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“On a scale between spinach and deep-fried hot dog, I’d say you’re on the heart attack end.”
“I’ll work it off tomorrow.”
“You exercise?” he asked without looking up from his plate.
“Only so I don’t get fat. You?”
“I run. It’s more of a hobby than a health thing.”
“Says the guy munching the romaine,” she said with a disdainful look at his plate. “And running is not a hobby.”
He looked up. “It is too.”
“No. It’s a method of exercise. Developed as a human flight mechanism, and not intended to be enjoyable.”
He laughed and shook his head. “So in your world of dating, there are a finite number of acceptable hobbies?”
“Only if one wants to get a second date.”
Mitchell heaped some of the salad on her plate, which she studiously ignored. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Oh? You had plans for me other than lame pickup lines?”
“I think what I didn’t expect was that you would have plans for me.”
Julie froze. Surely he didn’t mean … he couldn’t know … But he was continuing to peck at his produce, looking completely unperturbed.
“I assure you, my plans won’t hurt,” she said, letting her voice go husky as she eyed him over the rim of her cheap wineglass.
“See, there you go again. Playing me like a fiddle.”
“Is it working?”
Mitchell gave her a hot look that she felt right down to her inner thighs. Now that’s what I’m talking about, Wall Street.
Maybe this relationship gig wouldn’t be so bad after all. There was something to be said about a guy who picked up on your drink preferences without asking, didn’t try to steal your fries, and could make your nipples tighten with a single glance.
“You done?” Mitchell asked, nodding toward her mostly empty plate.
Only with the food. “Yeah, I’m finished. I should probably call it quits.”
“Great.” He pulled out his wallet, and Julie tried not to gape in surprise.
“When I said call it quits, I meant that I shouldn’t finish my fries, not that we had to leave.” Dear God, am I begging?
He barely glanced at her. “I know this is rude, but I have an early meeting tomorrow and a couple of reports I need to finish before then.”
Julie refused to let herself frown. Okay, so this was inconvenient, but not disastrous. His quick dismissal was a tiny sting to her ego, but good girlfriend material would be supportive of her man’s work obligations. At least that’s what she’d read in one of Grace’s columns.
“Sure, no problem,” she cooed.
They were quiet as he ushered her out the door with a quick wave at the bartender. Julie felt rather than saw him move his arm, and she took a half step closer, figuring he was going to put a hand on her back, maybe even pull her closer.
But he didn’t touch her. Didn’t even look at her as he stepped closer to the curb and hailed a cab. Julie stared in stunned surprise as he pulled open the cab door and raised an expectant eyebrow.
Wait, not yet! We haven’t done the next-date dance yet!
“We could share a cab,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
