Not the Date for Me - ebook (pre-order)

Chapter 9

Dre

I stride into Anna’s office then pause in front of her desk. Her forehead is creased in concentration as she stares intently at her computer. The screen casts an almost eerie glow over her face as she nibbles her bottom lip.

I raise an eyebrow. “You should turn on a light.”

Startling, she looks up. “What?"

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

“I’m not . . .” Her voice trails off as she looks around the room, then outside. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

I smirk. “The sun set a while ago.”

“Huh.” She shrugs. “I lost track of time.”

“Reviewing the Quadrangle documents?”

“Uh . . .” Something flashes across her face. “No.”

I narrow my gaze. “Why do you look guilty? What are you doing?”

She frowns. “I don’t look guilty.”

“You absolutely do.” Repressing a smile, I raise my brows. “Are you looking at porn?”

“What? No!”

I laugh as her cheeks turn pink. It’s so rare to see Anna flustered, I can’t help but enjoy myself. “It’s okay, Anna. We’re all friends here. This is a safe space. You can admit to your love of lumberjack porn.”

“What?” she sputters. “I don’t have . . .” She huffs out a breath then scowls. “What do you want, Dre?”

Ignoring her question, I ask, “What are you working on under the cloak of darkness?”

She narrows her eyes, then sighs. “It’s nothing. I was just working on a questionnaire Julia sent me.”

My smile immediately evaporates. “Oh.” I clear my throat. “What kind of questionnaire?”

Anna shrugs absentmindedly as she goes back to staring at her computer. “The matchmaker kind. She’s just asking more about me.”

I let out a breath. “Oh.”

“And what my preferences are.” She glances up. “In terms of who I want to date.”

My mouth forms a hard line. “Hm.” Sucking in a breath, I ask, “So, like, tall, dark and handsome?”

She snorts. “More or less.”

Before I can think better of it, I ask, “Can I have a look?”

She glances up with a frown. “No.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. I smile. “Why not?”

She scowls. “Because it’s personal.”

I snort. “So? Not that long ago I helped you change your shirt after you puked some godawful punch all over it, then held your hair back as you spent the rest of the night bent over a toilet.”

Granted, that was in law school after we finished our first-year exams. A bunch of us went to a house party, and Anna didn’t realize how much alcohol was in the punch. I warned her against drinking the strange brew, but she claimed it tasted good. Pretty sure it didn’t taste good on the way back up, though.

She’d been a mess that night, and I ended up in her room helping her change her shirt. I don’t remember where Jon was, but I do recall the considerable amount of restraint it took not to let my fingers brush against her bare skin.

“That was ten years ago,” she says with a frown. “And I don’t see how it’s relevant.”

I shrug. “I’ve seen you at your worst. I wouldn’t have thought a simple questionnaire”—I gesture toward her computer—“would be too personal.”

She gives me a look. “This is different.”

Lifting a brow, I round her desk to stand next to her then glance at her computer screen. “Come on. Tell me who your ideal man is. Blond?” Please don’t be blond.

“No. It’s not . . .” Anna makes a frustrated noise before minimizing the window of her browser. She swivels her chair to face me. “It’s not like I’m describing what my ideal man looks like. It’s more about what he should value and how he spends his time.”

The knots in my stomach loosen. “Okay. That makes sense. Give me an example.”

She shoots me an impatient look before relenting. “Fine. One of the things I’ve noted is that I don’t want to date a lawyer.”

“You mentioned that,” I grumble, folding my arms across my chest. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be thinking and talking about work twenty-four seven. I need a break. If I date a lawyer, all we’d do is discuss work.”

I open my mouth to disagree, but Anna cuts me off. “And lawyers are too competitive.”

I snort. “You’re competitive.”

“I know. And that’s why I need someone who’s more relaxed than I am. Someone who will help me relax. And want to discuss art or something.”

I give her a skeptical look. “So you want a starving artist who likes to smoke weed?”

She huffs out a breath. “No. I want someone who’s . . .” She glances around, searching for the right word. “I don’t know. Someone who’s sensitive and will ask me questions and listen rather than drone on about himself.”

