Chapter 9 #6
By the time our mains arrived, the conversation had settled into a warm, easy rhythm.
I ended up going for prawn and mushroom ravioli with a side of sweet potato fries, while Jericho had gone for a steak the size of his head.
But as we ate and chatted, I realised how much I was enjoying just being with him.
He was funny, unpredictable, and somehow managed to make even mundane observations feel like a private comedy show.
I caught myself smiling at him more than I probably should have, and felt a flutter of something dangerous and exciting.
When our desserts arrived – a glorious, wobbling mountain of chocolate profiteroles – things hit peak ridiculousness.
Jericho tried to be suave, lifting a fork with the utmost care, only for chocolate to escape and streak down the side of his shirt.
I snorted so hard that a rogue puff of whipped cream went flying towards his face.
He ducked, chocolate splattering a little on the edge of the table.
‘See?’ I said between giggles, smearing a bit of chocolate on my finger like a tiny flag of victory. ‘Romance is messy.’
‘Exactly,’ he said, leaning across the table with a grin, swiping a dollop off my plate and shoving it into his mouth like it was a covert mission.
In his reach, he accidentally nudged one of the profiteroles, sending it wobbling towards my shoulder.
I caught it with a squeal, holding it triumphantly above my head like a golden trophy.
‘Truce?’ he asked, holding up his chocolate-covered hands.
‘Truce,’ I agreed, though we both ended up flinging tiny smears of chocolate at each other anyway, laughing so hard we drew curious glances from other diners.
The way he laughed, teased, and somehow made the chaos feel intimate and light, made my heart flutter.
By the time we finally settled back, sticky fingers and all, I realised that I might just be falling for him anyway. Just a little bit, perhaps.
‘You know, you’re a lot more laid-back than your profile implies,’ Jericho said as we made our way to leave.
True to form, he helped me slip into my jacket, and I used that small window of closeness to lean in just a little, letting my arms brush against him as I threaded them through the sleeves.
For a brief moment, I was enveloped in his cologne again, and for some weird reason, I felt safe.
‘Is that so?’ I replied, feigning shock, though I’d known it for hours.
There had been a part of me that wanted to maintain the top-tier, snooty elegance my OuiMeet profile promised – a brooding, mysterious, slightly unattainable persona designed to make him chase me.
But all of that had crumbled the second he made me laugh at the coffee shop earlier.
With him, I didn’t need to perform or pretend; I could just be me.
And somehow, that ease between us made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
‘You know,’ I added, letting a teasing smile curl at my lips, ‘you’re dangerously good at making me forget how to be intimidating.’
He leaned slightly closer, and I felt a little thrill of daring. ‘Oh? Maybe I should keep doing that, then,’ he said softly, his voice low enough to make my heartbeat spike. In my head, I ran through my preferences again, matching Jericho against them:
A man (tick)
Live/grew up in London (tick)
Preferably South London (unfortunately not, but God bless the London Overground)
At least six foot two (six foot four! We have a winner)
No preference on weight or build (built like a stallion – tick)
Nice teeth and lips (tick)
Nice eyes (beautiful ones, tick)
Well spoken (we love an eloquent babe – tick)
Tattoos (on the neck! THE NECK!! Swoon. Tick)
Educated [university level and beyond] (tick!)
University must be one of the top 20 best universities in the UK (tick!!)
Earning at least ￡50k a year (haven’t asked, but would assume so based on what he said about his savings)
A stable, steady job that isn’t so demanding that it takes time away from moi (mmm. I’d need to revisit this; on one hand …)
Should either have hair, or be completely bald with a full/long beard (sexy low fade – tick)
Dick size at least six inches and thick in girth; preferably circumcised (Let’s pray I get to find out)
Kind, generous, sensitive, fun blah blah blah (seems to be so far – tick)
Must have own car and live alone. No flatmates (another win – double tick!)
No red pill/Alpha male beliefs (so far so good – tick)
Must ABSOLUTELY NOT listen to any male podcasts (I absolutely fucking hope not)
Must not be a super active user of Facebook or Instagram (remains to be seen)
Must not have more Instagram followers than me (wouldn’t be surprised if he did – he’s gorge)
Must not be any kind of social media influencer (tick, I think)
Non-cigarette smoker [weed’s OK on occasion] (tick)
Must not invest in or have anything to do with Crypto currency or ‘stocks’ (tick – we thank God)
Should be open to pets (especially cats) (triple quadruple tick)
I caught his gaze, the mischievous glint in his eyes daring me to match it, and for a brief, perfect moment, the space between us felt electric; charged with laughter, teasing, and the delicious knowledge that we were playing a game neither of us seemingly wanted to end.