Chapter 14 #2
“And as long as we’re on the subject,” he said as he handed me a plate and a fork, “I want to take you out on a date.”
I froze. Since when did friends with benefits go out on dates?
I opened my mouth to say something—and immediately snapped it shut when I saw Dash’s face.
“A real date,” he said. “The kind where we dress up and I pick you up at your door and take you somewhere that has tablecloths and a wine list. And I don’t smell like horse.
” He swept his gaze over me, and I almost shivered in spite of the dense humidity that had gathered in the air. “I’m very good at dates.”
“Yeah, like that’s impressive. Name one thing you’re bad at.” Bypassing the Tupperware full of celery and carrot sticks, I stuck an entire finger into the hummus, then brought it to my mouth.
“That is not proper date etiquette,” he said, cracking up.
I pointed at him. “There’s a snapshot moment, right there.”
“Doesn’t count,” Dash protested as he piled food on both our plates, but his lips were still curled.
“It’s been so long since I was on a date, I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten what proper date etiquette is. Actually, funny story—the last date I went on took place on that rock over there.”
Dash’s gaze followed my pointing finger as I swiveled it to indicate one of the large rocks that studded Central Park. “It wasn’t with your asshole ex, was it?”
“No, this was a different asshole, a couple of weeks before I met you. It was one of the most epically romantic dates I’ve ever been on. Or at least it started off that way.”
He reached for a fig in a blanket, and I didn’t even get the full body shivers when his mouth closed around it. “I sense a storytime.”
“Get this. We went for an evening walk and ended up talking on the rock for so long that they closed the gates around us without us noticing. And of course, I couldn’t scramble over them because I’m so desperately unathletic, so he had to lift me over.
And my foot caught on the wire and I kind of fell onto him and he caught me and pulled me in close for a kiss.
I swear, it was like something out of a romcom.
The only thing that was missing was the sunset stroll along the Brooklyn Bridge.
He even walked me to my street, and we stood in the corner kissing under a streetlamp. ”
“What happened?”
“He fucking ghosted me, that’s what.” I laughed at Dash’s expression of outrage. “I texted him a few days later and my message never went through. So either he blocked me, or his phone is somewhere at the bottom of the Hudson.”
“Definitely an asshole move.” Dash forked up some farro salad. “I feel like I should apologize for my whole gender.”
I shrugged, reaching for a napkin. “It was incredibly confusing, because I thought the date had gone really well. But at least I got a good story out of it—I’m thinking about using it in my screenplay.
You know, when I finally get around to writing it.
” I paused for a second as it struck me that I hadn’t so much as thought about my screenplay in a couple of days.
It shouldn’t have been surprising, not really.
I mean, it wasn’t like it was unusual for me to erase something from my mind once I’d pivoted away from it.
Why had I ever thought that screenwriting would be different? “If I ever do.”
“I feel like you’ve barely mentioned it,” he said carefully, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. “I don’t even know what it’s about.”
“That’s probably because I don’t even know what it’s about.
” I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my folded legs.
“It’s supposed to be a romcom, but I don’t know.
This Duke of Harding stuff is so much easier.
Do you think we should experiment with other characters for you and Chase? I can totally see you as a cowboy.”
“Well, ma’am, I reckon I could pass for a cowboy,” he drawled, then effortlessly switched into a plummy British accent, “but I believe that we mustn’t get too unfocused from our original idea, at least at present.
Particularly with this new Georgie Hart program that’s about to do a lot of our marketing for us. ”
“Tell me again why you didn’t go into acting?”
Dash shrugged, grinning. “Taking my pants off for fun and profit seemed more appealing.”
“How did you get on OnlyFans, anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.”
“I mean, what else was I going to do with four years’ worth of student loans and a degree in visual merchandising?”
“Fair point.” I licked a little bit of hummus off my finger, eyeing him. “It’s your turn for a storytime.”
“I don’t know if there’s much of a story,” he said, setting his plate aside and plucking at the blanket. “It started with my ex. You know, the one I was living with in Crown Heights?”
I nodded.
“She asked me to be in some of her content, for fun, and then people started commenting asking for more and…” Dash spread his hands.
“I liked it. I really liked it. I think it hit kind of how drawing fanart used to—people would ask for stuff that I could easily give them and they would lose their shit over it and that made me feel amazing at first.”
I nodded. “It’s because you express your love or, um, appreciation for people via acts of service.”
“I… hadn’t thought of it that way,” Dash said slowly. “But yeah, I guess that’s about right.”
“Hence you putting together a picnic for me. And tying my shoelaces and saving me from the raging mob. The only thing I haven’t seen you do is help a little old lady cross the street, and I feel like it’s just a matter of time.”
