Page 13 of Shes my 1 Try

The one thing I have noticed, though, is he likes to talk about himself, only asking me something every ten times he opens his mouth. And he appears to know everyone and their dog as they stop by our table to talk to him. It gives me a chance to shoot off a message to Ines.

I’m gonna kill you.

Why? Comes the reply almost instantly. How’s the date going?

Is there any particular reason you thought Ronald and I would hit it off?

The three little dots indicating she’s typing bounce up and down on the screen for what seems like an inordinate amount of time, as I glance across at my date, who is still deep in conversation with an elderly man in an expensive suit.

Because he’s sexy as fuck. She says, adding an eggplant emoji on the end.

Eww! I do not want your sloppy seconds, Ines! I type back furiously, the faux oyster appetisers Ronald ordered churning in my stomach.

God, no! Yuck! I would never do that. Besides, he’s way too young for me.

Taking another look across at Ronald—who hates being called Ron because he is not that kid from that wizard movie—can’t be much more than thirty-five. So yes, definitely too young for Ines.

Give him a chance. You never know what could happen. Besides, if it gets you laid, who cares how much he loves himself.

That bitch! She knew all along he was an A-grade love-me-do and set me up on this date anyway! Firing up, I begin to type a nasty comeback, promises of revenge and shitty makeup in her future, but it all falls away as a notification pops up on my screen.

Asher Scott followed you.

Holy fucking hell!

Blinking, I refocus on the notification to make sure I’m not losing my damn mind. Nope, I definitely read it right the first time. My heart does this little dance, think MC Hammer, in those parachute pants. Maybe I’m dreaming. I mean, is it possible this date is so boring I’ve drifted off into some altered state and I’m making up a whole other scenario for myself? Could I be allergic to the garlic sauteed sunchoke with a wasabi sorbet and vodka mashed lentils? Anything’s possible, right?

When a second notification pops up informing me of a message from Asher Scott, heat careens through my body like an F1 race car. I squirm in my seat, trying to find a way to hide the sudden urge I have to touch my throbbing pussy. Like seriously, it feels as if it has its own heartbeat at the moment!

“Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I ask absently, tearing my eyes away from my phone screen to see Ronald staring across at me, annoyance tugging his brows down.

“I asked if you were okay? I wouldn’t normally say this, but you seem distracted, and it’s really quite annoying. I thought we were supposed to be getting to know one another,” he says curtly, a chastisement, really.

“I beg your pardon?” Is he for real right now? We’ve spent the better part of this date talking about him and that other part has been spent with me watching him talk to other people who’ve approached our table.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Wiley, but when I’m on a date with someone, I’d like their attention to be on me. I am worth the time, I promise.” The confidence in his words should be applauded if they didn’t make him sound like a self-centred dick.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ron,” I snark, his lip curling up in irritation. “I was just waiting for the part of the date when you let me get a word in edge-wise and you’re not talking to every tom-dick-and-harry who stops by.”

“I’m not sure what kind of men you’re used to dating, Wiley,” he says my name with such force I want to laugh in his face. “But in my world, we treat each other with respect, especially when I’m the one paying for our lovely evening.”

And there it was. He was saying it without saying, but it was obvious from the moment he laid eyes on me. I was nothing but a scratch to his itch. I didn’t run in his socialite circles, so he had no fear of me embarrassing him in front of the people he needed to keep impressed. Ronald Withers the Third wanted to slum it with a middle-class woman who might be inclined to feel privileged that a man of his stature deigned to look her way, let-alone take her to his bed when he accepted a date with me. Ines might think I need to get laid, but there’s no way in hell I would get into bed with a man who has zero respect for me as a human being, much less a woman.

“For your information, I’m used to dating men who treat me like a person and not a hole he’d like to fuck,” I declare, my voice loud enough for more than half the patrons of this fancy shithole to hear. “And furthermore, you arrogant prick, you are not all that. Nor are you worth me lowering my standards even if I haven’t had sex in more than a year.”

Shoving the seat back, Ron sputtering his disgust at my language, I down the last of my wine. Can’t waste a drop of something that fine, and turn to leave. Before I get two steps, a cruel hand latches onto my forearm, dragging me across the restaurant, my heels skidding across the polished timber flooring.

“Hey! Who the fuck?—”

“I’m someone more important than you.” He cuts me off, anger settling across his features. “Ines promised me you were a nice woman. Someone who understood the way the world worked.”

“I understand it plenty,” I hiss, wrenching my arm from his grasp. “I understand men like you think they can do anything because the money in their bank accounts can buy them out of any situation.”

“I wouldn’t lower myself to doing anything that would require such assistance,” he scoffs, brushing off some imaginary dust from his suit. “Especially not with the likes of you.”

“You,” I utter, a feral hatred growing within me, “would be lucky to have a woman like me by your side. And I pity the one you do manage to snare. Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do with my time than be insulted by a metro-moron who thinks his shit doesn’t stink!”

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