Olivia
“Your profile said you like sushi,” Luca says as he pulls my chair out for me.
“I love sushi,” I say. And it’s not a lie. I could eat it multiple times a week. Sometimes I do. Though it’s usually grocery store sushi, not Indigo Tide, one of the fanciest restaurants in all of Boston.
Honestly, I’m not used to any of this. I mean, yes, I’ve been on dates before.
But first dates are usually more casual.
Appetizers and a cocktail. Or a beer on the lawn at one of the local breweries.
Coffee maybe. But not sushi at a restaurant where the edamame alone costs twelve bucks.
For soy beans! More if you want wasabi soy.
Still, I can’t let any of that show.
I matched with Luca Laurent, an accomplishment that Sadie claimed was no easy feat.
Apparently, his profile is only matchable if you meet certain criteria. There’s a security team for his algorithm alone.
All that said, I have to be cool. I can’t look like a fan. Which I’m not. So that should be easy.
Luca takes a seat across from me at the small, high-top table we scored on the patio. Who am I kidding? We didn’t score it. He reserved it, I’m sure. Either way, I’m not complaining.
Even if this date isn’t a real date, I can still enjoy it.
It’s no secret the man is loaded. It’s also no secret he has a reputation. A reputation that I am not a fan of.
“I have to admit,” he says as he unfolds his napkin and places it on his lap.
He’s wearing black, fitted slacks, and I am grateful I went with my burgundy dress.
It’s classy…and not…at the same time. Listen, a girl with a B cup needs all the help she can get.
“I was intrigued when I saw you pop up on my profile.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, following suit with my own napkin.
His words are hard not to smile at. Not because he is charming. It’s almost the opposite. Like the words themselves are charming, but the way he says them, very monotone, with little to no emotion behind them, kind of negates the chemistry factor.
“I was at a very boring business party when my phone buzzed. Seeing your face turned my evening around,” he says.
Again, same tone. It’s hard to tell if he’s flirting or not when he’s brooding.
Not that brooding is a bad look on him.
“Interesting,” I say. “That’s kind of funny.”
Luca’s expression flickers at the word funny. Like a snapped guitar string. “Why’s that?” he asks, his dark brow furrowing just a tad.
“Because I almost canceled,” I say very casually, and he just stares at me. No shock. No reaction. Impressive.
“You almost canceled?” he asks. “Or you almost ghosted?”
This time I am studying him. My lips twist into the smallest of smirks, which, if I had to guess, makes them look rather tempting. Not to sound conceited or anything, but I’ve been told I have nice lips.
When I don’t answer, he reaches for the bottle in the middle of the table. “I guess that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’re here now,” he says.
“We both are,” I say.
“Sake?” he asks.
“I’d love some.”
As the date goes on, I have a hard time not texting Sadie.
This entire thing has me buzzing.
For the record, I never do things like this. I don’t recommend doing things like this. But between my friend getting hurt by the dating app world–this man specifically–and me loathing the dating app world and anyone involved in its endorsement, I’m pretty sure this date is my civic duty.
Because the bullshit has to stop.
Nobody makes my best friend’s mascara run and gets away with it.
“Are you two ready to order your entrees?” the waiter asks, and he refills our water.
Luca nods and then gestures to me. “Ladies first,”
Such a gentleman…
“I will take the Florida Roll and the Deep Sea Roll,” I say, and the waiter turns to Luca.
“Omakase,” he says, and my eyebrows pop up and back down as the waiter walks away.
“You know,” Luca says, “you can tell a lot about a person by their sushi order.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “And what dark secrets do my two rolls reveal about me?”
“You like to have your cake and eat it too,” he says casually as he takes a sip of sake.
My mouth involuntarily pops open. “Do explain,” I say.
Luca swallows, sets his cup down, and then his eyes lock on mine with intense engagement. It’s a stare that is meant to hold my attention in place, hold me in place. And honestly, it’s working.
Touche, Realr Man. Touche.
“The Florida Roll is both crunchy and creamy, thanks to the tempura, avocado, and cream cheese. Also, between the spicy tuna, sriracha aioli, and fresh jalapeno, it’s forwardly spicy.
