Finally Jordan leaned forward when Sarkowitz was about to go into his projected expense report and said, “Guys, the boss keeps looking at his watch because he’s got a hot date in a couple hours. Can we hurry this up?”
A couple people laughed and I leaned back, thoroughly embarrassed, throwing a dirty look in Jordan’s direction. He grinned and shrugged.
And then, almost without thinking, my gaze flew to the white-haired fantasy heroine sitting next to Mac. She had her eyes on me while her head was turned in another direction, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking toward me. But when my gaze locked on hers she didn’t look away. There was the distinct look of sadness in her big brown eyes. Every muscle in my body tensed and I felt my skin flush with anger. She was the one who had decided to go away. I swallowed the prickly irritation rising up in my throat.
But looking into her eyes, my chest squeezed tight despite my anger. Who was the one who’d ended it, here? Who was the quitter? Who had walked away? How dare she feel hurt that I chose to move on with my life instead of wallowing in the devastation she so obviously expected me to be suffering?
My resolved hardened. Fuck it. Fuck her. I pulled my eyes away and never looked at her again.
***
That evening, Jordan and I met our dates at a high-end restaurant near the pier in Newport Beach. And Jordan wasn’t bullshitting. They were both very beautiful women. Jordan’s date was Marta and mine was a very effervescent redhead by the name of Carissa. They wore tight dresses and glittery heels and looked every bit like they belonged in Southern California, right down to their perfect tans—acquired, by the looks of the slightly orange tinting, in a “fake bake” salon, rather than on the sandy beaches of the south coast.
Carissa was pleasant and not dumb as I’d expected, given Jordan’s usual taste in women. We ended up talking about graphic novels. Of the two women, I definitely felt I got the better end of the deal when it came to conversation. Jordan’s date was stunningly beautiful with what looked like Asian or Middle Eastern genes. But she did not have much to say.
I took a sip of the same glass of wine I’d been nursing all night, gazing over it into the brilliant green eyes of my date. Since when did I give a fuck about conversation?
I’d literally never dated before. The women I’d been with were friends with benefits—referred to cynically by Emilia as “fuck buddies.” I had no problem at all having friendships with women and often maintained the friendships after the sexual relationships ended, as was the case with Lindsay, among others. But sitting at a restaurant, or in a movie theater, or just chatting had never even been something I’d wanted before. What had changed me?
I smiled when Jordan proposed that we go over to his place and hang out. He wasn’t subtle. I’d already told Jordan that I wasn’t bringing a woman over to my place—especially after having just met her. Jordan had shrugged, mentioning he had a guest room in his exclusive beachfront home overlooking Newport Beach’s famed surfing spot, the Wedge.
At one time, Jordan had fancied himself a surfer and he’d tried to teach me how a few times, but I hadn’t enjoyed it. Yeah, I lived on the harbor in Newport Beach, but that didn’t mean I had to risk my neck, literally, to get a rush from challenging the waves that crashed up against the Corona Del Mar jetty and formed the Newport Wedge.
After arriving at Jordan’s and pouring ourselves some drinks, Carissa and I settled on the couch and talked until long past when we noticed the other two had disappeared into Jordan’s bedroom. She had kicked off her heels and tucked her long legs under her as she sat on the couch and gazed into my eyes. She nodded and laughed at everything I said, which had been flattering at first, but started to grow annoying. I craved something…a little pushback. A challenge.
Before long, she leaned into my arm, clearly positioning herself so that her breasts rubbed up against me.
I was turned on. Who wouldn’t be? She was hot. Ridiculously hot. She ran her perfectly manicured hand through that coppery hair and I finally leaned in to kiss her.
She was a very eager participant. I had her lips parted and my tongue in her mouth in seconds. My eyes closed and she gave a little sigh. I pulled her toward me. And—
I couldn’t stop picturing Emilia as I kissed this woman. Emilia’s mouth on mine, the taste of her. Emilia’s breasts pressed against me. Emilia’s soft skin underneath my hands. Emilia. Those large brown eyes watching me across the conference room today, brimming with hurt and with something else. Longing.
I started to cough—violently so—as I sucked in a breath and pulled away from Carissa and her luscious body. She was beautiful and I was attracted to her. We could have gone at it right here—God knows my body was more than willing. I’d even brought condoms. I hadn’t carried condoms for months and months. But as I looked into Carissa’s catlike green eyes, I knew I didn’t want this. Not really.