Page 29 of Santa Baby Maybe
“So you work in a casual environment?” Alexandria asked this of W.B., but she was using her hand to reference my attire as she did it. I was in jeans, boots, and a super-oversized sweater that probably made me look like I was being swallowed by it.
“Yes. It can be,” he answered.
“But you do wear a tie?”
Sophie and I shared a quick look. Weird question, I thought. It was like whether or not he wore a tie to work mattered to her.
“I do,” he said stiffly. “But it’s a choice. Not a requirement.”
“And he wears one every day,” I offered, thinking it might help him. “Even on Fridays when he looks like a total nerd doing it.” Shit. “I meant…he wears one even on Fridays.”
Alexandria didn’t show much reaction and this was getting even more uncomfortable.
“You should probably check on your table,” I said. “Because you said time was tight. And we’ll get out of your hair and let you guys have fun.”
“Why is time tight?” Sophie asked Alexandria, leaning back against the bar. “I mean, isn’t this a date? Shouldn’t you just go with the moment? See where it takes you?”
Sophie’s words nailed me in the gut. I didn’t want W.B. seeing where the moment took him. Especially if that ended up in this woman’s bed, between her thighs.
Suddenly the image of W.B. pumping his hips as he thrust himself inside a faceless woman overcame me and I gulped.
Don’t think about him naked. Don’t think about him naked!
“I only allow a maximum of ninety minutes for a first date,” Alexandria stated. “Start to end. It keeps it neat, efficient, without any time for awkward silences between the two participants.”
“Solid plan,” Sophie said as she took a hard pull on her beer. “No chance for anything to get out of hand with that strategy.”
“Exactly.” Alexandria nodded, not realizing Sophie was being sarcastic.
I closed my eyes. This was excruciating. W.B. was on a date with Anti-Fun. Which once again made me realize how unavailable he was to me becausethiswas who he wanted to be with. For life.
Opening my eyes, I looked at him and was surprised to see he was looking back. Like he was trying to assess my opinion of his date. I didn’t want him to see my disappointment. If Alexandria was who he was looking for, who was I to offer any kind of an opinion?
“Well, we really, really have to go,” I said, putting emphasis on my secondreallyso Sophie would get the message. Fortunately, she did. She slid her now empty bottle onto the bar. I got off the stool where I was sitting just as one of the patrons, a larger man who must have been heading out, bounced into me hard.
“Hey, asshole, watch it!” W.B. called.
The man kept moving but I tripped between the stools, then pinged off the rail of the bar and started flailing. Knowing there was no hope for it, I landed flat on my ass in the middle of the bar.
“Joy!” W.B. shouted.
Instantly, he crouched down in front of me. “Are you okay? Should I go after that jerk?”
I shook my head, “It was only partly his fault. I think I’m a little light-headed from chugging my margarita.”
“I’ll call for an Uber,” he suggested.
I shook my head again. “It’s okay. Sophie’s driving.”
He offered me a hand and I took it. With a surprising show of strength, not only did he lift me up, he nearly pulled me off my feet. Fortunately, I righted myself.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I told him. “Mortified and my butt is beer soaked. But I’ll survive.”
“I hear beer is good for soft skin,” he said with a rueful smile. “Your butt should be fine.”
Wait. Was he talking about my soft butt?
