We’re sitting at a tiny table in a busy Mexican restaurant, and I don’t think anyone but us has spoken a word of English in the past ten minutes. I love it.
“Okay, time for the worst part of any date,” I announce, leaning my elbows on the table and staring him down. “The awkward question game.”
“My absolute favorite,” Daniel says, setting his margarita down in front of him. “Should I start?”
I grab my own drink and tilt it toward him. “Bring it on.”
“Why the fuck do you still live in Baltimore?”
I slap a hand to my chest like he’s hurt me. “Ouch. Going straight for the hard hitters.”
He shrugs off my dramatics. “It doesn’t make sense. Your job is here. You’d be better off sucking it up and moving.”
“Believe me, I know,” I tell him, wiping a bead of condensation off my glass with my thumb. “And I consider it more and more every day. But my family’s in Baltimore, and I love being close to them. Considering I can work from anywhere and my lease isn’t up until the end of the year, I figured staying was my best option. I haven’t had much of a reason to leave, anyway.”
But now that I’m on a date in New York with a man who lives here, with a job here—one with a manager who is always begging me to come into the office more than twice a month—and more friends here than in any other city, it’s more than just a viable option.
“I think you have plenty of reasons,” he says, his gaze steady on me.
And there’s another subtle confession. He knows what he’s doing.
“My turn.” I clear my throat, wanting to get off this topic. “If you didn’t work for Naiad, what else would you do?”
“I’d still want to be in acquisitions,” he says without hesitation before flashing me a wry half smile. “Just not in the romance industry.”
“Valid.” I pause as our platter of tacos arrives and wait until the server moves off before motioning for Daniel to throw another question at me. “All right, what’s next?”
“Why did your last relationship end?”
I scrunch my nose. I knew a relationship question was in the cards, but I really don’t want to talk about my lackluster dating history.
“He was cheating on me,” I answer, though thankfully the bitter taste those words leave isn’t as potent as it’s been in the past. “Or, really, with me. He had a long-distance girlfriend the entire time we were together. I didn’t find out about her until she surprised him with a visit.”
“That’s messed up,” Daniel comments. “Is that why you were upset when you thought I was on a date?”
I give a small nod and take a sip of my drink. “I guess I’ve just come to expect the worst from the people I fall for.” I look away with my own confession and pick up a taco to busy myself. “Anyway, it was a long time ago, so he doesn’t matter anymore.”
“How long ago?”
I glance up. “That’s your third question in a row, you know.”
“Humor me.”
“Like, four years ago. Maybe a little more. I was still in college.”
“And you haven’t been in a relationship since?” He sounds surprised to hear that.
“Nope. I’ve been on a handful of dates, but nothing more than that. Actually…” I pause, wondering if I should really tell him this, but when Daniel raises a curious brow, I lower my voice a little and plow ahead. “The first time we had sex, when I told you it had been a while, I meant that it had been years—not since my last relationship.”
He’s silent for a few long beats. If he’s judging me, I don’t care. There’s nothing wrong with my spotty sexual history, just like there would be nothing wrong if I chose to have sex more often than that.
“Why so long?” he finally asks.
I shrug. “Other than trying to avoid the plague going around for the last two years? I don’t know. I guess I just don’t put myself out there. And, yeah, maybe I’m kind of picky.”
“But I met your standards?”
I blow out a mock-exasperated breath. “Am I ever going to get to ask you another question?”
“You just did,” he counters. “Now answer mine.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Of course you met my standards.” I tick off his virtues on my fingers. “You’re hot as hell, and I can admit that now that you’re no longer my nemesis. You challenge me, but you’ve learned how far you can take it, which means you have at least some emotional intelligence. And you’re a really good dancer.”
The last one makes him snort. “Being able to dance is that important to you?”
“Being able to dance well is,” I correct. “I was a dancer for most of my life. It’s in my blood. I need someone who can keep up with me at parties and weddings, or else we can’t be together. I won’t let a man embarrass me.”
He shakes his head. “God, my abuela is going to love you.”
“Good to know,” I reply without missing a beat, even though my brain is screaming. He expects that I’ll meet his grandmother one day? Holy shit. That’s…that’s a big step. “Okay, my turn again. Where the hell do you live?”
Daniel doesn’t hold back a grin. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ask.”
“Oh my God, I know,” I groan. “I’ve been coming up with outrageous options for weeks. Lately, my money has been on a little mud hut in Central Park.”
“Mm, so close,” he says like a disappointed game show host. “It’s actually a hot dog cart on the corner of 6th and 42nd.”
“Fuck.” I slap the table. “I should have known.”
“That’s okay, we’re all wrong sometimes.” He playfully rolls his eyes like he can’t believe he’s entertaining my shenanigans. “I live on the Upper West Side. I bought a place last year, actually. Three bedrooms with a fantastic view.”
I have to admit, I’m a little impressed. Okay, a lot impressed. That real estate isn’t remotely cheap. I know he makes good money with Naiad, but it’s definitely not UWS money. “Mr. Moneybags over here, huh? No wonder you think billionaire romance is overrated. That’s just your life.”
“Wait until I tell you that I moonlight as a vigilante too,” he says, straight-faced. “You want to see my bat cave?”
I put my hands up and lean back in my chair. “Okay, slow down. I don’t think we’re at that stage yet. I barely know you.”
“My apologies.” The words are solemn, but the sparkle in his eyes has me holding back a dreamy sigh. “We’ll just have to work on getting to know each other.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Over lunch, he tells me about his sisters—Martina, Beatriz, and Elena. He swears he loathes them, yet he calls them every Sunday. He thinks his worst trait is that he’s impatient. He’s twenty-nine, and for his birthday last year, his friends surprised him with a trip to Vegas, and then he promptly got food poisoning on the first night.
He’s had plenty of girlfriends in the past, but none of those relationships lasted more than five months—a record we’re near to beating with our situationship. He can’t stand to have other people in the kitchen when he’s cooking. His favorite sport is Formula 1. And he almost lost an eye via a parrot attack when he volunteered at a wildlife sanctuary one summer in college.
“Who are you?” I breathed out in sheer awe upon that last revelation.
But Daniel only shrugged. “I have a lot of interests.”
In return, I told him the rest of my dating history, my dream travel destinations, the styles of dance I’m most versed in, what life was like as an only child (amazing, highly recommend), and why I think America’s Next Top Model was peak reality television—a rant that lasted at least twenty minutes.
It’s late afternoon by the time we finish our tacos and tequila.
“Now what?” I ask when the server sets the bill in front of Daniel.
He hums as he calculates the tip—30 percent, once again; the guy must be a billionaire—then signs his name. “I take you back to your hotel.”
My stomach sinks a little in disappointment. I don’t want this date to end. It’s truly been phenomenal. Like it was perfectly tailored to include everything I love.
But blessedly, Daniel doesn’t stop there. “And then I’m going to fuck you until the only name you remember is mine.”
I inhale sharply, desire already spreading through me. “And after that?”
“We get Chinese takeout for dinner and eat it in bed. Then we order room service dessert so I can lick chocolate off your—”
I push my chair back with a loud screech. “Let’s go.”
“So eager.”
“I just really like dessert.”
