“It’s not like you’ve never gone through a dry spell.” Hannah shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain herself further. She’d been on dates in the past two years, though not many. But she hadn’t wanted to get naked with any of them. “I’ll just keep reminding myself that self-service is speedy and satisfying service.”
She said it as much to convince herself as to convince Sasha. All the other guys had lacked that essential zing, the chemistry that she’d felt right away with Jack. And without the zing, it was hard to justify opening up her body to someone else. Even if her heart would stay resolutely safe. Especially if he couldn’t touch it.
“I’m just kind of surprised.” Sasha handed over the eyelash glue. “You sort of have this whole jaded-red-light-district-prostitute thing going on.”
Hannah narrowed her gaze on her friend. Although they’d been through a lot, she thought Sasha knew that she was a lot more tenderhearted about her friends than she was about dudes.
Luckily, her friend got that she’d toed over a line. “I don’t mean that you were ever promiscuous.”
That was a lie. Hannah had tried not to be free with her affections, but she’d gone through dudes like tissues for a while when she’d first moved to Chicago. She’d just gotten dumped by Miguel and blown up her whole life, so she’d indulged in male attention. Until she’d met Noah and grokked the idea that he wanted her to at the very least pretend that she was a longtime resident of Stepford.
Her ability to pretend—for a while at least—spoke to the fact that she could put on a show when necessary. And Jack seemed to like her without the show, so this would be much easier than trying to learn how to make an adequate potato salad for Noah’s mother, only to have her sneer from beneath her church hat.
“I think the good news is that I have a lot of practice in turning sex down.” She winked at Sasha, who took a sip of wine and somehow managed to look skeptical at the same time. “And I’m not about to ask a guy I want to ask me out again to contend with my Debbie Does Dallas–style bush.”
Sasha simply pressed her lips together, as though she wanted to say something inappropriate but was afraid her mother would pop her head into the bathroom. It was usually an endearing habit, but it was kind of annoying right now.
“Out with it.”
“Well.” She took another sip of her wine, as though she was bracing herself. “Some guys like the bush.”
“Do I want to know how you know this?”
“Not really.”
Hannah turned and smirked at her friend, who had turned as red as her favorite lip gloss. “Oh, but I think I do.”
“Mitch wanted me to grow mine out.”
“He was really trying to bring back the whole put-your-keys-in-a-bowl thing from the late seventies, wasn’t he?”
Sasha crossed her arms over her chest, apparently done sharing. “I think the moral of the story is that you need to have good boundaries in case he’s all for what you have going on down there.” Sasha gestured toward her crotch.
Being unable to erect boundaries against whatever Jack offered her was exactly what she was afraid of.
CHAPTER SIX
TO LOSE A GIRL, you have to know how to get a girl in the first place.” Throughout the duration of their friendship, it was the one smart thing that prodigious idiot Chris Dooley had ever told him about dating.
It was an ever-vexing mystery to Jack how his friend had gotten through law school. His best guess was that his sister, Chris’s ex-girlfriend, had pulled him through by her teeth. And pulling all 185 pounds of Chris Dooley through anything would be a challenge. He knew from the experience of fireman-carrying him three blocks after he passed out during the St. Patrick’s Day parade.
He didn’t know why he was friends with the guy, other than their long shared history, but he was going to take his one TED Talk–worthy bit of advice and put it to good use.
Being good at dating is simple. Make a plan and follow it. Communicate. Pay attention to your date and be clear about how you feel about her without jumping the gun and ruining it by seeming too eager. Treat women like they are actual people because—news flash—they are.
That was so good, he took out his phone and jotted it down in his notes app.
Jack pulled up in a Lyft precisely on time. He never showed up early, because it interrupted makeup and hair time. He didn’t care if she came out in sweatpants, but most girls liked makeup and hair time. And he never showed up late, because that could make a woman feel as though she wasn’t important—and even if he was dating her for a story, Hannah should get to feel important tonight.
He’d have to learn to resist it—being the perfect-boyfriend candidate—after tonight.
The thrill he’d felt when Hannah had said yes to his invitation warred with his practical need to sabotage the nascent thing going on. He’d fully expected her to tell him to shove it, so he’d planned ahead and called in some favors to get reservations at the best restaurant in the country. He thought that he’d maybe have to couch it as an assignment, a culture piece, and the date as a “favor” to keep him from having to eat many courses of exquisite food—and wine pairings—all alone.
In truth, the sous chef had owed him a favor for introducing him to his girlfriend on the set of his viral How to Do Molecular Gastronomy without Being a Douche video. Regardless, the meal would go on an expense account and impress Hannah, the second thing being much more important.
If he was starting his campaign to lose a girl—to lose Hannah—though, he would have texted her to come down. But in order to lose her, he needed to have her to lose—to have her like him enough to put up with the ensuing two weeks of bullshit.
If he had thought about this—at all—he never would have picked Hannah for this bullshit stunt. He’d have gone out to another bar, hit on another girl, and found a more amenable lady to jerk around. The idea of adding to Hannah’s already low opinion of men sat like noxious acid on his skin.
But he couldn’t stomach the idea of dating anyone else right now. Didn’t want to contemplate anyone else’s lips over dessert. Maybe some part of him thought he could save the thing they had after all this was over. A very foolish part of him—the part of him that maybe wasn’t fit to be a hard-hitting journalist. The part that still believed that people—some of the politicians even—could actually live up to their ideals.
He pressed the buzzer for Hannah’s apartment. After a few moments, Hannah’s voice sounded through the intercom. Even her staticky “Jack?” hit him below the belt.
“Expecting someone else?” He anticipated a little bit of laughter, but he got silence and a buzzer. Definitely should have chosen someone more amenable.