“Coffee. Gallons of it. But why should you know?” When they’d woken up together at the Four Seasons, they’d rushed off to intercept Vince, so there had been no morning beverages.
“I can name all eight of the men you’ve rejected since New Year’s, so it seems odd that I don’t know how you take your coffee.”
“I take it black.”
“Like your heart.”
“Exactly. And I will have you know that I’ve rejected nine men since New Year’s.”
He pointed to a chair, and she sat while he filled the kettle. “Nine? I thought you were letting me know when you were going out. I thought we were up to eight.”
Crap. She’d been teasing him, but she’d blown it. She purposefully hadn’t told him about that one—there hadn’t been any need to, and he got so worked up about the safety aspect of her dates.
He had stopped puttering around the kitchen and was staring at her with an eyebrow raised in a way that communicated that she wasn’t getting any coffee until she talked.
She sighed. “It wasn’t a Tinder thing. It was . . . a reality thing. A barista who works at a coffee shop I sometimes go to.”
“So, what? He just propositioned you?”
“No, he was taking a break and the shop was full, so he couldn’t find anywhere to sit. I invited him to join me. I’ve gotten to know him pretty well in a small-talk-at-the-cash way—he knows which roast I prefer, and I know he’s a stand-up comic.”
“No wonder you rejected him.”
“He’s actually really funny,” Dani said, aware that she was digging her own grave. “I’ve googled him—some of his gigs are on YouTube. It’s really smart humor.”
“Is he ugly? Is he an assault to the senses?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s pretty cute. Young.” There was her excuse. “Too young.”
“What does that mean?”
“Twenty-four.”
She thought he was going to rebut, but he asked, “So how do you get from sitting in the coffee shop together to potentially getting it on?”
Her face heated. “I don’t know. He kind of . . . strongly implied that there was a standing offer.” When Max started to object, she added, “Not in a gross way. In a flirty way that gave me an out.” She shrugged. “Which I took.”
Max looked at her for a long time. “Why? Here we would seem to have the perfect man. You know him—well enough, anyway. He’s funny and smart. He has a job. He is not too young, at least for your stated purpose. As far as we know he sometimes eats plants.”
Dani smirked. “He’s a vegetarian, actually.”
“See! He’s perfect!”
She hated talking about this, even with Max, who was the easiest person in the world to talk to. It made her feel cornered, afraid, even. Just like she’d felt in that coffee shop.
Max set a mug of coffee in front of her, sat down, and beamed his cobalt eyes at her—into her soul, it felt like. “Tell me what’s really happening here.”
He wasn’t going to let her off the hook—of course he wasn’t. “I don’t know. I think I want to have sex. I mean, I do want to. I have the . . .” She waved her hand around in the air. He copied her gesture with his eyebrows raised questioningly. “Sex feelings,” she finished lamely.
A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You have the ‘sex feelings’?”
God. This was mortifying. “You know what I mean.”
He smirked and made a “continue” gesture.
“But when I get into a situation where the idea of having sex is no longer theoretical, the sex feelings . . .” She wiggled her fingers and let her hand float up above her head.
He mimicked her again, taking the hand he’d been using to gesture for her to keep talking and letting it float up, too.
“They disappear,” she said. “Okay? Are you happy?” He actually looked pretty happy, probably because he enjoyed mocking her. “The sex feelings get replaced by panicky ones.”
His face sobered. “Perhaps you’re not ready.”
“Oh, I’m ready. I am so ready, you don’t even know.”
“So what is the problem, then?”
Was she going to tell him the truth? Well, why not? Relentless honesty, right? “I think I’m afraid I’ll get my heart broken again.” She winced as soon as it was out.
He wasn’t as surprised as she would have expected. “I thought you were post-love.”
“I am! But what if I have sex with one of these guys, especially one of the decent ones, and . . .”
She didn’t realize she was making yet another gesture until he mirrored it. “Is this the ‘I had sex with this relative stranger one time and his moves blew my mind so much I accidentally fell in love with him’ gesture?” he asked.
“Uh, I guess so?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make fun. I’m trying to understand. When you rejected HarlemHipster, you said it wasn’t about the risk of heartbreak.”
“I know! It doesn’t make sense! I just . . .” She pulled out her phone and opened the Notes app. She had never imagined showing anyone besides Leo the list. But it was as good a way as anything to explain since she couldn’t seem to do it. And this was Max. He knew everything anyway. She handed it over.
“‘Things I Will Never Again Do for a Man,’” Max said, because of course he was going to read it out loud. He paused a long moment before saying, “Ah, yes,” as if he recognized the list.
“Number one: ‘Be financially dependent.’ Good. Number two: ‘Pretend to like things I don’t or pretend not to like things I do.’ Ah, that’s the ballet bit, isn’t it?” He looked up, and she nodded. “Number three: ‘Work with him in such a way that his interests are advanced at the expense of my own.’” He snorted. “Fucking Picasso.”
See? Max did know everything. Nothing on this list was going to surprise him.
‘Number four: ‘Move.’” He looked up at her questioningly. “I don’t understand that one. I thought you liked your apartment.”
“I do. I do now. But I had a great rent-controlled apartment before. It was closer to campus, too. I wanted Vince to move in with me, but he wasn’t into it. He said we needed to have a new place for our new life together.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I don’t regret it. I wouldn’t have ended up being neighbors with Leo otherwise, but the larger point stands.”
“Right.” He went back to the list. “Number five: ‘Be away from my family for the holidays.’ That makes sense. You have a great family. Number six: ‘Rearrange my schedule to indulge his whims.’ Number seven: ‘Clean up after him.’ Number eight: ‘Neglect my friends.’ And, finally, number nine: ‘Fake an orgasm.’” He chuckled. “Good for you.” He set the phone down and regarded her thoughtfully. “I can’t argue with any of this. I also don’t think it will do any good for me to suggest that having sex one time with one man isn’t going to magically make any of these things happen, because I think you know that in your mind.”