Thirty people.
Fifteen women, fifteen men. Five minutes per date.
Not how I imagined Saturday evening, but Nico, Adrian, and Toby are getting too creative. Well, I guess in this case, it’s Nico’s messed-up brain at work. It was his stupid idea to take part in Express Dates.
“Tonight is the night!” Toby booms, entering the modern cocktail bar, a spring in his step. “You’re going down, Logan. Down, d-d-down, down!”
Fuck if I will.
Adrian grips my shoulders, swaying me from left to right, his excitement reflected in an ear-to-ear grin, teeth showing. They might be onto something. Express dates are the perfect setting to find a girl who’ll tell me to beat it. It’s not a place for people wanting to have a bit of fun. No, express dates are designed for those searching for a soul mate and getting pretty desperate.
I’m not worried, though. In fact, I couldn’t care less.
The bets started out fun, but after a few weekends, they got just as boring as anything. Too bad my pride won’t let me wave a white flag. I’ve won eight watches thanks to those bets, and I’ll win the ninth.
The hostess at the door writes our names on white labels and sticks them to our chests. She’s plausible—blonde, decent rack, and nice hips, but like most women in Newport Beach and Orange County—forgettable.
“Feel free to grab a drink and then take a seat at a table of your choice once the first bell sounds.” She gestures toward the double door.
Adrian walks in first, turning his head left and right. He’s openly staring, on a hunt for someone to stick his cock in tonight. Anyone will do. Adrian’s not picky.
With five minutes to order a drink before the torture begins, I rest my elbows on the counter, waiting for the bartender to approach. I’ve not been here yet, even though the place has been open for six months. Newport is the mecca for people loaded with cash. New bars like this pop up all over the place while young entrepreneurs try to capitalize on the wealthy.
The room is dimly lit, fifteen small booths scattered around to form a semi-circle, each equipped with a table and a small bouquet of lilies of the valley. Their aroma hangs thickly in the air, overpowering fifteen brands of perfume and fifteen brands of cologne. Most booths are already occupied by women waiting for the dates to start.
Thankfully, I don’t recognize any of them, and not one catches my attention for longer than a quick glance.
Toby gestures for the bartender while I scan the room, wondering which woman my friends will choose to be my target tonight. Not one stands out of the crowd, and not one looks particularly prone to fun.
Not one looks particularly prone to say no to me, either.
“Hell yes!” Adrian whisper-shouts, craning his neck to see over my shoulder.
I do a one-eighty just as two men move away with their drinks, revealing a slim, sharp-featured woman in a suit—a white shirt, red blazer and trousers to match. She’s in desperate need of a little procedure I like to call a stickectomy. Definition: she has a stick up her ass, and someone should remove it immediately.
I doubt I’ll be the one to accomplish the task, though. She’s Nico’s type. Dark, straight hair in a high ponytail, features sharp enough to cut glass, and a no-bullshit look on her stunning face. I turn to my brother, but he’s not interested in the brunette, eyeing something on the other side of the room.
I follow his line of sight and curse inwardly.
Mary-Jane crosses the room, closely followed by none other than Cassidy. A navy dress with short sleeves hugs her hips and waist, accentuating the not-too-big boobs.
“I’m out,” Nico says, draining the glass of whiskey the bartender slid his way less than thirty seconds ago. “Call me when you’re done here.”
“No way.” I grip his forearm before he wanders away. “Chill, it’s just Cassidy and Mary-Jane. No Kaya.”
“Yeah, and whatever happens tonight will be promptly reported back to Kaya. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Why do you care if she knows what you’re doing?” Please, dear God, please don’t let my brother still have feelings for Cruella, or I’ll have to knock rational thinking back into his brain with a baseball bat. “To hell with the bitch, Nico. And to hell with Jared, too.”
He grinds his teeth, glaring at Cassidy as if she were the one cheating on him. A minute goes by while he’s deciding Nico-style—overthinking and overanalyzing. “Fine.” He turns back to the bar to order another drink. “But you’re taking over my dates with Cass. I have nothing to talk to her about.”
