WE STRIDE INTO A HIGH-END COCKTAIL BAR in the heart of Newport Beach. I check my watch: ten minutes to spare before the show begins at nine o’clock sharp. According to Cody, this isn’t the same place they held Express Dates when Logan and Nico went that one time.
Too bad, maybe that other bar had some kind of special powers.
My brothers walk a step behind, one on the left, the other on the right, like my faithful wingmen. Although… to the passive observer they might come across as low-grade goons.
I’m forward and center, which, I believe, makes me the boss.
So far, so good.
The interior design lifts my mood a little. This is my kind of scenery: luxurious yet modern. Edison-style lighting arrangements, hanging low above the polished wooden tables, cast a warm glow over emerald-green velvet furnishings.
We navigate through the busy crowd toward the bar at the back. There’s no line, and save for three overdressed women in their prime, the stools stand empty.
If they’re here for the Express Dates, I’m fucked.
They look at least twice my age.
“You think they’re participating?” I ask Cody in a hushed voice, motioning toward the pearl-loving, silver-haired trio.
Cody’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Possibly, but not in the group you’re signed up for. From what the guy said over the phone, they divide the participants into age categories—twenties, thirties, and golden-oldies. If you’re ever curious, they host something like this for swingers on Sundays.”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I share my imaginary wife?” I clip, snatching the ice-cold beer Conor’s got me.
My gaze sweeps the room, my attention stolen by a group of stunning girls near the entrance. They look about my age, which is promising. Especially since they all seem to radiate the kind of confidence I enjoy: chins high, calculating eyes… a bit of an attitude, I bet.
Too bad they pale under closer scrutiny.
The overdone makeup marring their faces isn’t my thing. Ever since I met Mia, I started noticing girls who prefer a natural look, and found I prefer it too.
But hey, never say never.
They’re here to impress men, and with a limited time to do so—five minutes per date—looks unavoidably become the first hook…
As much as I want to detest the idea of having to spend the next two hours with twenty different women, I can’t deny the thrill coursing through my veins. It’s been months since I’ve done any socializing, and this sparkling anticipation is a clear sign my isolation wasn’t the best choice.
Swiveling to face my brothers, I arch an eyebrow at the mischief and cheap wisdom dancing in their eyes.
Cody leans in, grinning like a child on Christmas. “Alright, listen up. You’re out of practice, so you need a few pointers.”
“I’m out of practice?” I scoff, leaning against the counter, my gaze scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. “Please. It’s been five years since you’ve done any flirting and I’m still more equipped to handle this than you ever were.”
“Dream on,” he mumbles, theatrically rolling his eyes. “You only have five minutes.”
“Ten. There are two rounds.”
“Smartass. Alright, fine. Two lots of five minutes. That’s still not much, so forget small talk. Ditch the standard date questions. If you ask their favorite color, they’ll lose interest faster than you can say awkward. Don’t be boring, but don’t try too hard.”
Conor, always helpful, nods in agreement. “Yeah, and don’t brag. Don’t be a cliché. Don’t be predictable. Find the sweet spot in between. We clear?”
Do they really think they’re helping?
“So… unpredictable,” I summarize, tapping my fingers against the beer bottle. “I can’t believe you guys got wives by having a ‘favorite color’ as your standard date question. Who even asks that?”
They both look ready to swing for me.
“Alright, I hear you,” I continue before they take their chance. “I’ll make sure to leave a lasting impression.”
They look between each other, both unappeased, and Cody lifts a warning finger at me. “If you purposely fuck this up—”
“I won’t. Chill out. You’re acting like I haven’t been on a date before. I know what I’m doing. Just don’t get your hopes up.”
Cody crosses his arms, the scowl giving way to a knowing smirk. “I don’t expect this to work first time around. Consider tonight a practice run. You’ve been out of commission for months, bro. You’re a bit rusty.”
“Don’t come on too strong,” Conor chips in. “Keep it light.”
“Not too strong, huh? I should be as chill as you were with Vivienne? You wore her down until she caved. Too strong worked for you, so maybe it’ll work for me?”
