Page 37 of Plays Well With Others

I arch a dubious brow. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Oh, it is. It definitely is,” she says, a little flirty.

“Pretty sure that’s not on any woman’s dating profile—Seeking pro baller who loves chocolate.”

“Maybe it’s on mine,” she says.

“I’ll check later and see.”

“You do that. Now, eat it,” she demands, and I pop the chocolate square with the caramel center into my mouth. It melts, and I moan. Obscenely. When I finish it, I breathe out a long, satisfied, “Wow.”

She hits end, sets the phone down, then smiles at me like she’s made a platinum jewelry sale. “It’s like you had a chocolategasm.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“And women will like it. You kind of made an O face.”

I’d like to see your O face.

And on that wildly inappropriate thought, I try my hardest to divert all my attention to this date, not to images of Rachel’s lips parting in pleasure, her back arching, her toes curling in bliss. That’s way better than chocolate.

Snagging the phone, I click on the camera again, flipping it to selfie mode. “This series is all about great first dates, so let’s be honest,” I say to the camera. “A woman’s enjoyment is the number-one thing that makes a date good.”

I swivel the phone to angle on her. “Rachel, are you having a good time?”

With a seductive smile, she says, “The best.” She pops the champagne truffle between those lush pink lips, then rolls her eyes in delight. “That is soooo good,” she says, in pure, sensual praise. A woman aroused by chocolate.

This—right here—is peak dating goals. Not just the arousal, but the happiness gleaming in her eyes too.

As she takes another bite of the truffle, I try to remember the last time I saw her like this. Maybe before she met her husband? I don’t even know. She wasn’t unhappy when she was with Edward, but she was more buttoned up. More poised. When I’d see her out with the friend group during the five years that she was with him, she seemed a little like she was playing the part of Sophisticated Rachel.

Maybe that was who Edward wanted her to be. His poised, elegant wife.

Now, she’s shedding that side of herself. She’s a little silly, a lot flirty, and very dirty.

She’s the woman who fell asleep at my place late one night after a party in our early twenties, then wandered blearily around in the early morning mutteringpancakes, pancakes, pancakes.She said she’d been dreaming about pancakes. Then, she went to the kitchen and whipped up a fantastic batch of cinnamon-roll pancakes.

She’s the Rachel who knocked on my door during my first year as a starter for the Renegades and said, “Congrats on your first reception. Now let’s see if you can do the Cats with Careers puzzle in one evening.”

I showed that 500-piece puzzle who was boss in two mere hours.

I record a few more seconds, but when I’ve got enough footage, I put the phone away and just enjoy the company.

We finish the chocolate together, praising each piece as we go. When we’re done, I waggle my empty plate. “Want to lick it clean?”

“Don’t tempt me. I will,” she says, then sticks out her tongue and flicks it.

I bet she never did that with Edward. And since I am a competitive fucker, I can’t resist asking, “Scale of one to ten, how awesome is a chocolate café for a date?”

She taps her chin while staring at the ceiling, then says, “The Date Doctors give it one hundred.”

“Better than an Argentinean steakhouse? A hot shabu-shabu place?” I ask.

“So much better,” she says. “He bought me chocolate, but he never took me to a chocolate tasting.”

That does not surprise me at all. But it still disgusts me. “Heneverdeserved you,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure she knows that already.

With a sad smile, she nods. “I know.” She pauses then adds, a little resigned, “Lesson learned.”

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