2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Paige was meeting Hale at Bender’s, a relatively new restaurant she’d heard good things about and as she pulled into the crowded parking lot, she was surprised to feel her earlier anxiety mostly gone. Telling herself ‘It’s just a freaking drink’ all day long had apparently paid off; she wondered if it could work for other things, too, like getting a raise from her bitch of a boss.
It wouldn’t hurt to try it.
After parking, she chewed on a couple of peppermint Altoids—they were strong as hell and almost made her eyes water but they did their job—and then headed toward the ornate front doors, along with several other patrons. Inside the large vestibule, Paige spotted Hale standing near the hostess station, easily recognizing him from his profile picture and as she approached him, she became increasingly delighted with his real-life appearance. He was several inches taller than she was, and his dark hair and eyes gave off an even more pronounced Robert Downey, Jr. vibe than they did in his picture. He was also dressed in an actual suit (minus the tie) and the charcoal color, combined with his white shirt, was nicely stylish.
In short … she was a fan.
Alerted by the sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor, Hale looked over, smiling when he saw her. He appeared to be genuinely happy to see her and Paige felt the stirrings of some low grade tingles—they weren’t on the level of fireworks, but she wasn’t going to shake a stick at tingles.
“Hi, Paige,” he greeted her, his voice pleasingly deep and masculine. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He politely held out his hand and she shook it, liking his firm grip. She shook a lot of hands in her line of work and it always skeeved her out when a person had a limp handshake. Or worse, cold, clammy skin.
“Hi, Hale,” she returned his greeting, smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
He let go of her hand. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m really glad you showed up.”
Paige tilted her head, surprised. “Were you thinking I wouldn’t?”
“Well, my last two dates were no-shows, so I was a little paranoid, I guess.”
“Your last two dates stood you up?”
“They didn’t text, didn’t call. Nothing,” he said matter-of-factly. “But, ironically, those two dates were better than most of the ones I’ve had in the past year where my date actually did show up.”
She digested that. “Those dates must have been pretty bad, then.”
“On a scale of one to ten, I’ve yet to get past a five,” Hale told her. “And the date that scored a five was only because we finished dinner.”
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, I am. This online dating has been really challenging for me, to be honest.”
Paige couldn’t help but frown at hearing that. What kind of a world were they living in, when this guy was struggling with dating? Was she missing something? Was he a hot mess disguised as a hot guy? Should she start looking for red flags?
“I have a good feeling about this date, though,” he continued.
“You do?” She pretended to check her watch. “It’s barely been two minutes.”
His mouth curved upward. “True. But you showed up, so I’m feeling pretty hopeful as we head into small talk … even though that can have its own pitfalls.”
“I’ve never thought of small talk as having ‘pitfalls’.”
“Neither had I, until I expressed a fondness for watching football.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Paige was about to mention her love for all things New England Patriots (with an emphasis on Tom Brady because the man could throw a ball and looked fine while doing it) when Hale spoke again.
“My date said it was a barbaric sport played by Neanderthals with tattoos and low IQ’s, and the men who watched it were no better. I think she may have mentioned it fostered toxic masculinity or something but at that point, I wasn’t really listening to her anymore. And at the end of that date, I wasn’t choosing her over football.” He gave a quick, negative shake of his head to underscore that point.
“Good call. You dodged a bullet with that one.”
“I’ve dodged a lot of them, actually.”
“How many is a lot?”
“In the past year?” Hale took a deep breath. “A dozen.”
Her eyebrows rose, a little bit in shock, a little bit in apprehension. “So that makes me number thirteen?”
“Yes. But thirteen is my lucky number,” he assured her quickly. “Or, it will be after this date goes smoothly.”
“After it goes smoothly? That’s not a lot of pressure, or anything.”
“Nope. No pressure. Like I said, I have a good feeling.”
“I probably shouldn’t say this,” she said, using his previous words, “but you seem overly confident for someone with an 0-12 record.”
“Ouch.”
Paige grinned at him. She was pretty sure they were flirting but it had been a long time for her, and since they were basically dissing on his previous dating history … it could go either way.
