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“Julie suggested we stay in this weekend,” Mitchell blurted out. “For a movie night.”
Colin paused in the obnoxious swaying of his swivel chair. “Uh-oh.”
Exactly. Mitchell had nothing against staying in on weekend nights. He actually preferred it. He hated crowds, hated “the scene.” He and Evelyn had made a Friday ritual out of checking out the latest independent film releases, usually with a bowl of healthy air-popped popcorn and a bit of olive oil. Evelyn didn’t eat animal fats, so butter hadn’t been an option.
But he knew what movie night meant. It meant that you were a couple.
Mitchell didn’t know which had alarmed him more: that the fun-loving Julie had even suggested it, or that he’d been aching to agree. A movie night with Julie wouldn’t have resembled anything he’d experienced with Evelyn. For starters, she’d want to watch one of those tacky, blockbuster affairs. And from the way she’d devoured her greasy fish and chips that first night, he doubted she’d have a problem with butter on her popcorn.
The prospect was oddly appealing.
Colin read his expression correctly and gave a gleeful guffaw. “You said yes, didn’t you? I knew it. You’re falling for this girl. There’s no way you can see someone casually without convincing yourself she has future potential.”
“I’m not falling for Julie.” He almost believed it. “And I said no to movie night. I’m sure she only suggested it because she thought it was what I’d like to do.”
Because that’s what she did. Shaped herself to be whatever she thought people wanted her to be.
Colin’s smile slipped. “So you’re not seeing her? Remember, the deal requires that you have at least five dates, but it can’t go past August.…”
“I know what the bet is, Colin.”
And we’ve already had more than five dates. No need to tell Colin everything.
“So then what’s the problem?” Colin asked. “You told her no to movie night and she got mad? Is that it?”
“Not exactly.” As far as Mitchell could tell, Julie Greene didn’t do mad. He tugged at his tie, which inexplicably felt tighter than usual. “I kind of suggested that we go to a nightclub. In the Meatpacking District.”
There were several seconds of stunned silence before Colin began snickering. “Dude, have you ever been to a club? You know they don’t serve single-malt Scotch and play Bach, right?”
“Yes, Colin, I’m aware. It’s like I said when you first walked in. I made a mistake.”
Colin was still shaking his head. “Mitchell Forbes at a nightclub. Oh, how the mighty have fallen for the sake of a broad. But you made the right call,” he said with approval. “This will keep her at a distance on the off chance she was getting the wrong idea. A woman like Julie Greene will know exactly what an invitation to a club means. It’s not exactly aperitif hour at Bemelmans.”
Mitchell winced. Had anyone ever thought Julie might actually enjoy having an aperitif at the classy Bemelmans? Or had they always assumed that she wanted glitter and vodka shots? Just the way he had.
“And on the bright side, you’ll probably get to go straight to the front of the line. Julie’s hot and she’s a regular at those places. She’s there with a different guy every week.”
Mitchell’s mouth turned sour at the thought of being just another of Julie’s throwaway toys. But hell, that was why he’d picked her, right? This type of casual, meaningless dating was her world.
It was all she’d want or expect from him.
So just why the hell did that bother him so damn much?
Chapter Ten
Julie put Grace on speakerphone and set her phone on the bathroom counter so she could finish applying makeup.
“Are you sure he said he wanted to go to Pair?” Grace asked, sounding as baffled as Julie felt.
“Positive. I asked him twice, and even asked if he knew where it was. Definitely the Pair we know, on Little West Twelfth Street. Total bridge-and-tunnel crowd,” Julie said, referring to the mobs of partygoers who flocked to Manhattan’s trendy Meatpacking District from New Jersey and the outer boroughs. Translation: not Mitchell’s scene. At all.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Grace said as though reading her thoughts. “I mean, granted, I don’t know Mitchell well, but I thought he was more of a sip-whisky-in-a-hotel-bar type of guy. Not a clubbing, vodka-and-soda, hip-hop-loving douche bag.”
Julie paused in her mascara application and frowned down at the phone. “Hey, not all guys who frequent nightclubs are douches.”
She didn’t dare tell Grace just how many Friday nights she’d spent just like this one: applying smoky eyes, putting on glittery lip gloss, and donning her tiniest outfits.
“Greg wouldn’t be caught dead there,” Grace said loftily.
