Page 9 of The Quit List
“Wow. You’re setting the bar high there, Holly. You might want to ask next week’s date a few more questions about himself before agreeing to meet in person.”
I tilt my head at him quizzically. “What makes you think I have a date next week?”
“Well, you’re here every Saturday night. Always with a different guy. I figured you were a bit of a player.” He winks at me as he says this, and the silence that follows this statement is very, very loud as I realize that the man sitting opposite me most likely is an actual badass certified player—takes one to know one, right?
Even if his assumption is very, very wrong.
I assess Wolf Man with objective eyes for the first time. He’s my age, or maybe a little younger, AKA in the prime of his twenties. He’s a freaking hot bartender at a gorgeous and trendy downtown restaurant.
Of course he’s a player. Probably has a steady stream of waitresses and patrons lining up for a piece of the guy with the sexy beard and a penchant for saving damsels in distress from misogynistic a-holes.
Better to look like a fellow player than someone who’s entirely desperate.
And so, I force out the creakiest, most alarming sound I’ve ever heard come from my own mouth. “You got me,” I say through my forced laugh. “Big player over here.”
Jax gives me a look. Like he isn’t quite buying my player status now that he’s actually talked to me.
Busted.
I throw my hands up, and for the second time this evening, find myself leveling the truth with a man sitting opposite me. This red wine, I tell you! “I’m lying. I’m not a player. I’m a woman on a hunt to find someone—find the one. Which is why I seem to be playing Russian Roulette every Saturday night, hoping I’m not going to be dining opposite the Hillside Strangler.”
Jax is expressionless, his face like a lake of calm, neutral water. But unlike Keith’s unresponsiveness, I don’t get the sense this guy is flat-out ignoring me, but more… reading me.
His silent-but-calm demeanor seems to spur me on and I rest my head in my hands. “I figured I’d have to kiss a few frogs to find a prince. I’m not totally clueless. But I feel like I’m pretty much living in Frogland these days.”
“The guy who just left was more of a toad than a frog,” Jax supplies helpfully. Not.
“How was I supposed to know that? His stupid Spark profile said that he was looking for love.”
“Which is code for: he’s looking to get laid.”
He’s exactly right, of course. But I’m not about to admit that to him. “Well, why not say that?!”
“People lie.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You seem to know an awful lot about this topic.”
He smirks. “I don’t need to lie.”
I bet you don’t.
“Nor would I ever want to,” he continues. “But some people are just assholes.”
“Agreed. If only it was easier to spot said assholes before you meet them at a fancy restaurant.”
I must sound more upset than I mean to, because when Jax speaks again, his tone is gentler. “It is easy if you know how to read people. Figure out their intentions before they make you believe the image of themselves that they’re portraying on the internet.”
I almost laugh out loud. Because if I couldn’t figure out for so long that it wasn’t going to happen with Dylan, I imagine that guessing the intentions of random men on the internet is probably not my forte, either.
“And how, exactly, would you propose I do that?” I tilt my head at Jax, skeptical of this sexy bartender who doesn’t need to lie to get all the girls flocking to him.
He shrugs. “Lower the stakes. For the first date, go for coffee, or a walk somewhere public, or for a drink. That way it’s less time consuming for you, easier to bail if the guy’s a creep…” He nods at the receipt on the table. “And easier on your wallet.”
“What makes you think that these men aren’t wining and dining me?”
“Because I saw your name on the credit card receipt, remember?”
Oh, yeah…
