Page 43 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
Monroe drops his facade, his expression turning serious. “Jared said in his bio that lately, he’s really into slow dating.”
Now I’m even more confused. “Right. That’s the same thing!”
Monroe shakes his head, sadly. “No. Because what he meant is he’s trying a new tactic to get laid.”
I jerk my gaze away from him, frustrated, and a little hurt. “Why would you say that?” I mutter.
“Lately and really are the key words. He’s overselling his dating approach in his bio, and since this new tactic is something he only started recently, that translates into it’s his new tactic to get you to sleep with him.”
My stomach churns. I feel so stupid. “Are you sure? What about the things Jared and I have in common? I love my job. He loves his job. We both like to exercise.”
Monroe is quiet for a moment or two. “Juliet,” he says gently. “He’s in love with power. He goes to CrossFit to look good naked. He’s trying to impress you with the size of his wallet. And he’s only into so-called slow dating as a code for getting you naked.”
When Monroe says that, his gaze travels up and down me, lingering on my corset for longer than I’m used to from him. Like he wants to get me naked. I’m not sure if it’s a Jared stare or a Monroe gaze, or why I like it so much, especially when I feel so foolish.
Because Monroe isn’t wrong. They all add up, those red flags I didn’t see.
“I thought Jared would be a good one,” I say, horrified and dismayed. “How did I miss everything, and how did you see it all?”
He tucks his fingers under my chin, then lifts my face so I’m forced to look at him. His eyes are kind, caring as he says with sincerity, “I recognize all the bad boys because I’ve studied them. I can see them coming. And you have a big heart. You want everyone to have the benefit of the doubt. It’s one of the best things about you.”
My heart warms from the compliment. “I do. I don’t want to become cynical. I wanted to believe he had promise,” I say. But I still wish I’d done a better job at picking. This dating practice is suddenly much more overwhelming than I’d expected. “I feel like I have to learn a whole new language. Maybe I’ve been doing everything wrong all along.”
I sigh heavily, then turn my glass in an aimless circle.
“We all do,” he says, reassuring. “I bet I do lots of things wrong on dates. Feel free to tell me,” he says, and it sounds like he just wants me to feel better.
Which I appreciate. But since he’s been honest with me, I ought to be with him. “You role-played a little too hard,” I say.
He nods crisply. “Noted.” That’s all. He doesn’t protest. He doesn’t deny. He simply adds, “I’ll do better next time.”
Next time.
My hopeful heart reappears. There will be a next time. I’ll try again. I’ll learn from this. Hell, I’ll learn more from tonight than I ever would from a dating podcast. This is in-the-trenches education.
“Thanks,” I say, then fidget with the napkin and glance toward the door. Vikas and Bowen are seated in a booth, cuddled up together. Vikas has an arm slung around his fiancé, and they look happy. Vikas glances my way and gives me a furtive thumbs-up in question.
I smile and nod, then return to Monroe. “I should go.”
He reaches for my arm. “I’ll give you a ride obviously.”
As he settles up, I reapply my lipstick, then tuck the tube back into my purse. When he’s done, we walk to the door and I wave goodbye to my new friends, then leave. When I head down the stone path, my attention lands on a gleaming black limo, waiting at the curb.
“Someone in there is a big roller,” I whisper.
Monroe is quiet, but when I turn his way, he’s smiling smugly. “Jared is.”
A laugh bursts from me. “You got a limo to take me back to the house?”
Monroe clears his throat, then adopts his Jared voice and persona again. “Like I said, I’m really into slow dating and deal-making.”
He’s too much. Too committed to the role. And I’m too amused. I slide back into the game as well, playing the part, stepping closer, fiddling with the lapel of his suit. “Is this how you close deals, Mister Real Estate?”
A low rumble escapes his throat as he stares down at my hand on him. He covers it, pressing my palm more tightly against his firm chest.
“Is it going to work?” His smile burns off. In its place is heat and want.
My pulse surges. I glance at the limo, then at Monroe, then I drink in the whole vibe he has going tonight—the suit, the attitude, the red carpet of gifts.