“What?” She was wary, not sure she wanted to know any more.
“It’s nothing gross. Just that we had a little pool. Everyone put in ten bucks, and the pot was for the first guy who could get you to go out with him. They were all concocting elaborate schemes. Abdul was programming a video game in which the player shoots Mason look-alikes. Ken was trying to run into you in the kitchen so much that he pretty much set up a mobile workstation there.”
“I have seen Ken a lot lately!”
“Yeah, well, don’t take offense.” He ducked his head as if he was embarrassed. “We all just…really like you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m flattered!” It was the truth. It was also a shot of self-confidence that might serve her well on her date with the Tinder guy. “And you.” She took his arm as they started strolling toward the subway. “You just asked, no gimmicks!”
“Yeah. I thought maybe the direct way was best. More efficient.”
“You were right.” She shot him a grin. “But I have to say, I would like to see that video game of Abdul’s.”
Date number two was a whole different deal. Amy was nervous. She and her friends in college had gone on a few pub crawls where she’d ended up going home with a guy she’d been flirting with. Okay, twice. And then there’d been Mason. But she’d never gone out with the explicit aim of ending the evening…getting it on.
Gah, she couldn’t even say it in her head. She was going to have to work on that because she suspected that if she couldn’t say it, she might have some problems putting it into action.
Sex. She wanted to have sex with Dax.
No! She wanted to have sex with Mr. Tinder.
Mr. Tinder who had a name, which was Greg. Greg Lewis, with whom she did not work. Greg Lewis, who had never made a speech about how she didn’t owe him anything and then made out with her in an elevator.
Greg Lewis, who, so far, seemed like he was the perfect man for the “keeping things straightforwardly casual” job. He was handsome in an airbrushed sort of way. He had ridiculously nice teeth. If the other guy she’d shown Dax was Mr. Versace, this guy was Mr. Hilfiger. Wearing jeans and a blazer with a red-and-white-striped T-shirt underneath, he reminded her of a grown-up, updated version of Archie from the comics. He even had the slicked-back blond hair. Which looked like it had so much product in it, it was a little crunchy.
So, fine, she wouldn’t run her fingers through his hair. You can’t have everything.
More importantly, he was nice. He was interested in her job and was himself kind of a real estate hobbyist. He was a corporate lawyer, but he and his brother had recently flipped a house. They got a lot of mileage talking about that over dinner in Little Italy, where he lived.
The only problem she could foresee was that Greg might be too nice. She feared he wasn’t presuming this date was going to end the way she hoped it was. Under normal circumstances, she supposed a girl should appreciate that. But her post-Mason circumstances were…very specific.
She thought about Steve, responding to the “ask out Amy” challenge with the direct approach. Maybe he’d been right. “Um, Greg?” she ventured as they shared some tiramisu. “Can I level with you about something?”
“Sure.”
“I just got out of a relationship, as you know.” They’d done the basic getting-to-know-you conversation, both via email before the date and during it. She’d told him about Mason, though had left out the whole “jilted at the altar” part. “So I’m not really looking for anything serious.”
“Right.” He nodded. “I totally understand.”
“But I do…like you.” Gah! How did people do this? “If you, ah, know what I mean.”
He smiled. He knew what she meant.
“I’m just a ten-minute walk up Grace Street. You want to come over for a nightcap?”
Yes! This was how people did it. She just had to learn the code.
Fifteen minutes later—they’d stopped to analyze a house that was for sale along the way—they arrived at Greg’s place. As he fixed her a drink, she surreptitiously texted Cassie the address. When her friend had learned about Amy’s Tinder mission, she’d made her promise to do so if she went home with anyone.
As Greg showed her around the impeccably decorated main floor, he was very forthcoming with details about the house’s sale price ten years ago and the improvements he’d made since. The perfect foreplay for her—how thoughtful! She padded around after him, wine in hand, admiring the subway tile backsplash and eighteen-inch crown moldings. For some reason, an image of Dax’s charmingly disheveled cottage popped into her head.