Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome,” I say, hazarding a glance at her hand on my arm. Her eyes are a little glazed, as if she’s a million miles away, but she strokes her thumb over the muscle. It’s a dangerous path her fingers are traveling. She’s zapping my body with endorphins, so I put on my game face, maintaining some stoicism even as my body crackles.
She lets go.
I miss her touch.
But it’s probably for the best that she stopped turning me on with her damn thumb. Especially since Elodie has just arrived with a bright smile and two cups of spiked chocolate.
She sets the first one down in front of Rachel. “I call it Some Like it Hot.”
“Nice name,” Rachel says.
Elodie puts the other one in front of me. “This is With A Kick,” she says. “And I’ll be back soon with your special tasting.”
Rachel grins again. “This is the red-carpet treatment.”
“And you deserve it,” I say. This is just baseline shit that a friend should do, let alone a man taking out a woman.
I lift my cup, knock it to hers, and drink up. The chocolate is rich and bittersweet, and the whiskey is good and strong. “Whoa. Elodie should, like, go into business selling chocolate.”
Rachel drinks hers, then nods in agreement. “Let’s tell her to open a shop.”
“She might not have thought of it before, right?”
“It’s only helpful to pass on a tip.”
“We’re like Career Doctors,” I say.
I take another drink right as the guy at the table next to us looks up from his tablet, clears his throat, and says to his companion, “I heard about this new face lotion. It’s made with Vitamin C. It firms up your skin.”
“Are you saying I need to firm up my skin?” says his date.
“We all need to firm up our skin,” he says.
With a smile she can’t hide, Rachel dips her face, mouthing he’s a skin doctor.
I whisper back, “That sounds filthy.”
“Can’t help it. I’m inappropriate.”
“You’re very inappropriate,” I say.
She lifts her mug, takes another sip, then sighs contentedly. “I love chocolate.”
“I know, Rachel. I know.”
And I know that the feeling of being a dating king won’t last. Focusing on Rachel is easy. Just like focusing on football is when I’m practicing or playing.
But that’s not my issue with dating.
The issue is that the first date is just an illusion. It’s supposed to feel good. It’s supposed to seduce you. Then, before you know it, you’re asking her to move in, and you’re buying a ring, and bam. She’s peeling out of town with her ten-thousand-dollar diamond and using it to start her new life.
It’s not about the money. I don’t need my ten grand back. But I also don’t need the hassle or the hurt of a relationship.
Best to just enjoy this first-date feeling while it lasts. It’ll vanish soon enough. Always has. Always will.
A few minutes later, Elodie returns with two identical sleek black trays, each with five kinds of chocolate. “Hand-selected by the chocolatier,” she says, then points to each treat. “Each tray has…a pecan toffee, a champagne truffle, a chocolate square with dark caramel, an Aztec-spice bonbon with cinnamon, and an orange zest-infused square.”
Rachel beams at her friend. “Can you arrange to have this sent to my home each morning? It’s part of my new self-care routine. I’m going on a chocolate diet.”
“Best diet ever,” Elodie replies, then waves as she heads off. “Enjoy.”
Don’t need to tell me twice. “I think I will,” I say, then reach for a chocolate.
But when Rachel grabs one too, my brain lights up like a Times Square marquee. “Stop!”
“What?” she asks, seeming worried.
More pleased than I have a right to be, I grab my phone. “Smile for the camera.”
“Oh, right,” she says with a laugh. “I was having such a good time I forgot.”
“I didn’t,” I say, and when she blanches, I quickly add, “I meant I didn’t forget. But I am having an excellent time.”
“Good.”
“And I’d better set a reminder to shoot a video the next time too,” I say, and like that, her smile disappears, like a candle’s gone out.
Mine flickers away too.
Because…my next date won’t be with her.
Does she dislike that thought as much as I do? No idea, but it twists my gut for a few seconds. When I lift the phone to shoot the video, she grabs it from my hand. “No one wants to see me. They want to see the football stud falling for chocolate.”
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.”