He shakes his head. “No way. You lack my charm, and Cody’s right; you’ve been out of the game too long. Just find your rhythm and don’t look so sour. It’ll be fun! You never know what hidden treasures you might find.”
“Hidden treasures?” I cock an eyebrow, chugging half my beer. When did he get so sappy? “That a bedtime story you’re reading the twins? If there are any treasures here, they’re hidden in a minefield of potential awkwardness.”
Cody throws an arm around my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “Hate all you want but give it a fair shot.” He yanks me closer, lowering his voice. “Look at the girls by the stairs. They’re all pretty.”
I follow his line of sight and my eyes are naturally drawn to a deep, rich purple dress.
Purple is my favorite color.
The girl wearing it is standing with friends, but I don’t notice anything about them. I focus on her thick, heavy, waist-long, chocolate-brown hair. It hides most of her face as she turns between two girls who hang on her arms much like Conor and Cody flank mine.
She turns again, tucking a handful of strands behind her ear as if she senses my gaze and is trying to offer a better look. I’m a fucking goner as I catch sight of her lips. Full and juicy, ready to be bitten. Barely a hint of raspberry color: a faint lip stain or natural shade, either way, it suits her.
I treat myself to a cursory once-over. Cody’s right. She’s pretty, but an exasperated look paints her face—upturned nose, eyes rolling. Paired with the in-your-face sexy dress, she gives off a pick-me-girl vibe. An attention-seeking flirt. It’s hardly a good first impression, but under closer scrutiny, her posture suggests she’s uncomfortable with it.
She tugs the hem lower, even though her dress doesn’t reveal much skin, grazing two inches above her knees. Long sleeves add an illusion of modesty most men wouldn’t notice, more prone to eyeing her soft tits peeking from the plunging neckline.
I’m more interested in the way she holds her glass of red wine. Knowing her drink preference will be useful later, but that’s not why I noticed. It’s because she doesn’t hold the glass like every other girl here. No, she’s pinching the stem between her thumb and forefinger, and that means she either comes from money or, at the very least, she’s well-versed in high-end table etiquette.
I should probably stop staring, but… I can’t. She looks like a girl on a mission. Determined, resolute… not a shy bone in her body.
Despite the well-defined high cheekbones, immaculate jawline, and straight-as-an-arrow posture, there’s a softness to her. An innocence and cuteness that scream youth. If I were to guess, I’d say she only just turned twenty.
Too young, but she’s far too appealing to dismiss on a guess. It’s not easy to figure out ages these days.
She’s got that natural look I enjoy. Nothing besides a touch of mascara accentuating her long lashes and the raspberry tint of her lips—I can’t decide if it’s lipstick or all her.
I won’t mind either way.
Among a throng of women made up like fashion models, she’s the odd one out. A picture of restrained confidence, calculating eyes on her glass while her friends whisper in her ears, pointing out different men.
I think she may need saving as much as I do. Perhaps we can come up with a suitable arrangement.
With a plan forming inside my head, I nod at Cody, injecting as much fake conviction into that nod as I can muster. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
“That’s the spirit!” he cheers, whacking me across the back with typical enthusiasm.
He’s lucky I’m almost done with my beer, and only a mouthful sloshes inside the bottle, not enough to spill out. Though come to think of it, a wet, beer-smelling t-shirt would be a valid excuse to bow out early.
Damn it. Missed opportunity.
Conor orders another round just as a waiter grabs a microphone, urging the participants upstairs.
“That’s you, bro.” Cody pats my back again, lighter this time as if he read my mind and won’t take the risk. “Remember. Confidence, intrigue, and be yourself.”
How on earth he managed to find a wife is a mystery.
“Don’t linger upstairs during the break,” Conor adds. “We’ll be here somewhere. We’ll want an update.”
I leave my empty Corona on the counter while my brothers share more last-minute tips and insights on engaging conversation starters.
Their wisdom falls on deaf ears. I walk away toward the staircase, my step lighter than I thought it would be. With all the disappointments under my belt, I don’t expect miracles, but what’s the worst-case scenario?
I’ll go home alone like I do every fucking day.