To her relief Hale grinned back, then crossed his arms over his nicely broad chest before giving her a long, assessing look. “You know, you didn’t mention being an assassin in your profile.”
She returned his look. “Says the man with a trail of bodies behind him.”
“A trail of—” he broke off with a low laugh. “What happened to my dodging bullets?”
“Well, I said you dodged a bullet with that anti-football woman because she sounded bananas. And I’ll count the two who stood you up because obviously they’re horrible people, but the other nine bullets you supposedly dodged?” She shrugged. “I’m going to need some proof that you were the one actually dodging bullets like you claim, and not your dates.”
“Proof?”
“Yep.”
“All right.” He cleared his throat, amused. “You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“Well, the first woman I went out with told me I was being inappropriate and made her feel uncomfortable when I complimented her. She actually wanted me to apologize for telling her she looked nice, which I refused to do. She’s the reason I hesitate to compliment women now—had I not been worried I’d offend you, I would’ve told you that you look great. Because you do.”
“Really?” The extra time she’d taken with her appearance had apparently paid off. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave her a gentlemanly head tilt.
She returned to their conversation. “Well, she definitely counts as a bullet. Only nut-jobs don’t like to be told they look nice on a date by an attractive man.”
“You think I’m attractive?”
Paige felt herself flushing a little as she realized what she’d said, but since it was out there, she had to own it. “There’s nothing wrong with my vision.”
Seemingly pleased, Hale smiled and then continued. “My second date went to the bathroom right after we ordered our drinks and came back high as a kite. I don’t know what she did in there, but her pupils were so big I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were anymore.”
“Bullet.”
“Third date was on her phone most of the time, texting her friends and scrolling Twitter or Instagram, or whatever the hell it was. I didn’t ask. If I could’ve gotten my beer to go, I would have.”
“Bullet.”
“My fourth date was tracking fairly well—I was even thinking I might get to first base later—until I tried to pay for dinner and everything went sideways.”
“What? Why?”
“My date said I was being domineering and that women were more than capable of paying their own way. She said she didn’t appreciate my male patriarchy, or something like that. I wasn’t even really sure what that was, so I tried to joke with her. I said she could exert her female matriarchy over me and pay for my dinner, but she thought that was the opposite of funny.”
At Paige’s failure to hide her amusement, he held up his hands. “It was funny, right? But you want to know the funniest part?”
“She wasn’t sure what female matriarchy was? Because that would make two of us.”
“That would actually make three of us,” he admitted. “No, the funniest part was that her favorite book was Fifty Shades of Grey. She’d told me all about it when we were making small talk.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Oh, no, she didn’t.”
“She did. And apparently, she thinks the guy who wants to pay for her dinner is domineering, but the guy who ties up women and spanks their asses in a book, isn’t. When I mentioned that to her, she told me that was ‘different’ because there was a contract involved.” He shook his head. “After that I switched from starting off with dinner to meeting for a drink first.”
“Well, she’s definitely a bullet, but because her favorite book is Fifty Shades of Grey, I’m upgrading her to one of those hollow-point bullets.”
“What do you know about hollow-point bullets?”
“A lot. Okay, maybe not a lot, but I know enough from movies to sound like I do.”
Hale chuckled at that, then told her, “Fifth date was the anti-football woman and the sixth …” he trailed off for a moment as if trying to remember. “She was extremely interested in how much money I made and if my suit had a designer label on it.”
“Gold-digging bullet.”
“Date seven thought discussing current events meant the latest episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians and she was appalled that I didn’t know what was happening on the show."
“I don’t know what’s happening, either, so that date’s a bullet, too.”
“Eighth date borderline lost her shit when I held the door to the restaurant open for her—”
“No. You’re making that up.”
“I wish. She told me I was being sexist and that she didn’t need me to open the door for her, because she was a strong, independent woman and all that. And when I told her I’d been raised to open doors by a strong, independent woman, she got that Oh, please look on her face and I was done with her. Literally. I told her it had been nice meeting her—even though it hadn’t been—and said goodbye. That was the shortest date I’ve ever had.”
