Just go for it, Laura. What can it hurt? A swell of physical memory from last night made her warm between her legs, made her skin flush with the recall of Dylan’s hands. She wanted more. And if she couldn’t have more of him, she might as well have some of Mike.
A hike, yeah, I’d like that. That sounds really cool.
And she breathed in opportunity, and breathed out rejection, breathed in despondence, and exhaled chance.
Chance favors the prepared. Laura was more than ready.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Her Second Billionaire
Mike knew that there was absolutely no chance that she was going to answer his little chat outreach anytime within the next twenty-four hours. He knew that Dylan had a date with her last night, but hoping against hope and because he was an eternal optimist, he decided to log on while he was having his morning cup of coffee.
And to see if maybe—just maybe—she might have answered him, even though it was now six minutes before seven in the morning. He figured she was still in Dylan’s bed, probably going on for round seven (knowing Dylan), and there wasn’t a chance in hell that she would...wait, what?
He stared at his phone where he’d logged into the app for the online dating site. Her little icon blinked rapidly— he’d subscribed to her and her avatar had suddenly turned green.
Oh, holy hell, no! he thought. Hell, yes! a different voice answered in his poor, addled brain. Enough with the ridiculous self doubts—he had to grab his chance now. She was logged on to the dating site early in the morning after a date with Dylan. This meant—oh, the implications stunned him. Made him smirk.
Mike took a swig of coffee and quickly tapped out:
Hi, there. Are you on right now?
She typed back,
I’m just drinking my coffee and getting ready for work and I logged in and saw your message, so hi!
Wait a minute. Back up for a second. So if she was at home drinking her coffee, then that meant Dylan had struck out. Ooh! Well that wasn’t quite what he wanted. He’d wanted Dylan to have some success, but not to hit a home run. And so it looked like maybe he’d hit a single? A double?
The app stared at him, as if it were alive. He quickly punched in:
Oh, good morning! Yeah, I’m not really functional without two or three cups of coffee myself
with a little grin icon.
See, now, this was the problem with trying to find the right women. He didn’t want to be the sloppy second that the women settled for. He wanted someone both he and Dylan could share, equally. When it came to their limited experience trying to find the right, single woman, Dylan had always been the front man and Mike had been the wingman. He was tired of being the wingman. Maybe it was time, really, for the best man to win. That comment to Dylan had most definitely not been just a joke—he’d been very, intensely serious.
And that man was stepping up to the plate now, ready for his turn at bat. Oh God, he was getting sick of the baseball metaphors.
The app beeped as she replied with:
So I see you’re like, Mr. Triathlon and ski dude, and my idea of exercise is walking across the room to get the remote.
Oh, man. She was chatting him up. There was a natural opportunity here and he—he couldn’t blow it. He couldn’t blow it. He sat there in his boxer briefs, typing away with one finger on his ridiculous smart phone interface and realized that the boxer briefs were getting awfully uncomfortable. Because as he typed, he stared at her little avatar with those sweet dimples, and that amazing, intelligent look on her face and decided that his body’s response was telling him pretty much all he needed to know.
He typed out something that sounded good on the surface, and then the second that he typed it—augh!—he wanted to take it back.
lolol, yeah don’t be afraid, we could just go for a hike if you want.
Oh, I think I just asked you out.
Yeah I did.
and then he ended it with a question mark.
Shit, a hike? A hike? God, could that be any lamer? Why couldn’t you come up with something romantic? Beating himself up came naturally, and this time he had good cause—a hike? Dylan had taken him up on his advice and taken Laura out to the fancy Asian fusion place that so many of the women they had dated loved to go to but, then again, he could count “all of the women they dated” on one hand.
All of the women had also flatly and resoundingly rejected what they were offering, which was, he had to admit, pretty unique. However, settling for second best had left them both hollow and incomplete, and now they had an added complication. 2.2 billion of them, to be exact.
A hike, yeah, I’d like that. That sounds really cool.
The words sat on the screen like fairy dust, as if some unseen spirit had conjured them from a mystical layer in the universe and plopped them on Mike’s phone. Seriously? She said yes?