Page 194 of The Bluffing Game

I reluctantly take a seat because I don’t know what else to do. Before I can say anything else, a waitress walks up with a huge smile on her face.

“Welcome. Nice to see y’all today. My name is Gidget. Is this your first time at Los Almos?”

“I come here all the time,” Chad says. “What about you, Sagey?”

“This is my first time,” I say through gritted teeth. I debate whether or not I should leave, but I feel awkward doing so.

“Well, have a look at the menu. Do you guys know what you want to drink?” the waitress says as she grins at us.

“I’ll have a margarita,” he says, “and she’ll have a strawberry daiquiri.”

“Excuse me?” How dare he order for me?

“What?” He grins. “I thought you said you liked strawberry daiquiris.”

Then I remember our conversation about daiquiris and whether we preferred strawberry, mango, or kiwi.

I nod. “Yeah, a strawberry daiquiri works.”

“See? I listen to you, baby.”

“So, about that photo,” I prod, not trying to be mean, but trying to get to the bottom of it.

“What about it, honey bunny?”

Chad is making me cringe inside. I try to ignore his cutesy names. The man has officially lost it.

“How long ago was that photo taken?”

“Time is just a construct that human beings have made. I don’t know when it was taken. It could have been taken last week. It could have been taken last year. It could have been taken five years ago. Shoot, for all I know, it could have been taken when I was a little boy.”

“It obviously wasn’t taken when you were a little boy because you look significantly older in that photo.” I cross my arms and lean forward. “Look, Chad, I’m just curious. Are you really thirty-five?”

I tell myself that if he lies, I’m going to leave because I know there’s no way on God’s green earth that this man is thirty-five.

“Okay, you got me. I’m not exactly thirty-five, but I will tell you there’s a reason why I don’t give my age. And that reason is …” He looks up at me, his blue eyes sparkling. “Well, if people knew my name and my age, they could Google me and find out just how many billions I’m worth. And I’m not looking for women who are hoping to find a middle-aged man with money, like me. I’m looking for⁠—”

“How old are you exactly, Chad?” I say, interrupting him.

“Well, now, as I said, time is just a construct⁠—”

“No.”

“Fine, I’m fifty-five, but I’m a young fifty-five. I’ve been told that I don’t look a day over twenty-five.” He grins and flexes his muscles. “Don’t blame me because I look like Chris Hemsworth’s younger and better-looking brother.”

“I hate to break this to you, but whoever said that to you lied.”

He sits back and starts laughing. I’m surprised at that. I thought he would be offended.

“I like me an honest gal,” he says, grinning. “And you seem to be one of the most honest I’ve ever met on this app.”

“Really?” I say.

My phone beeps, and I look down at the screen. I got a message from Bradley on the app. I don’t want to be rude. I don’t want to read it, but I can’t stop myself from opening it up.

His message reads: Having fun on your date yet, or thinking about me?

I can’t help but smile and quickly close the phone.