In contrast, the Deep Sea Roll has both fresh mango and a raspberry eel sauce,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “You like it hot. And sweet.”
I swallow hard and take a sip of my water to collect myself. Luckily for me, I’m fairly good at recovery in these situations.
“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned,” I say, and his otherwise unmoving lips tick with the slightest movement.
Was that almost a smile? A smirk maybe?
The fact that I feel like it was and my teasing is what encouraged it is an enticing challenge.
“Maybe both,” he says. “What about me?”
“What about you?” I ask.
“What does my sushi order say about me?”
“I don’t know if I’m qualified to speculate,” I say with a chuckle.
But Luca snags me with that smileless eye contact again.
“Why not?” he asks. “You’re smart.”
“Hmm,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile.
“Omakase typically means one of two things. The first is that you are carefree. Someone who likes adventure and doesn’t care to know which way the path of life is going to unwind.
A variety is the spice of life, sort of character.
But seeing how I very much don’t get that vibe from you, I’m going to have to say you fall in the second category. ”
“Which is?” he asks.
“You want to show off the fact that you’re rich,” I say, and he nods slowly.
“I see. Do I need to show off the fact that I’m rich?” he asks.
“Not really. I mean, I already know who you are,” I say, reaching for an edamame pod and dunking it in soy sauce that I already added wasabi to.
“Does it bother you that I’m rich?” he asks.
“Does it bother you that I bought these shoes at a thrift shop?” I ask.
Another quirk on his lips. If he was a man to show more expression, he would be cringing right now.
“So tell me something I don’t know about you,” he says, avoiding the question entirely.
“What would you like to know?” I ask.
“Well, your profile was a bit brief,” he says.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all. Most women go on and on about themselves. It leaves nothing to the imagination,” he waves his hand dismissively.
“Noted,” I nod.
For Unmatched, not my real life, of course.
“I know that you like spicy sushi. I know that you like wearing clothes other people have thrown away. Please tell me you at least had them cleaned first.”
I bite back a snort. “Lysol spray. Garden Freesia,” I say and watch a glint of horror flash through his eyes. “I love my dog,” I add on.
“Alright,” he says, reaching for his sake. “Most people love dogs, but I suppose it’s a start.”
“Not dogs,” I correct him. “My dog. I’m not a dog person, actually. I was bitten by a golden retriever when I was five, and I’ve kind of been scared of them ever since.”
“Wait a minute,” he says, leaning in slightly. “You were bitten by a golden retriever?” he asks, and I nod. “Gold retrievers don’t bite people. They’re like the Mr. Rogers of dogs.”
I laugh out loud at that, pleasantly surprised that the grim reaper of modern dating is actually kind of funny when he wants to be.
“Exactly,” I say, reaching for my cup too. He adds more sake to both of them. “If you can’t trust golden retrievers, who can you trust?”
“Yet you have a dog,” he says, reverting to his factory settings.
“Vivien Leigh,” I sigh. And I swear Luca almost chokes. “She’s an Airedale Terrier,” I add.
“Vivien Leigh the Airedale Terrier,” he nods and I see an upward lilt in that lip tick. It’s microscopic, but it was there.
And for a moment, I think that maybe this man is going to be easier to crack than I thought.
“Yep,” I smile.
“So what makes Vivien Leigh less scary than other dogs?” he asks. “I mean, besides being named after a very intimidating actress.”
“Nothing,” I answer bluntly. “She’s terrifying.”
Luca laughs. Actually, it’s more of a throaty chortle, but I’m going to label it a laugh, and considering that I am under the impression that is hard to make him do, I’m going to label that a win.
“Then why do you have her?” he asks.
“Because she was my neighbor’s dog, and my neighbor died and she had nowhere to go, so…”
Luca studies me for a moment. “That should be on your profile,” he says.
“What should be on my profile? That I thrift shoes and adopt puppies?” I ask.
“It’s authentic,” he says.
“It’s weird,” I argue.
“Either way…” he says, and I giggle as our food arrives.
“So, what about you?” I ask after we’ve had a minute to dig in.
