Playboy
My dinner with Ken isn’t until his next day off, which means I have a few more opportunities to give this app the final attempt. Which could be very good or very bad.
It also sucks because I’ve been dying to tell Decker about my dates. He found them as entertaining as I did without making me feel foolish like Mona does. As great as the sex was, I miss talking to Decker. It was too short lived.
He suggested a nice Italian place, which earns him points. Anywhere that serves fresh pasta is a great start—who doesn’t love homemade noodles? The food is fantastic, and we’re having a decent conversation. Except… his phone keeps going off.
“Stupid phone. I’m so sorry, Holly,” Neil says. “These girls just won’t leave me alone.”
It would be far less annoying if he just ignored it, but he keeps up the same ritual every few seconds.
First, he grabs his phone. Then he sighs.
Dramatically. The eye roll comes next, and he unlocks it.
A head shake, and then he locks it again.
It sits back on the table, face down, until it buzzes again.
Then we start the whole process over again.
“Stupid face ID,” he mutters when it doesn’t unlock right away. “Four-three-oh-two.”
“So,” I ask, “what are you looking for with this dating app?”
I have to know if he’s just using it to chase one-night stands, or if he wants to settle down.
“A good time?” The smirk should be cocky, but there’s an insecurity in his brown eyes. “No, I’m trying to find someone I can really connect with. Someone I can bring home to Mom and Dad one day.”
That wouldn’t be a bad answer if we hadn’t already talked about his parents. “Didn’t you say your mom was killed by your dad, and your dad’s in prison?”
“Figuratively speaking. Unless you’re a medium,” he says, his hand hitting the table as he laughs a little too loudly.
Between the insecurity behind his bravado and his rehearsed answers that contradict the conversations we’ve already had, I don’t think I can trust anything Neil says.
“No luck on that front yet?” I ask, deciding to let it go.
“No, not really.”
The phone keeps buzzing, but we still manage to push the conversation forward. Right up until he has to go to the restroom.
Neil gives me a warm smile but stops. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say.
That’s a weird reaction to a guy who claims to have women fighting for his attention. Or is he the one who will leave? Is he going to climb out the bathroom window and leave me with the check?
That would be my luck.
The familiar buzz sounds, and I lift out of my seat slightly to look over the table. There’s his phone on his seat.
“It must’ve fallen out of his pocket.”
Something deep inside tells me that I need to look at these messages. Maybe he’s a serial killer. Maybe he has eight baby mamas. Who knows?
Picking it up, I try to remember what he muttered. “Four-three-zero-two?”
It unlocks.
Over ninety text notifications. As someone who can’t stand the unread notifications, I’m instantly irritated by this number. His email icon shows 2,573 unread emails, and I don’t even want to look at his social media apps.
“Yeah, this would never work,” I mutter.
Reading the text messages—all of them from the same person—solidifies this conviction.
“Is that my phone?” Neil asks as he returns, snatching it from my hand.
I almost wish he’d snuck out the bathroom window. Watching him come in the front door to retrieve his phone would have been entertaining.
“Yeah, it was on your seat buzzing like it has all night.”
“So, you hacked my phone?”
“You said your code, dude.” Crossing my arms, I lean back and glare at him. “Care to tell me the truth?”
“Depends on what truth you’re talking about.”
Continuing to glare, I roll my eyes. “Why some guy named Joe keeps texting to ask if the plan is working? If you’ve finally found a gullible one to get lucky?
You made it sound like you had girls blowing up your phone, but it was just your buddy Joe.
Who I’m guessing has played this game with you before. ”
“Oh, you read those, huh?”
“Also, read your freaking emails. Your unread notifications give me anxiety.”
He lets out a long breath and slouches. “It’s a ruse.”
“For?”
“Okay, look. I’ve never been with a woman.”
“Wait—”
“Yes, I’m thirty-five, and I’ve never been inside a woman. Finger. Mouth. Dick. Nothing.”
Tilting my head, I try to find the right words. “Might help if you didn’t refer to it as being inside a woman. It sounds creepy. Like you want to skin her and wear it.”
My mind starts working on semantics. He said he’s never been inside a woman, but he didn’t say he was a virgin. Has he been with men? There’s nothing wrong with it, but this category doesn’t make any sense to me.
“That’s a good point. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You know there’s a Virgin category, right?”
“Yeah, and it’s for young, barely legal teenage girls with creepy older dudes. No hot chick is looking to deflower a man in his mid-thirties.”
Okay, so that sounds like he’s a virgin all around. And I kind of see his point. I don’t know if I’ve really read any virgin books that aren’t young nubile women and experienced, mature men. Doesn’t make it better, but at least it’s more palatable than the fake biker.
“So why the Playboy category?”
“I’ve tried a few others, but nothing works. I figured if a girl is willing to date someone she believes is a player, I might finally get laid.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you? Considering you’re still a virgin, I’m guessing… not great?”
Shaking his head, Neil stares at his plate. “You’re the fourth date I’ve had pretending to be a player. The closest I’ve gotten is second base. I think my inexperience shows, and they walk out.”
“Well, they’re looking for a player, so…”
“Any chance I can convince you to… take pity on me?”
It’s not the worst offer I’ve had so far. And Neil might actually trump Preston as the least bad date I’ve had. But do I really want to teach Neil what to do in the bedroom?
“Sorry, dude. Not my type. Have you tried the Cougar category? Might be a better option.”
He sighs. “I tried. There’s no one under fifty-seven.”
“Older women would be experienced enough to show you the ropes. They know what they like, and they’ll have no issue bossing you around. You’ll learn quickly.”
“Have you ever seen an old woman naked? Gross.”
“Fifty-seven isn’t that old, Neil. And one day, you’ll be fifty-seven. Do you want women to comment on how gross your body is?”
“I’ll be in the best shape of my life, banging hot, young chicks.”
I snort and finish my wine. “With that attitude, you’re going to be a fifty-seven-year-old virgin, my friend. I fully understand why you’re in the predicament you’re in.”
“So that’s a definite no on taking pity on me?”
He looks so hopeful, but his comment about older women being gross shot any sliver of a chance he could talk me into out of the water. “You’ve got a better chance of finding a hot chick willing to deflower you from the Virgin category than convincing me to strip off any clothing for you.”
“That’s fair. Since we’re not getting naked, are we splitting the bill, or…?”
Yep. Should’ve seen that one coming.
“You know what? I got it.”