Page 15 of The Arrangement

“You just don’t seem like the artsy type.”

I stared at her, probably for too long. She’d already typed me, as I had her. “And what type do you think I am?”

“I don’t know,” she said then laughed. She reached forward, pulling my straw toward her boldly and taking a sip of my drink, her pink lips enveloping the straw where mine had rested only moments ago. “I took you for something super smart and out of my league—like a doctor or a lawyer.” She cringed. “Thank God you’re not a dentist.”

“Bad experience?” I laughed.

“Mouths freak me out.”

I couldn’t help it. My brows shot up, surprised and mildly put off by her comment. My mind was further in the gutter than a twelve-year-old boy. Not all mouths, I hope. She laughed as I thought it, as if she could read my mind, and I stared at her, my cheeks flaming with embarrassed heat.

“Sorry, that probably sounds bad,” she said. Her laugh was warm and boisterous. It was nice, like a version of herself from the app sneaking through. She put a hand over her lips, her fingers touching the end of her nose. “I mean, I like what mouths can do, I’m just not a fan of seeing them be cleaned. My grandfather was a dentist before he retired. The stories he’s told me…” She shivered, looking above our table at the air vent, though it wasn’t on, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sorry, probably not the sexiest first-date talk, is it?”

There was very little she could talk about that wouldn’t be sexy, but teeth and oral hygiene did happen to top that list. I smirked.

“It’s fine. Are you cold?” I shrugged off the bomber jacket, handing it to her instinctually. It was what I would’ve done if Ainsley were there. I put a fist over my lips, then lowered it and took another drink, realizing it was the first time I’d thought of Ainsley in at least five minutes, and the thought of her hadn’t sent a pang of guilt through me this time.

She took the jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders, and grinned up at me from behind thick lashes. It was as if I’d passed a test. She scooted further over on the bench toward the window and patted the seat beside her. “I’d be warmer if you were beside me.”

I cleared my throat, watching her wanting eyes. She had the look of a woman who was not often told no. I’d never liked sitting side by side with someone while eating a meal. It wasn’t comfortable or practical, but I refused to deny her request. Instead, I stood, watching the waiter approaching our booth. I slid next to her on the bench as he placed our plates in front of us.

“Is there anything else I can get for you guys?” If he found it odd to see two fully grown adults sitting on one side of the oversized bench, he hid it well. I felt the urge to lay my hands on the table in plain sight.

“I think we’re good,” Mallory said, and I felt her thigh pressing against mine.

“Okay, I’ll be back to check on you soon.” He tapped the table. “Enjoy.” With that, he disappeared, and I began to unroll my silverware. Mallory’s skin was pressed to my clothing at every joint—our elbows, our knees, our ankles—and she stared at her salad, then at me, a sly smile on her face.

“Better?” I asked, holding my fork in my hand as I watched her. Every move she made was sensual, and I was sure she realized it, her fingers wrapped around the roll of silverware as she slid her hands down the length of the napkin before unrolling it.

“Much,” she replied, popping a cherry tomato into her mouth.

My body pulsed with electricity, so full of excitement there was no longer room for hunger. I leaned back, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and lifting my drink to my lips. Her face glowed as she downed the rest of the whiskey in her glass and put a palm on my thigh.

I trembled at her touch, my throat dry, thoughts jumbled. “So, what do you do?” I asked, though I knew. I just needed something to fill the space. Replace the quiet with noise.

“I’m a massage therapist,” she reminded me, her hand squeezing my thigh.

“That’s right. Sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s okay. Easy to do.” She didn’t break eye contact, the food and drinks momentarily forgotten.

“Do you…” I took a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. “Do you like it?”

“Sometimes,” she said, drawing the word out. She was even closer to me now, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. “Do you want to get out of here?”

My stomach flopped, a heavy pull coming from somewhere deep inside of me. “Out of here?”

“I’m not all that hungry anymore.” Her eyes flicked down the length of my body and back up. “Not for food anyway.”

I swallowed and nodded, standing up before she could say another word. We needed to pay, but there was no check, no sign of the waiter, and no time to waste. I pulled out my wallet with shaking, impatient hands and tossed down three twenty-dollar bills, hoping it was enough, and took her hand as she led me out of the restaurant.

“I took an Uber. Did you drive?” she asked, nodding toward the street lined with parked cars.

“I’m in the parking garage,” I told her, leading her in that direction. I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing down her body, wondering what was underneath the skintight dress and my oversized jacket. Not that her pictures had left much to the imagination.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, making my blood run cold. “I have roommates.”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” I said, trying to think on my feet. “I have kids.” A version of the truth. When lying, you were supposed to go with a version of the truth, right? “They’re home with a sitter, and I’d rather not bring someone—bring you—home, just in case they wake up.”

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