Page 13 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
“Are you thinking about it?” Jaz inquires, and I can hear every bit of the smugness in her tone. I'm sure she's smiling like the Cheshire cat at this very moment.
“Ugh … no,” I lie, doing my best to shake away the thoughts as I stand in my mirror and contemplate touching up my makeup. “I don't have time to get caught up dreaming about the new boss. I have arealdate to get to. No need for imagination.”
“That’s right. I saw your text. Tinder Man finally hit you up. So, where are you guys going?”
“To King’s Cage for drinks,” I reply, dabbing my cheek with a small brush. “I was so excited when I got his message that I actually agreed to meet uptonight.”
“No point in wasting time finding out whether he’s a psycho or not?”
“Facts. So, I’m leaving here in a minute to meet him. Just finishing freshening up.”
“Ican't waitto hear how this goes,” Jaz says. “I hope this is a good one.”
“It better be, because my patience with these men is runningverythin. Wafer thin, paper thin, on thin ice. EverythinI can think of.”
I finish my touch-ups and pause to do a final assessment before walking to my body mirror to appraise my outfit. Once I’m satisfied, I grab the phone and carry it with me as I head for the door.
“Well, don't let me hold you up,” Jaz says. “Good luck with Tinder Man. Call me if he gets weird and you need me to pull up or ring your phone with a fake emergency.”
“Thanks, girl. I will,” I reply. “And stop calling him Tinder Man. His name is Marcus.”
“If he sticks around and earns the right, then I will call him by his name. Totally up to him. Call me later. Love you, girl.”
I roll my eyes as I laugh. “Love you too.”
Once the call ends, I start up the car, take a deep breath, and head for the highway. Here goes nothing.
“So, what do you do for a living?”
Marcus Graham is every bit as handsome in person as he is on his Tinder profile. He’s tall, at least to me—six feet will always look like a giant compared to my five-five—and he's one of those men who looks fantastic with a bald head. His beard is shaped up and groomed, and when he smiles it’s blinding, his perfectly straight veneers lighting up the room like high beams. As a personal trainer, it’s no surprise that he’s in great shape, with boulder shoulders that stand out in his one-size-too-small-T-shirt, and he has great posture as he sits next to me. He certainly isn’t overdressed in black sweats and a shirt, but neither am I, so no foul there. He smells good, makes direct eye contact, and isn’t afraid to be close to me, leaning in as he speaks. I’d say my first impression of him is a good one. The room didn't stop when he walked in, but he definitely has potential.
“I’m in advertising and marketing,” I reply.
“Oh, nice,” he replies. “I have a friend who also does that. He’s a marketing coordinator at Bell Liberty. Denver Rhoades. You know him?”
I shake my head. “No, but he has a very interesting name. Was he born on the side of the road in Denver?”
Marcus laughs, albeit a little too hard. “That’s a good one. No, he’s from Philly. I’m not sure why his parents named him Denver considering their last name. Anyway, it’s cool that you're into marketing. Do you like it?”
“I like it well enough. I enjoy doing it and it pays a living wage, which is rare these days, so I'm happy with it. What about you? You like being a personal trainer?”
“I do,” he replies. “I was big into fitness before I got into it. I figured it’d be a great life getting paid to do something I already love, so I started training some of my friends. Before long it blew up into a whole client list and business.”
“That’s awesome. What were you doing before you made your passion your business?” I ask, bringing my vodka cranberry to my lips.
“Selling drugs,” Marcus replies, peering at me with a blank stare.
I freeze, my glass pressed against my mouth as I stare at him.
Marcus waits a moment before chuckling loud enough to draw a few eyes over to us. “I’m just messing with you. Wow, you really believed me. The look on your face was intense. No, I wasn’t a drug dealer. I worked at a car dealership. I was a car salesman. I got you, though.”
I take two big gulps of my drink before forcing myself to laugh along with him.
“Yeah, you got me,” I say, hoping it doesn't sound as sarcastic as it feels. “Anyway, how long have you been on Tinder?”
“Not long,” he says before sipping his beer. “I had a relationship end about six months ago, and I took a little time to myself after that. Now I’m back in the game, but I’m not your average guy. I’m into … well, maybe I should just say that I noticed something very specific on your profile that caught my attention.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
