"Please don't think I'm awful," he says, putting his hands up. "Gosh, I always do this. Put my foot in my mouth. I don't know why. I just figure, you only get one life, you might as well not settle for less than what you want. I'm not attracted to women my own age, I find them unappealing. It wouldn't be fair of me to lead them on, when I know they're not what I want. Nobody should date someone they're not attracted to."
Oh my god. He's making it even worse!
This guy seems to think he's Christian-freaking-Grey.
"And what you want has to be not only young but also attractive. You don't think that's a little … well … above your limit?"
"You've taken me wrong," he says, but I know I haven't.
I know now why he's single and on a dating site. He's picky, and not only is he picky, he thinks he's entitled to be picky. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are good men out there who don't have the looks but don't let it get to them, and do the right thing. This man, he doesn't have the looks, and yet he still thinks he's entitled to make women the same age as him who aren't as hot as he wants them to be-or as young as he wants them-feel like they're less.
"No," I say, collecting my purse. "I think I've read you just fine. I'm sorry, I think you're too old for me, anyway."
His mouth drops open. "You haven't even given me a chance."
///
I give him a firm look, making sure I hold his eyes when I speak in a low, snippy tone. "You think you're better than women your own age, and your reasoning is that you prefer younger women, but not only that, they also have to be attractive as well. Why? What makes you think you get such a choice? Let me give you a piece of advice-unless you're Brad Pitt, you don't get to be so picky. It's shallow, and it's unattractive, and if you want a decent date, perhaps you should try adjusting your ridiculous standards and maybe try being a decent human being."
His mouth opens, then closes.
I don't give him the chance to say anything more. I turn and walk out, not even offering him money for the drink. The dick can pay for it himself. I move quickly out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, wave down a cab and climb in, and pulling out my phone the second I've given the driver my address. I text Taylor right away.
H: You and I are having words. That man was horrible!
T: Oh dear. Was it that bad? Was he at least good-looking?
H: If you call old and balding good-looking … then yes.
T: OMG. His profile said he was young, with dark hair, I swear!
H: We're having words about this. Not only was he all those things, he was a shallow jerk, too.
T: I'm sorry. I promise the next one will be better.
I shove my phone back into my purse and huff the entire way home. When the cab arrives at my apartment complex, I pay the driver and climb out, walking through the front doors to the elevator that'll take me to the second floor, where my apartment is. It isn't high up, and I could probably use the stairs, but the elevator is always just right there, and I'm not a fan of stairs. Just as I step in and the doors are about to close, a big hand swings in, stopping them in their tracks.
Detective Ace Henderson steps in.
TWO
If I'm being totally honest with myself, Ace is probably one of the most attractive men I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Not that I've seen him a great deal. He's usually heading out as I'm heading in, or the other way around. I've seen him a couple of times in the communal laundry room, but he's always reading and is never up for conversation. There were the few times he left his garbage outside the garbage chute, which totally ticked me off, but outside of that, I don't see him around a good deal. He seems a bit antisocial.
I notice, though, that every time I do see him, he almost always is in a suit, yet he's perpetually scruffy. His hair is always slightly messy, like he's just run his fingers through it, and he has that dark stubble on his jaw.
Don't even get me started on those eyes.
Brown, like liquid chocolate. Framed by the biggest, thickest lashes I've ever seen on a man. They're set into his head perfectly, surrounded by the most incredible masculine features; and then there's that massive body, all the olive skin and those fine, fine muscles. He's the first man I noticed after Ray, even if it was just to enjoy looking at him. I felt guilty at that first flood of lust. It took a while for that guilt to ease.
I swallow.
I've never shared an elevator with him. I've lived here over a year, and we've never ridden up or down together. My eyes slide over to the man as he jabs a thumb at the close button, shutting the doors. It's just us two. There is that incredibly awkward silence going on, where you don't know if you should say anything to break the ice or just pretend the other person isn't in the elevator with you.