Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
It’s my choice, of course. I don’t need his permission, but I do want this date tonight to go well, like the others have. Each date has brought us closer, and I want this one to do the same.
That’s why I pre-selected Adam. He’s a college professor who likes nineties tunes, tinkering on household projects, reading on cold days, and reading on hot days. Oh, he’s also divorced. His smile is warm, his eyes kind behind those glasses, and his word choices in his profile are unadorned. He’s thirty-eight. “No douche vibes here, right?”
Monroe studies his profile for flaws, then smiles like he’s impressed. “No douche vibes,” he echoes.
“Good.” Another deep breath. “Then why don’t we practice it as a third date?”
He gives me a quizzical stare. “A third date?” Like he’s not sure he heard.
“Yes, that means the professor and I have gone out twice already.”
“I know what third means.”
“Do you though?”
His smile takes time to spread, then it turns naughty. “I do.”
Fun and feelings. You can’t do that on the first date. I close my eyes and soak in the sun, keeping my mind focused on Monroe’s actions this week. This morning, especially. “Thanks for the coffee. And the ladybug drawing.”
“You’re welcome.”
When I open my eyes, he’s soaking in the rays, too, looking content, like he belongs here. “Do you like karaoke?”
He barks out a laugh. “That’s random.”
“Do you?”
He shoots me a challenging look. “What do you think?”
“No.”
“You’d be right.” He takes a beat, tilts his head. “But I’d go with you if you wanted to.”
Maybe his words are starting to match his actions. I’m feeling all sorts of possibilities.
That evening, as I’m getting ready in the main bathroom, my phone buzzes with a text from my mom.
Mom: Dating is so fun! I’m having the best time.
Juliet: I’m so happy for you, Mom.
Mom: And you? Are you having fun?
Juliet: Definitely!
Mom: I take it that means it’s going well with the guy you met? Aren’t the men better here?
Juliet: You could say that. It’s promising, if a little complicated.
Mom: What happens next with him? Will you see him next week when you return to the city?
That’s one question I don’t have an answer for.
29
THE THIRD DATE
Monroe
At eight o’clock, Juliet knocks on the door. This date is dinner at the professor’s house. She left a while ago, telling me to return to the house at seven-thirty and get ready, and then she’d arrive.
I’ve got a bottle of her favorite rosé, a takeout dinner from Clementine’s, and the professor look. Eleanor’s closet came through, and I found a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with no prescriptions for the lenses. I’m wearing a short-sleeved Henley. By now I’ve learned Juliet is into my ink.
Or the professor has learned it. Whatever. I don’t care. She likes my arms, that’s all that matters.
With Pearl Jam handling the vocals tonight—90s tunes were on the prof’s profile—I head to the door and open it.
She didn’t just understand the assignment. She nailed it. No, she elevated it. Juliet’s wearing a short plaid skirt and a white button-down shirt, open just enough to tease me. Her chestnut locks are pulled back in a high ponytail. She clutches a notebook that she uses strategically to boost those beautiful breasts.
My gaze roams up and down the bold beauty in front of me, who kicked the role-play sky-high. So far, I’ve been the one who’s been play-acting. Now she is, and I am motherfucking here for it.
“Hello, professor,” she says demurely. “I have that paper for you. Can I show it to you tonight?”
I square my shoulders, school my expression, and adopt a stern tone. “Yes, but this is the third time we’ve worked on it. I expect serious improvement, Miss Dumont.”
She bats her lashes. “I’ve applied myself, professor. Can I show you?”
So innocent. So committed to the role.
“Come in. But don’t disappoint me.” I shut the door behind her, then watch her walk across the hardwood in that sinfully short schoolgirl outfit that is frying my brain.
She stops at the living room couch, tilting her face up. “Do you have an office or a den we should go to?”
“I do, Miss Dumont. But I fully expect this paper to demonstrate everything you’ve learned.”
She nods sweetly. “It will, sir. It will.”
We head to the den, the pictures of old-time Hollywood stars watching over us as I walk behind the desk, taking the chair.
She doesn’t sit. She comes right to the edge of the desk, leans over it, and slides the notebook right in front of me, giving me a perfect view of the swell of her tits.
I suppress a groan, but she catches it anyway, giving me a sweet, but seductive, smile. “You can find my very hard work on the first page.”
She’s flipped the script on me tonight. It’s a little unnerving to give up control like this. But it’s thrilling too.