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The unit was gorgeous. Floor-to-ceiling windows with tons of natural light. There was raw ductwork at the ceiling and a wall of exposed brick. The floors were sealed concrete and the kitchen was open shelving with a sleek island. His furniture was casual and modern. It looked expensive, but lacking just a little in the personal touch. Like a designer had done it and hadn’t quite caught on to who Michael was.
“It’s a lovely place,” I said.
“Thanks. I’ve been here twelve years now.” He hung my coat in a wardrobe. “As for Savannah, that’s part of why I deleted the app. I thought we were talking for real, actually getting to know each other, had made a connection, and then we met and she seemed disinterested. I’m sure it wasn’t her fault, I probably read more into it. I’m out of the game.” He kicked his sandals off and came into the apartment. “Do you want a glass of wine? I was about to open a bottle.”
Uh, yes, I wanted wine.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about his answer.
I couldn’t tell if he was still hung up on Savannah or not. It had only been a couple of weeks since their date, but on the other hand, she’d only talked to him for a couple of weeks prior to their dinner. Or rather, I had only talked to him for a few weeks. Did that mean he was hung up on me? Convoluted. All of it.
“I’d love a glass of wine.” I stayed near the door. “Should I take my boots off? They’re a bit wet.”
“It’s up to you. The floors are concrete, so it won’t hurt them, but there is a rug in Becca’s closet.”
“I’ll take them off.” I used the wall for leverage and yanked off my boots. I went into the kitchen where he was pouring red wine into two glasses. “You never stood a chance with Savannah, by the way, so that’s not on you. She was already halfway in love with an old friend and was refusing to admit it.”
Michael handed me a glass. I took a sip, waiting for him to react to what I’d said.
“That’s interesting because she was definitely sexual with me in messages. I didn’t misread that. But never mind, I don’t want to talk about your friend or give the impression I’m criticizing her. Like I said, I’m out of the game. I’m a workaholic with rusty dating skills.”
Great, I’d made Savannah out to be a flirt when it was me. I was the flirt who’d been tossing out sexual innuendos and wishing I could have sex with him.
He raised his glass. “Salut, Felicia.”
“It was me,” I blurted, because I was in agony over the whole rotten thing.
He stared at me blankly. “What was you?”
“I was the one being sexual with you. It was all me, never Savannah. Every message you ever got was from me.”
I wished I hadn’t taken my boots off.
Because he was probably going to open his mouth and say, “Bye, Felicia,” and if I had my boots on still, I could make a faster escape.
* * *
My wineglass was hallway to my mouth and I just held it there, staring at the gorgeous fair-skinned brunette with the British accent in front of me. I was trying to wrap my head around what she’d just said. She had fucking catfished me? Who the hell would do that?
“Why would you pretend to be Savannah?”
It was actually her I’d been talking to. That gave me an unexpected jolt of desire. She was beautiful, with striking cheekbones and intriguing blue eyes. She certainly didn’t need to pretend to be her friend because she was worried about her own attractiveness. Felicia made even the knit beanie on her head somehow look glamorous and mysterious.
I took a sip of my wine, leaned on my island, and waited for whatever explanation was about to come my way. If I found out this was a con to steal money, I was going to be very disappointed. And super fucking pissed.
“Savannah has terrible taste in men,” she started. “Absolutely horrific.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’m horrific? That seems harsh.”
“No! No, no, that’s not what I meant.” She waved her hand. “I picked you. See, that was the plan from the get-go. My friends and I would each pick a date for Savannah because she’s just so bad at it. I created her profile and, at first, I tried to channel her and I tried to keep things straightforward and not get too conversational but…” She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. “Then I met you. Or you know, saw your picture and messaged you. And you were funny and intelligent and I might have forgot that I was being her when I started talking to you and was just being me.”
She tilted her wineglass and stared down into it before looking up at me. “I sound completely daft, don’t I?”
I tried to process what she had said. “I don’t know what it sounds like, honestly.” Well. It really sounded like bullshit I was too old for, but I was willing to hear her out.
“At first my thought was you’d be a perfect fit. She has a baby, you’re older, you want a family. I thought it had some real potential. I wasn’t planning to do anything more than just set up a meeting between the two of you.” She ran her finger around the rim of the wineglass. “But then I admit, I got a crush on you, and I didn’t even realize it at first.”
That wasn’t awful to hear. She certainly had seemed genuinely interested when we were messaging back and forth. “Those were all your thoughts, your memories, not hers?”