Dumb idea.
Really fucking dumb idea. My mind has been occupied by Cassidy for two weeks now. I shouldn’t spend another minute in her presence, but it’s either that or Nico will storm out without a backward glance.
“Yeah, whatever. She doesn’t bite, bro. Don’t forget it’s thanks to her that—”
“Zip it,” he snaps, his tone implying he’ll bite my head off if I don’t drop the subject.
There’s no talking to him about the night he saw Kaya with Jared in a compromising yet creative position.
The girl Adrian chose as my game tonight stilettoes across the room, her steps small but confident, shoulders back and head high. Her long ponytail swings to the sides before she takes a seat, crossing one leg over the other. She’s unapproachable in a sexy way. Her every move is punctuated by an aura of superiority, making men do a double take. I almost hear the thoughts screaming in their heads.
She closes her blood-red lips on a straw, cheeks purposely hollow when she sucks in a sip of a pink cocktail as if to subtly admit she’s a freak in bed.
It does the job. She’ll be hit on by every asshole here. Me included, apparently.
“Maybe that’s not the best idea.” Toby pulls a face, eyeing the sex bomb with a glint of awe and timidity shining in his blue eyes. “I think she might chop Logan’s dick off if he steps out the wrong way. I don’t want to have that on my conscience.”
“I agree,” I say, genuinely relieved. I sure don’t do well with overconfident, standoffish women. “She’s way out of my league. Let Nico have her. If anyone can tame Queen Bee, it’s you.” I elbow his ribs to cheer him up a bit, but the smirk I want in return fails to arrive.
Figures. The day that asshole actually smiles, I’ll probably be so taken aback I’ll have a goddamn aneurysm.
He glances over his shoulder to check her out, moderately interested. I don’t think there’s a woman walking this earth that’d make Nico fall over his feet.
“Game on,” he says.
Adrian huffs, unamused. “Fine, you can have her, Nico. And you,” he grips my shoulder, checking the women out again, “take the one at table six.”
The girl in question can’t be older than a senior at college and has been ogling us since we walked through the door.
“At least try to make this a challenge.”
“Look at her!” he cries loudly, and a few heads snap in our direction. “I bet she’s a preacher’s daughter.” A preacher’s daughter in need of some serious fucking. “She won’t fall for your bullshit. And if she will,” he glances between Nico and Toby, “I’ll buy him that watch myself. I’ll even get your face tattooed on my ass if she gives you her number, man.”
I don’t always want to punch Adrian, just most of the time. He’s such an animal.
“So I don’t have to kiss her this time?”
“No, but you only have two dates to work your magic.”
“I really don’t want to tattoo Logan’s face on your butt, Adrian,” Toby says. “I don’t want to touch your butt!”
“Good evening, and welcome to Express Dates.” A man at the front of the room booms into a microphone, stopping our conversation. What a pity. “The rules are simple. Please affix the label with your name to your chest if you haven’t already, and sit at a table of your choice. Once the bell sounds, gentlemen move to the next table, clockwise. We’ll have a fifteen-minute break after round one, and you can call out a waitress anytime if you need a refill. Enjoy.”
Most men rush to take a seat, but the four of us have all the time in the world. Maybe if I were supposed to sit at table six and start the show, I’d rush, but there’s already some asshole there. Once most men choose a table, I sit by number twelve where a trust-fund, spoiled bimbo with Botox almost seeping out of her pores toys with a lock of pink hair.
Cass is on the other side of the semi-circle, and I have a clear view of her pretty face. I still don’t know what the hell changed that made her beauty pop, but she draws attention like a loud bang on a silent night.
From time to time, I glance toward my target’s table, hoping to learn something about her before our date. I like to have an ace up my sleeve, but she gives me nothing to go by. Her body language is reserved, hands on the glass, a slight hunch to her shoulders. I turn to her more often because that’s about all that stops me from openly staring at Cassidy when she laughs with different men at her table.
They wouldn’t know where to start to make her scream.