“My ex called it a hero complex.” For pretty much the first time since I’d met him, I saw the corners of Dash’s mouth dipping downward, though he quickly tried to drown the expression in a sip of coffee from the flask he’d packed.
A surge of protectiveness rushed over me and I laid a hand on his arm.
“I don’t know what went down with you and your ex.
But I can tell you right now that I really like the way you look after everyone.
And how you’re always checking in on your grandmothers.
In my eyes, all of that makes you a good person, and honestly, that’s pretty much what all of us should aspire to be.
And truly, fuck anyone who made you feel otherwise. ”
The storm clouds that were starting to gather on his brow parted to make way for a sunny smile. “Thanks,” he said quietly, then dissolved into laughter as I started licking his arm where I’d patted him. “The hell are you doing?”
“You had a little smear of hummus right there. Just doing you a favor—you know, trying to speak in your love language.”
“Next time, get a translator,” he said, but he pulled me down for a loud, smacking kiss.
“How serious was your relationship with your ex?” I asked when we separated, putting my palms on his chest to hold him at bay for a few minutes.
“Pretty serious, I guess. We lived together for a year, give or take a month or two. Chase saved my ass by letting me crash on his couch, which is why I was willing to make a fool of myself dancing with him in Times Square. He helped me move into my apartment, too, so I owed him double.”
“Wait, so things with you and your ex ended recently?”
“A few months ago,” Dash said, confirming my mental math. “I’ve had enough time—and therapy—to get over it, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I said. “Just curious. I’m not the first person you’ve dated since your ex, right?”
He shook his head, and I almost let out a sigh of relief. “There was a hedge fund manager—an older man.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How much older?”
“Around ten years? Maybe a little more. We only went out for a couple of months.” He fiddled with a carrot stick.
“He was kind of hesitant about introducing me to his friends. Which honestly, I was kind of into because I’d had the opposite problem until then—my ex had this weird thing about wanting everyone to know I was her property.
But then he asked me to be his date to a benefit and insinuated that I should lie about what I did for a living. ”
“So you told him to go to hell, right?” I said, though I already knew the answer.
“I mean, I should have. But I went to the benefit and told everyone I was a model and he… he was showing me off to all his friends like I was some kind of… I don’t know, a trophy or something.”
“And that’s when you told him to go to hell.”
Dash shook his head. “I stayed with him for another couple of weeks after that. I wanted a happy ending so badly that I ignored all the red flags. I don’t know, I think I maybe pressured him into a relationship he didn’t want.
I’m not trying to let that happen again,” he added quickly, darting a glance up at me.
Knowing that should have been a relief. If anything, it should have loosened the knot in my chest, not tightened it.
His gaze flicked up to meet mine. And I did the only thing I could think of to keep him from looking at me with such probing intensity—I kissed him.
I sucked lightly on his lower lip, parting reluctantly only to say, “I just want to make it clear that there’s literally nothing wrong with being a hero.”
Dash brushed his lips back and forth against mine. “I’m okay with being a hero as long as it’s in one of your stories.”
“My leading man.”
“The duke to your hellion.”
It was just about then that I realized that the darkness rolling over us had more to do with rain clouds than with evening, which was still a good hour away.
A distant clap of thunder had us scrambling to our feet, laughing as we tried to shove the picnic back into Dash’s bag. We weren’t fast enough. As Dash yanked the zipper shut, the rain started sheeting down, and we were soaked to the skin almost immediately.
“Let’s make a run for it,” he shouted over the loud clamor of the raindrops.
“And pass up the chance for the perfect cinematic kiss in the rain with the perfect leading man?”
I threw my arm around his neck, and Dash obligingly—and gently—bent me backward.
“A cinematic kiss? You mean something like this?”
He didn’t kiss me right away, though. He waited a beat, looking into my eyes. Not gazing soulfully, just looking. It wasn’t unpleasant, just… slightly uncomfortable. And the rain was getting into my eyes, so I let them fall closed.
And then it was a cinematic kiss—the kind of moment that should have been accompanied by a John Williams score. One that started out quiet, with a rising crescendo that built up to something epic.
Dash touched his lips to mine as softly as if he was tasting the raindrops that had gathered there. His wet T-shirt was soft against my palms when I grabbed two handfuls of it and deepened the kiss.
Our tongues met.
And then the kiss shifted again. It was no longer about fooling around in the rain—it was more urgent, there was more need in it, like Dash was trying to make himself heard, or understood.
And maybe I was, too. Or maybe I was trying to ask him something, only I didn’t know how to, or even if I should.
My hands were full of Dash, and so was my mind. And the thing was, I was starting to suspect that my heart was full of him, too.