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Cute, but they both knew that wasn’t the video he meant.
“I was thinking of the other video. The one from last year. My sex tape.” He finger-quoted the phrase, though it wasn’t clear which part needed that. Maybe tape because that was old tech. Or sex because it wasn’t some full penetration deal, just a blow job. No big deal.
The mention of sex had the desired effect: the air was suddenly charged with ions of electricity. Zing. Oxygen was in short supply. Zing. The chair creaked with a squirming body. Double zing.
Ashley smiled, again with the patience of a saint because, as it turned out, she was completely unaffected.
In fact, Dex was the one feeling a bit hotter than usual.
What the …
“I’d have thought you’d be sick of people discussing it.” She leaned in and patted his arm lightly. There was that zing again, though less enjoyable now. “Don’t worry. This is a safe space, a gossip-free zone, miles from the paparazzi. No one will be asking for selfies or making glib references to your sex life or pumping you for free tickets. No muckraking here, except for the dog kennels. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Oh, okay.” That was good, right? He wouldn’t have to suffer pointed looks or jibes about his dick. He could fly under the radar, and just be … himself.
Anonymous. Regular. Ordinary.
Except he wasn’t sure he wanted to be that guy, or even who that guy was. If anything, that Dex was one boring fucker. Hell, why was he getting up to all sorts, if not to make life more interesting?
Another quick, almost pitying smile from Ashley. “Back to the orientation, okay?”
Ashley closed her office door, took a seat behind the desk, and opened the Skin Deep app.
Three hits since she’d looked at it last.
All of them were older, as in at least fifteen years older. Definitely on the upper range of her profile wants, but then maybe she was on the upper range for theirs. Maybe they all wanted twenty-two-year-old Pilates instructors with sidelines in babysitting and she was the best they could manage.
She wished now she’d gone with a regular dating app, one with photos. But she was trying to set an example for Willa, one that said looks were unimportant. It was what was inside that mattered.
At least that’s what she’d told herself. Deep down she knew there was more to it, that glimmer of hope that she could make an impression with her conversation before anyone saw she had a few extra pounds of baggage, both literal and metaphorical.
First up was a forty-eight-year-old mortgage advisor named Steve.
Likes: sailing, Italian food, and Survivor.
Dislikes: people who can’t take a joke.
Next.
Rob was forty-six, divorced, and a father to twin toddlers. He was looking for someone with a “nurturing personality.” Sounded like he was looking for a stepmom for the twins, and while Ashley couldn’t fault him for laying it out there, she wasn’t sure that was the dynamic she needed from the start.
Which left Jerome, a forty-five-year-old realtor who seemed to have a sense of humor. “Looking to make a connection—but that’s what they all say, right?”
Right, Jerome. That is what they all say.
This was so much work. Why couldn’t she just meet someone and go straight to the “comfortable with each other” part of the ’ship? Romance for Ashley, these days, was little more than a fuzzy concept, something gleaned from books or Hallmark movies. There had been none of that with Greg. Everything had happened so fast. Too much alcohol, too few inhibitions, one night of drunken passion. His reaction when she told him she was pregnant: You’re not going to keep it, are you?
And when she said she would, whether he could help or not, he stepped up.
If stepping up was inviting her (reluctantly) to move into his one-bedroom apartment and making about 25% of her OB appointments. He loved Willa, but he had never fallen for Ashley. The romance didn’t have time to bloom, not when reality crashed the party so soon.
While Ashley might miss having a co-parent on the spot, she didn’t miss the sniping or the bitterness that enveloped them because they’d tried to be a full-fledged family. Too many wasted years, and now, at the grand old age of thirty, Ashley felt like she was behind the eight ball, playing catch-up with her best years already in the past. Was it too soon to be dipping her feet back into the dating pool? Willa wanted her to date—along with Vera, the two of them should open their own life coaching business—but surely this feeling of ambivalence signified she wasn’t ready.
What would forty-five-year-old Jerome expect of her? A connection? But then he undercut it with a joke about how clichéd that sounded. Did that make him funny or jaded?
This was her problem. She had started to second-guess everything during this journey back into the dating scene. Even the most seemingly innocuous interaction made her anxious.
Like this morning with Dex O’Malley. She’d made that crack about how everyone wanted to climb him, which was so inappropriate. There he was with his thick thighs and hairy calves and broad shoulders. Not to mention his sparkling blue eyes and easy smile. He hadn’t taken offense, just used it as an opening to talk about his sexual history.
