Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Colt
This was a stupid idea.
‘Get back on the apps,’ Davis said. ‘You need to get laid,’ Davis said. I love the guy, but since when do I take fucking love life advice from him? The man rotates women more frequently than I swap out a pair of socks.
“Colt?”
The woman sitting in front of me is beautiful, I’ll admit that. Her dark brown hair compliments her green eyes and her smile is absolutely radiant. The cut of her dress gives me just enough of a peek at her cleavage to tease me, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the view from across the table.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, “I didn’t catch that.”
She laughs, brushing off my apology, and tells me, “I was just asking what you like to do for fun.”
“Oh. I play a lot of golf.” I’m not going to tell her about the art collecting.
I’ve learned my lesson that bringing it up usually results in dates trying to somehow weasel their way in so they can get at my bank account.
Besides, I keep most of my collection at my home, and I don’t plan on inviting her there.
Again, lessons learned, and all of that. “And yourself?”
“I’ve recently started to try my hand at sculpting with air-dry clay. I’ve found it to be really quite…”
I tune her out somewhere around ‘clay.’ I should be paying attention and making an effort, here – this could wind up being more than just a one night stand if I play my cards right.
But after more than a decade not tying myself down in anything serious, I’ve gotten comfortable enough here.
Just let off some steam when I need a little release and wash my hands of the whole deal the morning after.
The small talk that comes before is fucking torture.
What do you do for a living?
What are your hobbies?
Do you have kids?
Name one thing you would take with you on a deserted island!
I’ve pretty much heard it all at this point, and it’s become tedious. There’s no substance in these ‘first dates,’ nothing that ever leaves me craving something more with the person at the other end of the table.
It takes effort not to check my watch to see how long this little date has gone on – not because she’s done anything wrong; she’s quite pleasant, actually.
I’m just not interested in pursuing anything more than a quick fuck, and from the messages she was sending me, it seemed to be mutual, though I’m doubting that now, as she pulls up the dessert menu and places an order.
It’s fine, I think. If I’m going to use her, I can at least wait while she has a piece of fucking cheesecake.
I pay the bill and hold out my arm for her as we leave the restaurant.
The drive to her place is just as long as the dinner, or at least it feels that way.
The silence is filled with more small talk, questions about my businesses – how many I own, what my schedule looks like on a given day, how many people I employ – enough to tell me where this woman’s head is at, and I’m suddenly completely fine with the fact that I zoned out during our meal.
I answer her questions without offering any additional information and make sure to ask her a few in return, just to be a gentleman.
“So,” my date says, “do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Coffee sounds great.”
I step out of my seat and hurry around to open her door and let her out of the car.
She offers me a gentle smile and takes my hand as she steps out onto her driveway.
I walk her up to the door and wait while she digs around in her purse for her keys, almost like she’s making a show of being flustered, until she finally locates them and slips the right one into the lock.
Swinging open the door, she says, “I’ll put a quick pot on and we can continue our conversation.”
Frog or prince. Pick one and stick to it.
The words slam into me like a goddamn semi truck, and I hesitate, unable to bring myself to cross the threshold.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, surprising even myself. “I don’t think I can do this tonight.”
Pressing my lips into a tight smile, I turn and head back toward my car, leaving my date alone in her doorway, confused.
I might be pissed at Rowan for her behavior, I might be insanely fucking jealous over the men she could potentially be choosing to spend her time with, but walking into that house would feel like a betrayal, and I won’t do that to her. Even if she would never know.