Page 5 of Tempting the King

He’s older by six years, well-tailored, not bad looking, but, honestly, a bit of a douche.

But, this dating thing, I’m starting to wonder if it’s like a Tootsie Pop. It takes a lot of licks to get to the good part. So I’ve resolved to not abandon a potential opportunity without putting in a reasonable, if not sometimes uncomfortable, amount of effort.

Keeping my steps unrushed, I squeeze my beaded clutch, wondering if I look desperate. This is an upscale area in midtown Detroit, but still, my red dress, fuck-me boots and sparkly bag may be a touch over the top for a Thursday evening.

I’m generally a levelheaded gal, but man, dating is an emotional minefield.

Frank stares at his phone as I weave through the humming chatter of the after-work crowd. I step into a vapor cloud of cologne surrounding a group of young guys throwing back shots with loosened ties and gelled hair.

“Hi.” I greet my date with a blink and a reasonably friendly, but not desperate, smile, holding my breath as Frank slowly raises his eyes.

I expect a flicker of something magical to flicker in his eyes.

Instead, he looks at me like I’m serving him with a summons.

“Hey.” His eyes go back to his phone, tapping at the screen as I stand there, feet together, sucking in my cheeks, channeling my inner Heidi Klum. And from the way the group of guys behind me are eyeing up my rear quarters, they approve.

“Hey,” I repeat the enthusiasm I had walking through the door turning lukewarm, as he finishes whatever important business he’s focusing on before leaning forward with an outstretched arm for a side hug and an odd, somewhat creepy moaning sound.

“You look nice.”

Nice.

I look nice.

“Thanks,” I manage, as that ‘when can I leave’ feeling flutters in my belly.

“Drink?” he offers, waving his hand toward a raven haired, tattooed waitress standing at the service end of the bar.

“Iced tea.”

“Really?” He rolls his eyes with a patronizing snort. “It’s okay. You can loosen up a bit. It’s thirsty Thursday. Maybe it would help.”

“Help what?” I crease my brow, the beads on my purse indenting my fingertips as I apply unnecessary pressure to my grip. “You know I don’t drink. It’s not a problem for me, I just don’t like how it makes me feel.”

He brushes his forehead with his fingers on a sigh, snapping his tongue over his teeth as my face heats. “I was just hoping maybe you’d loosen up. Let down those walls. A little less inhibition might be good.”

“I’m not inhibited, Frank.”

What am I doing here?

“Listen,” he grunts, impatience painted all over his face. “It’s date three, I was hoping…” He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer, retrieving a plastic card, and slaps it down on the marble tabletop with a lick of his already strangely wet lips.

“I’m—” I start, my brain working through the possible reactions to the Comfort Inn room key laying in front of me.

He couldn’t even pop for a fancy hotel.

The waitress steps up as the pounding in my temples from earlier blossoms into a full-blown migraine.

“What can I get for you, sweety?” she says with a side-eye toward Frank. Her dark eyes are framed by killer swooping eyeliner as they flick to the room key Frank is now sliding in a slow circle in the center of the table.

“I’m—” I glance from her to Frank, whose jaw is set, a flatness in his deceptively-pretty hazel eyes, realizing no matter how many licks, there will be no yummy Tootsie Roll center of this Tootsie Pop. “This was a mistake.”

The noise of the bar seems to muffle as my speeding pulse rushes through my ears.

The three of us stand there staring at each other in an awkward sort of showdown. I twist my lips, squint and scratch at my neck, my toes now throbbing in my boots, unsure what to say, when a shrill woman’s voice rises over the soundscape of the bar.

“Who is this?”

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