“What about me?” he asks.
This guy is truly a cat-and-mouse man. Not surprising for someone who is going to wine and dine and dip.
Or so he thinks…
“You know where I shop. You know I have a roommate who I am mildly afraid of. Tell me something about yourself,” I say, dunking a roll in soy sauce.
“I have a really good bottle of wine sitting at my place that I’d rather not drink alone,” he says.
There it is, folks.
The line that tells me as the girl on a date that he has zero intention of being serious with me.
Or at least it’s not on his mind just yet.
He’s paid for the dinner. He’s been a gentleman, in his own corporately jaded sort of way. And he’s very slyly hinting at going back to his place to continue the date there. And I have my doubts it’s to play Scrabble.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s not about the wine either.
“Really?” I ask. “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for your next date?”
“What next date?” he asks, matching my tone. “The one with the girl who buys her shoes at the Premium Outlets and doesn’t like to have her cake and eat it too,” I say.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says. “The cake part.”
“How do you figure?” I ask, biting my lip.
“Because we are having the cake,” he answers, reaching across the table to take my hand. “And at my place, we can eat it too…”
Don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it, don’t fall for it…
Ugh.
That was a good line. That was a really, really good line.
But I can’t let that distract me.
Even if he has been charming.
Even if this is one of the better dates I’ve ever been on, and not just because the sushi here is about a bazillion times better than five dollar Fridays at the grocery store.
And even if his eyes are more stunning in person than on his profile picture, which is not how it’s supposed to work.
This man isn’t just a catfish. He’s a reverse catfish. It’s a new angle that I never saw coming, which means I am going to have to up my game.
“You know, I don’t know if tonight works for me,” I say.
But Luca doesn’t so much as flinch. “No pressure,” he says. “It’ll only get better with age.”
As many things do, apparently.
Did I mention that his silver streaks catch candlelight as much as they did the sunlight in his photos? It’s a shimmer that sends a shiver down my spine. Coupled with those strong hands and the scent of cedar that’s been wafting across the table all night.
No. Olivia? Pull yourself together. Cross your legs, get your panties under control, and remember why you’re here.
As the date comes to an end, I can’t decide if I am relieved or disappointed. I did what I came to do. He asked me to come over, and I didn’t say yes. Problematically, I didn’t exactly say no, either.
He walks me outside under a velvet sky peppered with stars. And for a moment, the evening just feels magical.
Because that’s what he wants.
Just before we reach my car, he grabs my hand and my heart jumps into my throat.
Also part of his plan.
Then he turns to face me, still holding my hand, with a glint of something untamed behind his eyes.
“It’s a Petite Sirah,” he tells me.
“What?” I ask, feeling suddenly breathless.
“The wine back at my place. It’s eight years aged. The sweet spot age for Petite Sirah. And…I don’t know when I’m going to go on another date again, so I might miss the opportunity to enjoy it,” he says.
“Oh, really?” I ask, doing my best to stay a little salty. Not spicy. Not sweet. Because he doesn’t know me, he just thinks he does. “Why don’t you know when you’re going on another date? Surely you have women lined up.”
“I don’t know when I’m going on another date because I haven’t asked you yet,” he says. “And even when I do, I don’t know what your answer will be.”
“You were going to ask me on another date?” I ask.
“I was thinking about it,” he says, dragging his lip between his teeth. “But I figured it should wait until this date is over.”
My heart is pounding in my chest so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
He wasn’t supposed to try this hard to see me again.
He was supposed to be a dick, and I was supposed to tell him to shove it where the sun don’t shine because he’s not God’s gift to women. I was supposed to walk away and leave him hanging. Because that’s the kind of guy Sadie said he is. A wine, dine and dash.
“You seem a bit…conflicted,” he says as he pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah. I just…I don’t know…”
“Well, maybe I can help you decide,” he says and before I can say anything else, his lips cover mine in a kiss that nearly brings me to my knees. It probably would have too if Luca hadn’t wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his toned body.
When we finally pull apart, I have no breath left in me. And guessing by my answer, I have no better judgment either.
“You know what, on second thought, I think I’m free tonight.”