Page 34 of Your Pace Or Mine

Yeah, but for drinks with his closest friends AKA the groomsmen at his first wedding? The ones whose wives are still close to Cal’s ex??

Laurel:

They’re always asking when he’s moving back here. I feel like they hate me for keeping him tied to Toronto.

I didn’t realize how nervous Laurel was about this trip until the past few days. To be honest, I was short with her when I popped by to say happy birthday yesterday and only wanted to blab on about Clint. Maybe I’ve been so focused on how perfect her life seems, I missed that adjusting to a long-term relationship isn’t always so smooth.

That’s stressful.

Stevie:

Let those people judge all they want. If they can’t see how happy he is with you, they can… well you know.

Stevie’s out of fucks.

Stevie:

Always. Be your hot self.

Laurel:

You’re the best.

Opposite problem. Is this sexy enough?

I send a photo of a hot pink mini dress. I’m hoping tonight will make up for all the boring dates I’ve been on lately.

Stevie:

Damn, girl.

Laurel:

Very hot. I hope you’re not planning on wearing it for too long.

Laurel:

Which shoes are you wearing?

After a lengthy back-and-forth and a lot of shoe photos, I go with high heeled booties because it’s still winter, then I’m finally ready to head downtown.

As I get close to the club where I’m meeting Clint, I drop another selfie in my chat with the caption “Wish me luck!” Laurel sends me back a bunch of shamrock emojis, and I get out of the car with butterflies of anticipation in my stomach.

Here goes nothing.

I notice Clint immediately, leaning against the bar and looking fine—tall, dark brown hair, strong jaw, and ice blue eyes. He looks like a brunette Ken doll come to life. I almost drool over his broad shoulders and the way he towers over me. I’ve always had a thing for large men, the kind who look like they could easily throw me over their shoulder. I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed that move in the past. I shiver a little as he eyes me.

“Ashley, great to meet you.” He kisses my hand. It’s kind of corny, but I almost swoon.

The club isn’t busy yet, so we sit at a small table and he orders us some cocktails that I’ve never heard of. They come in highball glasses with fruit garnish, and they taste dangerously delicious. We chat over the beats of the music, basic getting-to-know-you stuff mixed with the kind of innuendos that lit up my inbox all week.

“So what brought you to Toronto in the first place?” Clint asks when I mention my family in Waterloo.

“Work, I guess, but I was also following a boyfriend,” I admit. “The relationship didn’t last long, but the job did, and by then I was hooked on big city life.”

I don’t mention the stress or loneliness of those first two years, when I had no real friends. I shared an apartment with a revolving door of roommates tangentially connected to one of the girls initially on the lease. I also skip how I quickly found out my boyfriend Ben didn’t actually want me to move here because he wanted to keep casually hooking up with other women. Eventually, though, I found my footing and found the Milers. But I don’t want to go down memory lane tonight, so I smile at Clint and add with a wink, “The larger dating pool didn’t hurt.”

He gives me a knowing look. “So, you’d already gone through all the available candidates back home.”