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“Bummer. The good ones are usually taken.”
Rob pushes the strawberry daiquiri my way. “I’m not drinking this. You should take it.”
“I knew you’d refuse a pink drink. Such a typical man. It’s a vacation in a glass. Not a declaration of your masculinity. Only guys with small penises would be afraid to have a daiquiri in public.”
I wait for him to comment on how his penis isn’t small. All men do it. Make one comment on the size of their package, and they go on the defense.
To my surprise, he doesn’t say a word.
He just stares at me as I suck down the frozen beverage. His nostrils flare, and he pulls in a breath.
I swallow and clear my throat. “If you’re back in the dating world after two decades, we’re gonna have to get you up to speed.”
“I’m not looking for a date.”
“You will be soon, which means you need to know what it’s like out here. It’s a battlefield. When you were last out here, you were in your early twenties. Everyone was beautiful, and the single-to-dating ratio was heavily in our favor. Now, we’re in our thirties. If you’re fortunate enough to find someone you’re attracted to and is single, they come with serious baggage. Ex-spouses, kids, crazy work schedules. They are also steadfast in their ways, so where people once tried to put on their best attitude in their twenties, in your thirties, it’s more of afuck it, if they don’t like me the way I am, they can leaveattitude.”
He lifts his glass. “I believe it.”
“If you want to date someone young and beautiful—say, late twenties—you run the risk of having nothing in common. Trust me, it’s not fun until you realize there’s an entire generation that doesn’t know what a pay phone is.”
His mouth tips up ever so slightly. “You have war stories from this battlefield?”
“Too many. This one time, I was being picked up for a date. I didn’t know where he was parked, so I called him. He said, ‘See that fatty by the crosswalk, wearing the belly shirt she shouldn’t be wearing? I’m the car in front of her.’ I never left my apartment.”
“Dick.”
“Insulting a person’s physique, especially a stranger, is a definite red flag. That and the fact that he drove a Hummer. Second red flag.”
Rob lets out a gruff, incredulous snicker. “You rate men based on the cars they drive?”
“Don’t act all self-righteous. You judge people based on the liquor they drink.” I take a long sip of the daiquiri. “A Hummer meathead doesn’t care about the environment and has no respect for money, other people’s safety, or personal space. A Prius dude is practical and less emotional than the Tesla guy, who is flashier and likes to have a good time. If I see an ultra-expensive sports car, I run the other way. He has lots of money and is probably overcompensating for something; plus, he wants someone much younger than me. A Jeep Wrangler means he’s gay, and a compact car dude is your mild-mannered, run-of-the-mill Joe Schmo, who is either twenty years too young or twenty years too old for me.”
“Glad to know you’re not judgmental. What is a good car for a man to drive?”
“A truck. That’s a man who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and is far too cool to even care what you think about him. He works hard, plays harder, and enjoys the simple things in life,” I state easily. “What kind of car do you drive?”
He smirks. “A Maserati.”
“You’re full of shit. How old are you anyway?”
“You were close in your assessment. I just turned forty.”
“Looking good for being over the hill. Now I get why you don’t want to date too young.”
He places his now-empty glass on the counter. His eyes aren’t on me when he asks, “What happened with that guy you were talking to before?”
I look at him quizzically, having momentarily forgotten about Jason. “I am all for fun sexual innuendos, but R-rated small talk five minutes into meeting a man at the bar is where I draw the line. If a guy can’t have a conversation with you for longer than two minutes without bringing up sex, then he’s not worth the next two minutes.”
Rob’s mouth turns down, along with a surprised yet impressed tilt to his brows.
“You look intrigued.”
“Tara, there’s little about you I don’t find intriguing.”
“Aww, I think you’re starting to warm up to me.”
“That’s not a good thing. You worry me. Soon, you’ll learn the perfect man doesn’t exist, and you’re gonna be crushed.”
