexual fantasies."
"Oh." I raise a brow and lean a little closer. I don't mean to bring it back to sex, and I don't think she does either, but it's in the air. After all, this is the kind of place you go after sex. Not because it's unimpressive in conventional ways. Because it's an easy, fast way to feed yourself so you have energy for the next round.
"There might be a scenario in my head," she says. "With an interrogation."
"I'm listening."
She shakes her head. "No. I'm trying to talk about other things. I swear."
"Can you talk about other things?" I tease her.
She laughs. "Maybe. That's a theory I need to test. How many minutes can Daphne Webb go without bringing the topic back to sex."
"Minutes?" I shake my headI don't think so. "We're at seconds."
Her laugh is big, hearty. It floats through the air, filling the room with warmth.
She has such a gorgeous laugh. I want to listen to it forever.
For as long as I have. I'm not dwelling on the end point. I'm enjoying this. For once in my life, I'm going to enjoy something without expectations of a future.
I can do that.
In theory.
"When it is up to you," she says. "And these modern women ask you to choose, because they're just too damn tired to decide the restaurant themselves, where do you go?"
"One of the restaurants that serves Californian-style cuisine," I say. "They're nice, but they're more casual."
"And not outrageously expensive," she says.
I nodexactly. "A lot of people are uncomfortable at expensive restaurants." I raise a brow and motion to her. That's the most logical explanation for why she keeps asking, but it feels insufficient.
