Chapter Fourteen
Nicki arrived at five minutes before eight.
For first dates, particularly ones arranged via apps, she always made her own way and never gave out her address or actual phone number.
She’d broken one of her rules, though. She’d wanted to meet for coffee, but he’d said he worked too late and would be hungry.
She’d compromised and agreed to drinks and appetizers.
First meets should be short. If it went well, she could always suggest an additional activity, but she didn’t want to be trapped for an entire meal with someone she didn’t like.
He’d suggested the bar in the Tuscan Grill, which meant he might be a local, and she’d agreed.
The restaurant was a ten-minute walk from her apartment.
Nicki despised the noise, crush, and chaos of clubs.
The restaurant had a nice bar area, but it was generally a quiet crowd.
The floors weren’t sticky, and you could hear your date talk, rare elements in a town dominated by the college scene.
If she didn’t like her date, she could make a rapid exit.
She didn’t even need to wait for an Uber.
For a Monday evening, the dining room was bustling.
She crossed the lobby and went to the bar.
Every stool was occupied. A grid of tables filled the remaining space.
Tall plants, mostly ferns, separated the tables, providing a small amount of privacy and creating an intimate atmosphere.
A male voice caught her attention. It sounded familiar.
She scanned the long bar and spotted him.
If she’d been a cartoon, her eyes would have bugged out of her head.
Was that . . . Dylan?
He stood at the bar, a tumbler of amber liquid in one hand, the other propped on the back of a stool occupied by a woman twenty years younger than him.
She wore a red minidress that looked prone to wardrobe malfunctions.
One less-than-careful recrossing of her legs, and no one would be able to question her biological sex.
Nicki had to admit, the dress made her boobs look amazing.
The woman squeezed her biceps to her rib cage, highlighting her assets.
She was one deep breath away from a nip slip.
She lifted a glass of beer, took a sip, then licked the foam from her lips with a slow deliberation that made Nicki do a mental eye roll.
Dylan, however, leaned closer. He was practically drooling.
He tried an awkward thigh grab, but the woman evaded with an ah-ah smile.
Nicki wasn’t sure who was playing who, but the game was entertaining to watch.
She shook her head and refocused on Dylan.
He wasn’t looking his best. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
But he still oozed some kind of stupid charm, no doubt the same quality that had lured Zoe into marrying him—that and his 4 percent body fat and carefully sculpted physique.
Though Nicki wasn’t into the super-lean look.
Sure, she liked a guy to be generally fit, but she didn’t want to hook up with anyone who spent that much time in the gym—or was that into himself.
Despite Dylan’s obvious intoxication, he looked like he’d preened.
The tousled, textured look of his hair required multiple products to achieve, and his three-day scruff had perfectly clean edges.
Yeah, he spent a lot of time trying to appear carelessly disheveled.
She contemplated confronting him. She really wanted to let him have it.
After Trevor’s betrayal, she had some rage to channel.
But taking her frustration out on him would do nothing to help find Zoe.
Sure, it would probably feel amazing, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything.
She would watch and see what he did. If Dylan was responsible for his wife’s disappearance, then his behavior might be important.
There were only two empty tables. Luckily, a handy fern stood between the table and Dylan.
If she peered between the fronds, she could see him, but he wasn’t likely to spot her.
She watched him continue to drink and drool over the woman’s perfect cleavage.
What was his deal? Was he mad at Zoe? Aunt Liv had said he was convinced his wife had left him.
In that case, he’d already decided to move on, with no confirmation and without putting much effort into finding Zoe.
In what? A day and a half? Didn’t seem like enough time to recover from being left by one’s spouse.
His behavior also said a lot about the state of their marriage and his opinion of Zoe.
Maybe he wasn’t that sad she was gone. Maybe her disappearance wasn’t a surprise.
Maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d hit up a younger woman in a bar.
Had he cheated on Zoe in the past? She put in a lot of hours with the podcast, and he had tons of free time.
A chill raced up Nicki’s backbone. She wasn’t enamored with Dylan, but she didn’t dislike him either.
