Page 42 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

When I reach him, the butterflies are flapping full speed in my chest. “Hi. You must be Jared. I’m Juliet.”

I stick out a hand, and when he takes it, he looks like he’s about to whisper a reverent wow. But he must switch gears because the words that come out of his mouth, in a slightly deeper tone than usual, are “Looks like it’s my lucky night.”

What?

That’s kind of a trashy opening line.

Immediately, all the sensual vibes slip out the door as Monroe/Jared pats the barstool next to him. “What’s your poison, babe?”

Babe?

Seriously? He’s playing one of those first date babe guys? This is so not fair.

“Anything’s fine,” I say, irked that Monroe’s already tanking the date. Is he doing this deliberately? And do I need to summon Jumanji already?

“You need to get the Woodford Reserve. Only the best,” he says in that voice he must have assigned to this character. He licks his lips wolfishly. “And you look like you deserve the best.”

I arch a skeptical brow. It’s a compliment, but it’s also too much. “Sure. Sounds good,” I say, keeping my tone even. I don’t want to let on how doubtful I am. I truly want to try this experiment.

He lifts a finger toward the bartender, who strides over. “What can I get for you?” the man in the leather apron asks me.

“Your best Woodford Reserve for the gorgeous lady,” Monroe says. “And put it on my tab.”

“Will do,” the man says, then heads off.

The second he’s gone, Monroe turns back to me. But right before he tries some new showy tactic, I grab the reins of the date and turn the conversation in a different direction—a more real one. “You said you worked all day. Sounds like you’re a busy man. What is it about real estate that excites you?”

There. That’s better than his subtle and not so subtle brags.

For a second Monroe blanches, like he didn’t expect me to steer the ship. But he adjusts quickly. “What’s not to like? I get to wheel and deal all day long.”

“And that’s your passion?” I ask, trying to have some meaningful get-to-know-you time.

He leans back, smirking. “I have a lot of passions, Juliet.”

Then he winks.

He fucking winks.

I slap a palm on the table. “Juma—” slips past my lips, but then I slam my mouth shut. Nope. I’m sticking to the date plan. I’m not backing down. I’m here to practice.

I strap in and play the game as the liquor arrives. We drink and he brags about the size of his properties, the quality of the liquor, and the frequency of his CrossFit workouts.

It’s not awful.

About thirty minutes in, I’ve managed to endure more deal talk than I’d like. But I’m a trooper. “So you’ve been into the slow-dating thing lately?”

Proudly, he nods. “Definitely. It works for me since there isn’t a lot of free time between the gym and my work.”

The logic doesn’t entirely add up, but I still think his slow-dating penchant has to be a good sign. “It’s nice to get to know someone. Just like this. Out and about in real life. Not texting. Not on the app.”

“Absolutely. There’s nothing like meeting right away for the slow-dating lifestyle.”

Something definitely doesn’t add up there. “Right away?”

He flashes a cocky grin. “Well, I do like closing deals. I’d like to close some more now.”

I hold up my hands like What gives? “Jumanji! Jared said he likes slow dating!”