Page 1 of We Met Like This
PROLOGUE
“There?” he breathed into my ear, his finger pressing on just the right spot, as if he’d studied my body for years and knew exactly how to make it hum with pleasure.
“Yes,” I said, unable to keep my knees from falling open as he worked me to near release. How could he know the exact spot when this was the first time we’d ever met in person? He hardly knew me at all. We’d literally matched the day before on a dating app and set up a date for tonight. Dinner conversation was subpar and the food was less than subpar. What was I doing? My rule was three dates, at least! And never in a car. I wasn’t some horny teenager. I was a romantic. I liked fun banter and late-night talks and effort!
“Don’t stop,” I said when his finger slid out of me and his hand moved up my side to cup my breast.
“Let’s slow down,” he said, “take our time… go inside?”
“Yes, back inside,” I said with a moan.
He let out a breathy chuckle.
We sat in the driveway of what I assumed was his house. Was it his parents’ house? He was twenty-seven, but that meant nothing these days. Who could afford housing? Even if he was…
“Ah, ah, yes,” I said on a sigh. He had unbuttoned three buttons of my top and moved aside my bra. My nipple was in his mouth that was applying slight suction while his tongue swept back and forth along my peak. My ribs knocked into the gear shift and he adjusted my position.
After the less-than-impressive dinner, he’d driven me back here to my car. I meant to get out of his, walk the thirty feet to where mine was parked on the curb, and drive home. Instead, we’d met each other’s eyes. His were a warm brown. He had thick, wavy hair and a wide smile. He was handsome despite the terrible conversation. And then, without knowing who initiated it, we were kissing. Not some sloppy kisses that left my mouth wet and the rest of me dry. This man knew how to kiss. Long, languid drawn-out kisses, his mouth soft, his breath hot, his tongue sure.
“You said you were a software engineer, right?” I asked now. Did software engineers study human anatomy? How was he so good at this?
“Yes,” he said, releasing my nipple. I shouldn’t have asked him a question. “You’re a literary agent?”
At twenty-four, I was well on my way to becoming a literary agent. But right now, I could only claim, “Assistant to a literary agent.”
“What’s an assistant to a literary agent do?” he asked, his eyes intense on mine, like he was trying hard to focus on anything but the exposed breast just under his chin.
“We read lots of emails and lots of books. What about you?”
“Mostly coding. Sometimes rewriting other people’s codes. Troubleshooting projects. Compliance.” My hands were on the buttons of his shirt now, undoing them one by one. Why had I turned this night back to conversation? We’d already proven we were horrible at that. At least with each other. But this—I snaked my hand inside his shirt and along his bare chest; he drew a shuddering breath—this we were proving to be exceptionally good at.
I put his hand back on my breast and he chuckled, but his calloused thumb traced a slow circle and my eyes fluttered closed with the sensation.
“Um…” he started.
“Margot,” I filled in for him, opening my eyes.
“I know your name,” he said. Then his brows shot down. “Do you remember mine?”
Shit. I honestly didn’t think this date was going to last more than an hour after his first words to me were “The problem with dating apps is that not even the best programmer can replicate a fraction of real human interaction.”
“Right,” I had said. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
The next few minutes had been him studying the menu in complete silence. I’d tried to ask him what he was ordering several times, polite small talk, but his eyes never left the page, like anything outside of whatever he was thinking wasn’t important. Instead of responding to me, he started talking about how fonts were created, and how whoever designed the menu had used the wrong one. He ignored the waitress when she came over as well. I had to hold up my finger, silently asking her for more time because he was still talking. Not even I, a total book nerd, could talk for ten minutes about fonts. Especially not in a way that made it sound like I should be put incharge of all the world’s lettering choices. He was arrogant. That was obvious.
I could normally carry a conversation, but I found myself at a loss for words. He was right, this was the problem with dating apps. Not even the best programmer could replicate real human interaction. So you didn’t know, until you were sitting in front of a person, whether you were actually compatible or not.
“Uh… something with an A?” I said now.
He gave a single laugh. “Youreallydon’t remember my name?”
“Aaron?”
“Oliver,” he said.
“I was close!”
“You call that close?”
