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She turns heads, that’s for sure. She’s refreshingly feminine. Slightly vulnerable and harmless—about as far from a cold-blooded killer as you can get. Looks can be deceiving, sure, but this time I can’t be wrong. When she reaches the high-top table, she cocks her head and smiles. “Mark?”
Damn. It hits me then. I know her. Well, I don’tknowher, know her. It’s complicated. Which is exactly how I make it. “Ali Brown?”
She looks surprised for a second, but not really. “Mark Lane?” The way she says my fake name seals the deal. She could be someone really special in my life. If circumstances were different. She’s even better-looking in person than she is onscreen.
She extends her hand and I take it. “I thought your profile said Marie.”
Color sweeps across her face. “Marie is my middle name.”
“My ex-wife is a big fan,” I say, vomiting foul words all over her. “I mean, she’s ahugefan. She has all of your books. Some of them are signed. And the podcasts. She loves those, too.”
She offers a tight smile, and I realize how much a person can fuck up in a mere two seconds. In my defense, I’m exhausted, I hate dating, and after three drinks, it’s possible I could be slightly tipsy. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve made things awkward.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You’re what? A sex therapist? So, it’s not fine. If I tell you my ex-wife was a big fan—well—I’m sure the first thing you’re thinking is what issues does he have.”
She looks around for either a server or an exit, I can’t be sure. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
She’s not a great liar, that’s for sure. Perspiration beads at my collar. I feel like a menopausal woman on a bad day, and I’m certain there are large pitstains on my shirt. Nadia was right. Wearing white was a terrible idea. “It’s just, well, she’s a lesbian, my ex. Something she left out for—oh, I don’t know, ten years, give or take.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Listen—actually, Iamsorry. I’ve got to run.”
“Of course,” I say, racking my brain for something,anythingI can come up with to get her to stay. I don’t even know why. She’s not alone in her need to bug out. I can’t wait to escape either. Fight or flight has kicked in. I only know that I want—no—have toredeem myself. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s just—I wasn’t expecting you.”
There’s a slight furrow of her brow and a narrowing of her eyes, which I’m glad to see are actually green. I can tell she’s pissed. It could be the lack of service. I could use another drink. “What were you expecting?”
“Well, you know how dating apps are.”
“Do I?”
“I mean, usually it’s just more of the same.”
“Yes.”
I make eye contact with the server who’s giving me the full-on death stare and avoiding me because she realizes I am speed dating, rotating through women like glasses of gin, even though I told her more than once I’m looking for professional connections.
Ali glances at the door like she’s desperate to leave. Suddenly logic prevails, and I realize why she lied about her name. “You must get recognized a lot.”
“Sometimes.”
The server appears and gives her the once-over. Ali glances at me and then back at the woman. “I can’t stay,” she says almost apologetically, but not quite.
“Just one drink?”
The server glares at me.
“You’re not my type,” Ali says firmly.
“How can you know?” The server rolls her eyes. “I mean, you just got here. And besides all the random fumbling with my words, we haven’t even gotten a chance to talk. Give it a little time.”
“I don’t believe in wasting time. It’s not personal.”
“Really?” I motion between the two of us. “Because it feels kinda personal.”