Taking a deep breath, I press my lips together to keep from pointing out that I ask her questions and listen when she speaks.

And growing up, my sisters always complained I was too sensitive.

Admittedly, Anna and I do talk a lot about work when we’re together, but that’s not all we talk about. It sounds like she wants to date a pushover, someone who’s not going to challenge her. I don’t see that working.

I cock my head. “Sounds like you want someone who will spend his time rubbing your feet while staring at you adoringly.”

She shrugs. “That sounds nice.”

“Your feet are nasty, Anna.”

“Hey!” She lightly kicks my shin. “Rude.”

I laugh. “They are, and you know it.” I hold out my hand.

“Gimme your foot back, and I’ll show you.”

She tries to cover her smile with a scowl. “They are not.”

I tilt my head. “Are you forgetting your athlete’s foot?”

“Dre!” she says with a laugh. “That was years ago! And it wasn’t my fault. You know that.”

My lips twitch. “Uh huh.”

She shakes her head. “You’re an ass.”

“C’mon.” I wave her foot toward me. “Let’s see that hammer toe.”

“I do not have hammer toe,” she says, laughing again.

“With those heels you wear? You definitely have something funky going on. I know you don’t take care of your feet.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “You do not know that. My feet are fine.”

Shrugging, I cross my arms, mirroring her posture. “If you say so.” I tilt my head, considering her. “Still sounds as if you want a golden retriever who will make you breakfast in bed.”

She snorts. “No. Golden retrievers shed. And I don’t want breakfast in bed. There won’t be any overnights.”

I drop my arms. “What? I thought you wanted a boyfriend?”

“I do.” She frowns. “Maybe. Either way, I don’t want to spend the night with anyone.”

My forehead wrinkles. “Why not?”

“I like my space. And I have my morning routine.” She purses her lips. “Spending the night seems too intimate.”

“Too intimate? But . . .” I shake my head. “You’re saying you don’t want to wake up next to the person you lo . . . care about?” I’ve often fantasized about waking up next to Anna, about losing the morning to her smile, her smell, her skin.

“No.” She studies my face before cocking her head. “Did you and Amani spend nights together?”

“Of course.” Amani is my ex, and we used to spend as much time together as possible.

Anna frowns, and I cross my arms again, uncertain of how to read her expression. “We spent weekends over at each other’s places.”

“Hm.” She turns back to her computer. “You’re going to have to fill one of these out too.”

My brows lift. “Oh?” My stomach sinks as I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess I will.”

“When’s your meeting with Julia?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Her gaze darts to mine before she returns her attention to her screen. “So you’re still going to do it?”

“Work with the matchmaker?”

“Yes.”

In the potentially foolish hope the matchmaker will match me with Anna? “Yes.”

“Because you’re still concerned about my safety?”

“What?”

“That’s what you said last week when you agreed to work with her.”

I study Anna’s profile, trying to gauge what she’s thinking, but she refuses to look at me. “Right. I am concerned about your safety.” Which is true, but even I know it’s a weak argument for working with the matchmaker. Swallowing, I add, “And I haven’t dated anyone seriously since moving back to New York.” Since I broke up with Amani.

She finally glances at me. “You haven’t dated anyone at all.”

I shrug. “I think it would be good for me to get out there.”

“Hm.”

“I can’t think of a reason I shouldn’t work with Julia. Can you?” Please give me a reason not to work with Julia.

Anna gives me an inscrutable look before saying, “No. No, of course not. I think it’s a good idea.”

“Really?”

“Sure. You said yourself you want to start dating again.” She shrugs. “That’s why I’m working with her, so this is good.” She gives me a tight smile. “We’re in this together.”

My heart sinks. “Right.”

“Okay. Well . . .” She tilts her head toward her computer. “I should finish this up.”

“Of course.”

I turn and head to the door when Anna calls out, “Dre?”

I stop, hope filling my chest. “Yes?”

“Good luck with your meeting with Julia tomorrow morning.”