The label on the girl at table six reads Sofie. Her wineglass has been empty for at least two dates, but neither of the jackasses before me noticed. I call over a waitress and order another beer for myself and wine for her. That’s my usual strategy: charm the girl with drinks.
“I don’t drink wine,” Carmen, the woman before me, points to her tall glass of beer.
If the fact she gulps lager like a dude isn’t repulsive enough, the large, black goop of mascara in the corner of her right eye sure is. I don’t mind women drinking beer, but Carmen isn’t drinking. She pours the golden liquid down her throat without swallowing as if it’s a party trick that’s supposed to impress me.
“I noticed.”
The bell rings again. It’s my turn to sit in front of Cassidy, but I walk past her, holding up my index finger to let her know I’ll be right back. I stop at table six, placing the wine beside Sofie’s empty glass. Her eyes roam down my body, lips pursed, and a satisfied gleam shining in her eyes. She’s pretty, and I can picture myself trailing a line of kisses up the column of her throat, but then she opens her mouth, and the bubble bursts.
“Am I supposed to drop my panties now?” she asks, a hint of playfulness layering her voice.
The line hits me all wrong. Instead of being excited by the possibility, I have an eye-roll kind of moment. “You’re supposed to say thank you, honey.”
A faint blush creeps onto her cheeks, marking her neck and cleavage along the way. “Thank you …” She looks down at my chest. “…Logan. I don’t think it’s your turn at my table just yet.”
No, it’s not, and the impatient man on my left thinks so too, his arms folded across his chest, eyes pinning me down with a forceful stare.
“I’ll be back in five,” I add before I hit reverse and sit by Cassidy’s table.
She toys with ice cubes in her half-empty glass, looking out of place, unsure what to expect from our date. Neither do I. An aura of imminent danger settles around us as the ginger and lemon scent of her body lotion or hair shampoo targets my nose, and my dick stirs hell in my jeans.
Down, boy.
“Have you signed up for swimming lessons?” I ask, lacking a better idea. My mind blanks around her.
A light, casual chat is what I’m aiming for. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing to suggest I have the urge to spread her wide open on the tiny table between us, lick her sweet pussy until she comes, and then drive my cock deep inside to feel her come around my length.
“No, and I won’t,” she admits, unease fading, a smile taking its place. That’s better. “Maybe my angel will stop using.”
“Don’t rely on that guy.” Aaaand… blank. I’ve no idea how to proceed. I’ve not been this awkward around a woman since ever. Cass and I spent a few evenings together three years ago, so I know about the shit that’s usually discussed on first dates. It’s not like I can ask about her favorite color again. “So…” Crickets. All-round crickets. What the fuck do I say now? My pulse riots before a last-resort, not-too-bright idea pops into my head. “What brings you here of all places? What kind of guy are you looking for?”
“Amy’s not well, and MJ needed a chaperone.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I drink from the bottle of Bud Light. “What kind of a man are you looking for, Cass?”
“What about you?” She side-steps again, combing back those alluring blonde strands that tangle in the long earrings she wears.
I want to reach out, untangle her hair, then nuzzle my face in the crook of her neck and inhale.
Why didn’t she answer? Is she embarrassed? Undecided? Maybe she’s taken. Maybe there’s a boyfriend at her tiny studio flat, waiting patiently until she comes home.
Unlikely.
No sane man would let his girl get hit on by fifteen men.
“I see you’re still betting the guys they won’t find a girl who’ll resist your charm.” She casts an inconspicuous glance over her shoulder, checking out my target for tonight. “She’s cute. I can’t see you losing tonight.”
I already forgot about the preacher’s daughter, too preoccupied with Cassidy. I’ve not realized I’ve been leaning further and further across the table until she rests her elbows on the tabletop, mirroring my stance. The pleasant scent of her body intensifies, summoning the memories again.
Sweet, breathless gasps in my ear when I drove into her, my head in a state of utter confusion because that night, we weren’t fucking. I can’t say we were making love, but it was more than what I’ve experienced thus far and ever since.
“Adrian thinks she’s too good of a girl to fall for my shit.”
