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His mouth twitches as if my smile’s contagious but he’s fighting thevirus.
“In any case. You are similarly...” He makes a gesture with his hands. “Attractive.”
“Thanks.”
My thighs clench together and I uncross and cross my legs under the table, bumping his shin lightly in a way that makes himfrown.
I force my attention back to the menu. “So how do you want to dothis?”
Tapas are the ultimate first-date test. It’s like you need to collaborate to solve a giant puzzle of what the other person wants while still getting what you want while you don’t even know yet whether you care what theywant.
“There’s cauliflower. Which I believe you passed on. And steak.” He points, and Inod.
“What about oysters?” Ilob.
We agree on six dishes, half of which are vegan and all of which I’m going to try, and once the waiter’s retreated, I shiftforward.
“So, tell me everything about you,” I say. Guys love talking about themselves. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. What do youdo?”
“I’m adoctor.”
My dad’s a cardiologist. He fixes people’s hearts but can’t take care of his own. He hits on women at parties. My mom had his Porsche painted the color of a penis. It’s a dance theydo.
I take another sip of wine. “You’re in hospital or privatepractice?”
“I have a PhD ingenetics.”
Yikes. Probably clones farm animals or tells people what to eat for their bodytype.
“My research focuses on cancer,” he goes on as if I asked. “The factors that cause it. I conduct longitudinal heritabilitystudies.”
If I was hoping Jake would set me up with an easy-breezy “What sports team do you cheer for?” type, I was clearly off-base.
The waiter brings a basket of bread. It’s a “carbs, yes” kind of day, so I reach forone.
“I stumbled on something I didn’t expect: you can predict which individuals from the sample are compatible on the basis of a few alleles. The implication being that people could, in theory, find partners based on theirDNA.”
I freeze with a piece of roll halfway to my mouth. “Wait. You’re amatchmaker?!”
“No.” I could have ignored the edge in his voice if it wasn’t accompanied by the flash of irritation in his gaze. “It’s not the focus of myresearch.”
I butter my bread and take a bite of it, chewing slowly as I watch him. Now I’m interested. “So, you’re in it for themoney.”
He takes a drink, and I watch his throat work before he straightens in his chair as if he’s bracing himself. “I’m interested in the commercial applications,yes.”
I feel as if there’s a “but,” but it nevercomes.
The first two plates are delivered, and I’m grateful for the moment’s break because I’m not sure what to make of WesRobinson.
He’s not what I expected. He seems like the kind of guy my friend Haley used to hang out with in college, the spectacularly smartkind.
But as I watch Wes take a bite from the first shared plate, I don’t remember any of them looking like him, or having his deliberate composure. He’s not naïve like the interns we had at Closer this summer who were green as the trays of wheatgrass down at Booster Juice. He’s smart. He knowsit.
Wes seems to sense something’s changed because after the first bite, he barely glances at the plate as he shifts back and folds his arms over his broad chest. “So, you work in relationship marketing. What does thatentail?”
“Today it entailed getting passed on by a client I spent the last two months courting. Because I didn’t get the nuance of their product. Tell me something, Wes Robinson. Would you love having shorts that keep your testicles cold in the summer and warm in thewinter?”
Those blue eyes clear as he considers my question. “I’d love it if you never said the word ‘testicles’again.”
