AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The Pearl Jam song? Oh, no.” Nola said, breaking with laughter. “Did they call you Pearl Jam?”
“It could’ve been worse. I learned to play the guitar next year so if anyone asked, I could claim it was for my musical tendencies.”
“Oh my God,” Nola laughed. “That’s horrible and great. But I’m sorry. I think I’m also starting to wonder if I’m not the first woman who introduced herself to you by rubbing your crotch.”
I raised an eyebrow, not immediately remembering what she was referring to. All I could think of was the image of Nola with her hand on my cock.
She saw the look on my face, then cleared her throat. “At the restaurant. You spilled something on your lap there, too. And at dinner…”
“Right,” I said, still feeling distracted by the image in my mind. “Not the first. But definitely the best.”
I cringed. Seriously, Jack? “Sorry. That was a poor attempt at humor.”
But Nola was smiling. Dangerously smiling, in fact. It was that kind of smile women used to disarm. Her head was tilted, and her cheek was rested on the back of her hand. Blue eyes sparkled up at me like I was the most charming man alive. “I like it when you’re funny. You should try it more often.”
I could imagine a posh, British narrator crouching in a nearby bush watching us. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the moment the wild Jack Kerrigan realized he was dealing with an apex predator. Prior to this moment, he was confident in his ability to win the exchange. See how it looks like he suddenly developed indigestion? That’s how we know he’s in over his head. It’s the first sign that the female has the better of him.
I hated how British accents seemed to give authority to even the most ridiculous things. Even imaginary voices in your own damn head.
“You okay?” Nola asked. “You’re glaring at that bush like you want to go kick the shit out of it. If that’s the plan, just let me know so I have time to take off these heels before I join you.”
I grinned. “No. It’s nothing. I was just thinking about something stupid.”
After dinner, we decided to walk back to my apartment instead of catching an Uber. Neither of us exactly voiced the decision, but before I knew it, we were walking down the sidewalk shoulder to shoulder. I wasn’t sure if it was the two bottles of wine making her steps unsteady, but Nola seemed unable to stop from thudding into me and having to put her small hands on my arm to steady herself.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was the most I’ve ever been paid to go on a date with a guy.”
I knew she was only joking. In fact, it was a quality I’d come to appreciate about Nola. She always seemed to be trying to make peace—lightening the mood and making sure nobody felt silly or uncomfortable. It was like she has O.C.D., but the only thing she was obsessive about keeping in order was the emotional balance of any space she currently occupied. Still, I felt a little slimy to think of tonight the way she’d put it.
I had paid her to come on this date. Worse, I’d framed it as some sort of litmus test to insure I would have the self-control not to sleep with her. “I used to be dirt poor,” I said, speaking purely out of a desire to alleviate the growing guilt I felt about tonight.
“Really?”
I nodded. “I like to think throwing money at people is more about remembering how much it would’ve helped me than anything else.” It was past midnight, but in Manhattan that didn’t mean the streets were empty. We waited with a small group to cross an intersection while I tried to decide how much I was willing to share. “I used to work two jobs. My coaches were always ready to kill me because I’d miss practice or wind up late to games. But I was always busting my ass. I saw that in you, I guess. The idea of some asshole making me buy clothes to go to a dinner I didn’t want to go to seemed too shitty. That’s why I gave you the money. I didn’t want it to seem like I was paying you to go on the date, though.”
She put her hand on my arm, then leaned her head against my shoulder briefly almost like a hug. “You try really hard to seem like a cold, hard asshole. But you’re actually a soft asshole deep down, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” I said. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Nola shrugged in a way that seemed far sexier than I knew she could’ve possibly intended. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Please,” I said. I’d felt a growing discomfort at how much I seemed to be blabbing about myself tonight. It was completely out of character, and I was left feeling exposed in a way. If she was going to share some new embarrassing secret about herself, it would help things feel less off balance.