Her opinion was more neutral. He didn’t appeal to her physically or intellectually.
Dylan wasn’t a great conversationalist. At first look, his smile could be charming, but when you looked deeper, that was all there was.
Yet both men and woman seemed to find him attractive, so whatevs.
For Nicki, Dylan was way too old to be sexually attractive. Unlike the Woman in Red, Nicki wouldn’t pimp herself out for a couple of free drinks. She could buy her own beer, thank you.
The waiter came by and read off the specials.
Nicki ordered a Lonely Chicken beer on tap and continued to watch the Dylan Show.
Not much was happening, except he ordered fresh drinks for himself and the woman.
He kept leaning over and whispering in her ear.
Each time, she’d shrink back and smile. His leering and constant touching were gross to watch, especially since Nicki knew his wife.
A few minutes later, she spotted her date standing at the end of the bar.
Cody stood about six feet tall, with short blond hair and a nice body.
He matched his profile photo and basic description, which was always a good sign.
Her last app date had turned out to be at least twenty years older than he’d claimed on his dating profile.
No amount of hair dye or bronzer could have disguised those crow’s-feet.
Being hit on by old dudes always felt weird and a little ick—I mean, this guy was her dad’s age.
But the lying itself was a red flag the size of a football field.
A man who misrepresented the very basics of his person wasn’t interested in a relationship. He just wanted sex. You couldn’t lie that blatantly about your age for long, right? She’d lasted five whole minutes before she’d walked out of the bar.
But Cody was age-appropriate and hotter in person than in his pic.
So far, so good.
Mentally crossing her fingers, she waved him over and stood when he approached the table. “Hi, I’m Nicki.” She waited for him to confirm that his name was really Cody. She’d been burned more often than not lately. It paid to be cautious.
He nodded. “I’m Cody.”
She held out a hand. He smiled as he shook it, then sat.
The waiter brought Nicki’s beer and set it on the table.
As was her habit, she pulled it close, tucking it protectively near her body.
Nicki’s parents, even her well-traveled dad, were naive and oblivious about the risks of modern dating, probably because they’d been married, as her mom often said, since dinosaurs roamed the earth.
But Aunt Liv had hammered dating safety into Nicki’s head since before she was old enough to drink.
Her golden rules: Keep your friends close and your drinks closer.
Aunt Liv knew all the statistics too, but Nicki usually zoned out while her aunt made her case with hard facts. Nicki didn’t need any more convincing. Aunt Liv was the smartest person she knew.
Cody pointed to her beer. “I’ll have the same.
” He leaned forward, his crossed forearms resting on the table.
The light was dim, but she could see that his eyes were a nice shade of brown.
His fitted black T-shirt hugged muscled biceps and a hard torso.
She tore her gaze off his chest and sat back abruptly, her face heating as their eyes met and it was clear he’d seen her staring at his body.
He smirked, and the confident gleam in his eyes was scorching.
Was it hot in here, or what?
She took a healthy swallow of her beer to cool off.
The waiter brought Cody’s beer, and he took a long drink, his tan throat moving as he swallowed.
He set down the tall glass with a satisfied look.
He watched her watching him, his gaze skimming her face like a touch.
She felt the tiny shiver deep in her belly.
Cody asked, “So, what did you do today?”
She could hardly tell him she’d helped her aunt steal a file from a true crime podcaster they suspected might be double-crossing their missing friend, so she stuck with her actual job.
“I had a meeting with a client.” She gave a few details but not too many.
She didn’t want to bore him. A social media marketing campaign wasn’t exciting to anyone except the client it had been designed for.
Besides, most people like to talk about themselves. “You?”
“The usual. Work, gym, home,” he said with an arrogant tilt to his head.
Better than gym, tan, laundry, she supposed.
They’d messaged within the app, so she already knew he was an associate at an investment bank—and that he was a little cocky, which wasn’t a problem.
Meek wasn’t a quality she was seeking. Plus, she could be brash too.
She wanted someone who’d be a good match, not a man who needed to dominate or one who would be a doormat.