Her last interview finished up at 4:30pm, when I saw the recruiter walk her out. We’d picked a restaurant not too far from the office, and we’d agreed to meet there at 5. So at 4:45, I packed up my stuff, much to the surprise of my colleagues, who knew that I almost never left before 7. They shot me curious looks as I walked out, but I just smiled and ignored them.
Dinner was at a new French restaurant that had opened up just a few weeks ago on the third floor of a neighboring building. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a gorgeous view of the late afternoon sun. The interior was sleek, with endless glass and matte metallic surfaces surrounding a huge, fully-stocked bar in the center. Although there were dozens of tables in the large space, nearly all of them were occupied when I arrived. Luckily, I’d made a reservation.
I found her sitting at a corner table. She’d taken out her ponytail, and her hair fell in long, loose waves about her shoulders. She saw me approach and gave me a brilliant, heart-stopping smile.
“I take it that it went well?” I said, putting down my stuff and slipping into the seat across from her.
“I think so. Everyone was so friendly, and the office is so nice. I can’t believe that you guys get free Flaming Hot Cheetos.”
“We also get free ice cream on Fridays.” I laughed when her eyes sparkled wistfully at the thought. I’d learned over the weekend that she loved ice cream, as well as most other kinds of dairy. Girls like cheese, indeed.
I asked her about the interview, who had interviewed her, what they’d asked, what she’d answered. She gave me the play-by-play. She was especially excited by the fact that the facilities manager enjoyed a lot of the same music that she did. She’d promised to check out Anna’s music blog, and said she’d be in touch soon.
“Sounds like you knocked it out of the park.” We touched wine glasses.
“I hope so. It would be so nice to have a job that actually pays well.”
“Yeah, Stumpstash definitely pays well.” I took a sip of wine. “Honestly, I hope you make enough to get out of that area that you live in. It’s not the safest.” Saturday being a case in point.
She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m still a little shaken by what happened this weekend. I knew the neighborhood was kind of sketchy, but I’ve never had anything happen to me before. I guess it doesn’t seem like anything really happens until it does.”
Our food arrived, and her attention turned from me to the sous-vide chicken breast and rosemary potatoes on her plate. She took a bite of the chicken, then fluttered her eyelids closed. I smiled and dipped a heel of crusty french bread into my steaming bowl of bouillabaisse.
After a few more bites, Anna put down her utensils and said, “So I want to talk to you about...us.”
I looked up, hopeful at her use of the word us. “You mean like, define our relationship?” She nodded.
I put my own utensils down and wiped my mouth with my napkin before reaching across the table to take her hand. “I’d love to date you, if you’ll give me the chance.”
She wriggled her fingers in my palm, then slipped her hand out of mine and picked up her knife to cut into her chicken. “I need to tell you something. About my living situation.”
“What’s that?” I asked, using my fork to wrestle the meat from a mussel.
She hesitated, took another bite of chicken, then said, “You remember how I told you that I used to live with my ex?”
I paused in my eating and glanced up. “Yeah?”
Her eyes met mine, then slid to the window. “I’m still living with him.”
Good thing my fork had been made of metal, or else I would have snapped it in half. “So...he’s your roommate?”
She glanced at my hand, then my face, and nodded. “And my landlord. He gives me a discount on the rent.”
After a slow breath, I released my deathgrip on the fork and began to chew again. “I see.”
She stared at me, tense. “You don’t care?”
I poked a shrimp with my fork and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Obviously, I didn’t like the idea of them living together, but she’d made it pretty clear to me that she hadn’t had sex in a really long time. And she’d called him her ex, not her boyfriend. If they were still dating, she didn’t have anything to gain by telling me. “What’s there to say? I’d still love to date you and I already said that I hope you find a better place to live.”
A pause. Then, “What if I just want us to be fuck-buddies?”
I put my utensils down again and sat back, coolly meeting her gaze. “No.”
She frowned. “Seriously? Wouldn’t most guys prefer that?”
As a gorgeous woman, she was probably used to holding all of the cards in a relationship. Too bad for her—I knew that I was a catch, too.
I shook my head. “You should know by now that I’m not the kind of guy who messes around like that.”
Her leg skimmed against mine under the table as she silkily whispered, “Are you sure you don’t want to just go to your place after this?”
I sat up in my chair and reluctantly moved my leg away from hers. “I mean, we can go back to my place. But is that your answer? You just want us to be fuck-buddies?”
She looked down and fiddled with her napkin. “I think that would be for the best.”
I arched an eyebrow at her and tried a different tactic. “So I assume we’d have a lot of sex. But would you be willing to get dinner with me sometimes?”
“Yes?” She frowned.
“Would you maybe want to go climbing with me?”
“Uhhh,