“Good for you. She was a big bullet.”
“The date after that is the one that drank a lot. She had three Appletinis to my one beer—”
“Say no more. She’s a bullet for drinking Appletinis.”
“Wait. I hadn’t gotten to the part where she’d obviously had a few drinks before meeting up with me.”
“Nice.”
“My tenth date … let’s just say she was late because she was coming from another date and let’s also just say it seemed likely that some form of sex had been involved.”
“Eew. Really?”
He nodded. “She was a little, um, how do I say this? Disheveled?”
“Bullet,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Then, her expression clearing, Paige quickly added, “Although, you’d probably have gotten to first base with her.”
“After someone else had already hit a home run? Pass.” Hale shook his head. “And that brings us to my last two dates, which were no-shows, so now you have all the ‘proof’ you need.”
Paige turned serious as she looked at the man in front of her. She was now understanding why he was still on the market and knew it had nothing to do with him. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that. And I want you to know that if this date goes ‘smoothly’ and it leads to another one, I will absolutely let you open the door for me and then buy me dinner.”
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
“Nope.”
Hale was looking at her like she was a unicorn. “Why wait? Let’s just do it now,” he suggested.
“You want to skip right to the second date?”
He nodded. “It’s too late to open the door for you, but we could definitely have dinner.”
Dinner! She pretended to consider his offer, trying to act like someone who received dinner invitations all the time and didn’t eat at home with her cat most nights. “I could eat,” she said, as if making a huge concession.
“Great.”
His white teeth flashed in a smile that ramped up the tingles a few notches.
Since their plans had changed from having a drink in the bar to having dinner, she and Hale went to go check on the availability of a table with the hostess. After finding them one, she grabbed two menus and motioned for them to follow her. As the hostess started leading them into the main dining room, a man and a woman came out, obviously leaving.
And even though it had been four-and-a-half years, it took less than a second for Paige to recognize them.
David.
Ashley.
Everything around Paige seemed to fade away—from the music coming out of overhead speakers to the chatter of patrons in the other room as they ate and drank—and without realizing it, she came to a stop. In what felt like a really horrible scene in a movie that she couldn’t turn off, her eyes tracked the couple as they slowly passed by her, unaware of her scrutiny and pain.
David was dressed in dark-washed jeans and an untucked, white button-down shirt, both of which fit him very well. His six-foot tall frame was still muscular, his shoulders as broad as she remembered and it was clear he hadn’t let himself go at all.
His eyes were the same hazel that she used to get lost in and had one day hoped to pass on to their children. There were a few more lines around those eyes, but instead of detracting from his looks, they enhanced them, adding character and maturity to his handsome face.
His thick hair was still mostly a dark ash-brown, but now the ash undertones were more noticeable, turning it into an even sexier color than when he was younger, if possible. It was also quite long, falling just past his shoulders in glorious, haphazard waves that begged to be played with.
Perhaps the most dramatic change was the short, neatly trimmed beard he was sporting and she found herself liking it very, very much, although it hid the cleft in his chin that she’d always adored. It was slightly lighter than the color of his hair, with more concentrated ash colored streaks fanning out from around his mouth and down to his chin, making him look both rugged and provocative at the same time.
She didn’t know if David was legitimately sexier than he’d been when they were together, or if her sexual radar was now just functioning properly, but he looked good.
He looked better than good. He looked fucking unbelievable.
And he was with Ashley.
Of all the women Paige had to see him with for the first time since their divorce, it had to be Ashley, who’d always looked like the pornstar version of Megan Fox. The comparison was even more on point tonight, as she rocked ankle boots, skinny jeans, and a cropped, off-the-shoulder sweater that showcased her young, perky tits.
They were walking close together, Ashley’s arm wrapped around David’s waist, his left hand holding the back of her neck, which Paige could clearly see, since Ashley’s dark hair was up in a sexy, messy bun. It was David’s hand that Paige found herself focusing on—that and the large, stainless steel, black dial, Tag Heuer watch on his wrist that Paige had given to him on their honeymoon.