Cassidy casts another glance over her shoulder. Goosebumps dot the delicate skin of her neck, stealing my attention, and I need to fight my instincts not to lean over the table and kiss them away.
“Adrian might be a poor judge of character. You won’t have to try too hard.”
I know. Sofie’s been gawking over here twice a minute, seductively licking her lips. She’d let me have my way with her at the back of this bar without giving it much thought.
The bell rings, ending the date, and I check Nico’s location to make sure I’ll switch with him at the right time. He’s three tables away, about to sit in front of Queen Bee.
“Good luck,” Cass whispers when I rise to my feet.
“I don’t need luck, princess.”
Her lips part into an inaudible oh at the endearment, eyes widen, and pupils dilate. She probably recalls the last time I called her that. Three years ago… come for me, princess.
Sofie beams when I arrive at her table, readjusting my jeans as I take a seat. I’ve lost interest in pursuing this girl, but even without wooing or engaging in conversation, Sofie twirls her hair around her finger, batting her eyelashes.
You’re trying too hard, honey.
I’m still within earshot of Cassidy’s table, my back to hers, so I can’t see, but the tone of the man’s voice paints a vivid picture of what Cass must look like right now—arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.
“You’re impossible,” he says louder than necessary. “What was wrong with our date? We had a nice meal, you laughed, we talked—”
“Do you think you can coerce another date out of me?” Cass asks. “Have some dignity.”
“You need to grow up and fast, sweetheart. You think you’ll find your Prince charming here?! Look around! I’m the best shot you have.”
“I don’t want a Prince charming, and I sure don’t want a misbehaving puppy.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. The waitress stops by the booth to see if we need a refill. Acting on an impulse, I order a beer for myself and a daiquiri for Cass, instructing the waitress to deliver it to her table.
Sofie’s talking my ear off for two more minutes before the bell rings. If held at gunpoint, asked to quote one sentence that came out of her mouth during our date, I’d end up with a through-and-through gunshot wound to my head.
She’s so dull she’d put an insomniac to sleep.
Once I reach my next date, I no longer bother to even fake interest. I’m chasing my own thoughts, trying to make sense of my sudden obsession with Cassidy.
Her lifeless body flashes before my eyes as if to answer the incessant questions. Is that why I can’t stop thinking about her? Because I saved her life?
That’s infuriating.
I can’t fucking drown her to fix the problem.
And it is a problem. Going after her would equal going against my family, and that can’t happen. They come first.
Always. No matter what.
The woman in front of me seems mildly annoyed, and rightly so. I’m vague, disinterested, and gawking over my shoulder too often, checking on Cass instead of Sofie.
Some guy in a white polo shirt sits in front of her, his demeanor laid-back, careless even. Cass brushes a few strands of hair away from her face just as the bell rings, and it’s once again my turn to entertain her for five minutes when Nico trades with me, taking table nine.
The polo-shirt guy meets my gaze as he rises to his feet with an annoyed scowl. “Don’t bother with this one. All you’ll get here are blue balls.”
“I bet yours already are. Move, or I’ll give you a black eye to pair with the set.”
He scoffs, shaking his head as if he feels sorry for me.
Kids are taught algebra, mitosis, and where Mongolia is, but no one teaches them that pissing off a guy twice their size is a bad idea. Someone really should include that in the curriculum. Maybe if the polo shirt got the memo, he’d think twice before disregarding me. That’s strike one. One more, and he’ll bleed.
He moves to the next table, his attitude changing to gigolo when he spots Sofie, the eye candy.
Cass clears her throat, drawing my attention.
“What?” I ask, taking a seat. “Would you rather have Nico here?”
“No,” she mouths, alarmed by the idea. My brother has that effect on women—scares them without saying a single word. “Thank you for trading with him.”
“He threatened to leave when he saw you, so I didn’t have much choice.”
Her smile slips immediately. “If you’d rather stand by the bar for the next five minutes, I won’t mind.”
My eyes drop to her lips for a brief second before I look back up in time to see her cheeks heating. “I’ll stay.”
