Flirty Thirty (Nerdy Thirties Book 1)

  “Aww,” I say, slipping my shoes off, grateful that he’s decided to go casual for the night. “You cooked?”

  “I’m trying to impress you… so no. I left the cooking to the professionals.” He laughs. “At least for now. Home cooking will be on date five.”

  “Ambitious.” I take my spot on the pillow soft blanket, tucking my legs under me and controlling the relaxing moan in the back of my throat. “What makes you so sure we’ll get to a date five?”

  “I’m never sure of anything,” he says as he sits, the rustle of his pants drawing my attention to his legs, his upper thighs, his crotch. I blink myself back up to his face before he calls me out on it, because heaven knows that he would. “I live on a hope and a prayer.”

  “I wouldn’t even know what that looks like,” I admit. I have dreams and hopes, but they’re always grounded in reality.

  He gives me a look that tells me that he’s more interested in that comment than he’s letting on, but he’s keeping his thoughts to himself for once. My teeth slide over my bottom lip, and I reach for the lid to my dish.

  “Hang on,” he says, putting a hand on top of the sterling silver. “Sea food or beef?”

  “What if I’m a vegetarian?”

  “Considering you downed bacon strips in under a minute and inhaled a slice of meat lover’s, I ruled a vegetarian dish out.”

  “I love how you describe how I eat,” I say, trying to hide my self-consciousness over the fact that he’s one hundred percent right. “Maybe I’ll bulldoze through this meal, too.”

  “Please do,” he says on a sigh. “It’s sexy as hell.”

  A snort billows from my nose, and I push his hand off the lid. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me,” I say, lifting it up from the plate. Steam rises up from the beautifully cooked lobster, a bed of broccoli and rice as a side, and of course, melted butter to dip. He definitely ordered out, and he ordered out nicely.

  “Not trading,” I tell him through a mouthful of drool.

  “Good.” He laughs and lifts his own lid, a juicy, thick burger in front of him, a side of fries and dipping sauce to the side. I tilt an eyebrow, curious over the two choices.

  “Is there a reason we aren’t eating the same thing?”

  “Yes.” His eyebrows waggle as he hands me a lobster bib. “I’m running an experiment.”

  “Do I get to know the details?”

  “No,” he says with a grin. “But I’ll let you know the results. So far, they’re going pretty well.”

  Well, no better way to put pressure on me while I eat. I’m about to tell him that, but he redirects my mind when he pulls out a couple of beers and pops the tops. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but I take it anyway. Maybe if I pass whatever experiment he’s doing, he’ll pop open that champagne.

  “You want the bubbly, don’t you?” he asks, and I widen my eyes and shake my head.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  I guess I can’t with him. Maybe I’m an open book, too.

  My shoulders fall and I pick up my glass flute and stick it out, offering up a cheesy grin. He laughs and pushes up to his knees. I get the best view of his ass, the ice in the bucket shifting as he pulls out the champagne bottle. I tie my bib around my neck and get ready to chomp down on my food.

  “Question…” I say around my first delectable bite. “Why in the hell do you want to move? This place seems pretty perfect for you already.”

  He shakes his head, tipping the flute so the champagne doesn’t stain the blanket. “Oh this isn’t mine. A buddy is letting me crash at his place while he’s on vacation.”

  “Are all your buddies billionaires?” I ask, taking the drink from him and watching as he digs into his own food.

  “Just this one. And my brother.”

  I get a round of flutters at the fact that he considers his brother his buddy. “Is that why you don’t act like the typical…” My thumb goes to the tip of my nose and I push it high in the air to imitate the snob nob people I usually encounter when selling high-dollar homes. Cooper snorts his beer right through his nose. He coughs and sputters, grappling for a napkin while he tries to compose himself.

  “You’re gonna kill me before dessert,” he says, his voice strained before he takes another sip of beer that goes down the right pipe. I giggle and take my tenth or so bite of lobster and fifth scoop of rice. Wow… maybe I do need to slow down. Cooper hasn’t even touched his fries yet, and if he doesn’t hurry, I’ll find my way over to those, too.

  He clears his throat, and he blows out a breath, his composure back now. “I wish I had a good answer for ya,” he says, plucking up a fry and swirling it in the sauce. “Maybe because I know how lucky I am. Or maybe because I know numbers and I know if I’m not careful, I could lose everything. Or maybe because I have to keep working for it every day.” He pauses for a second, his eyes playfully teasing me. I rub at my chin, butter running down my finger as I swipe it away. “Or maybe I’m just awesome.”

  “That has to be it.” I grab a napkin and try to clean myself up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I am a first date expert. I’ve gone out for food hundreds of times and managed to not stuff myself or go to fast, but with Cooper… he makes it so easy to let loose.

  “I have a question for you now,” he says, his eyes carefully placed on my butter-covered lobster bib before he brings them up to me.

  “Listening…”

  “You said something last night that… well, it stuck out to me, and I was just curious about it.”

  Oh he’s going to have to be more specific. “What’d I say?”

  “Something about how you think all relationships inevitably turn stale.”

  “You really do avoid any ounce of small talk.” I lick the end of my fork, the tines pressing into my bottom lip as I shake my head. “You just dive right into the deep end of the pool.”

  “Is it because all your relationships turned stale? Or was it someone else’s?”

  I press my lips together, biting away the smile I have that he’s not falling for my attempt at a subject change. “Both, I guess.” I take a sip of bubbly, letting the alcohol relax me and the carbonation get me giddy enough to have this conversation without getting defensive. It’s not his fault; he has a right to know why I don’t want marriage or kids, and he has no clue that I get those questions all the time. “Why don’t you want a fling? Too many women? Time to settle down?”

  He nearly chokes on his beer again. “Um… no. There’ve been others, but I’m not much of a one-time kind of guy.”

  “And I’m not a long-term kind of girl.” I brush my hair from my face, feeling a little warm now that the alcohol is sinking in. “The good stuff is in the ‘firsts.’ First glance, first touch, first kiss. First date, first night over, first orgasm. Seconds aren’t bad when it was so good the first time.” I take another sip of champagne, adding that last part in so he knows just how great it’s been so far with him. I’d probably take third and fourth and fifth helpings before we finally get sick of each other.

  I set my empty flute down, smacking my wetted lips. “So yes, I’m having fun with you now. That first date of ours was the best date I’ve been on in… Okay, best date I’ve ever been on. And my god, the way you kiss me, Cooper. My toes curl, I swear it.”

  He lets out a laugh, and I feel my cheeks warming at how loose my tongue is getting. I let out a long sigh that rumbles my lips. “But it won’t last. This… intense feeling that I get in my stomach? It’s only because this is new. It’ll disappear after we learn all there is to know about each other. When there are no more surprises.”

  “You really believe it’ll get boring? You’ll have nothing left to talk about?”

  I lift a shoulder and put my fork down. “After a few months there isn’t anything left to learn. That’s not just from personal experience. That’s common knowledge.”

  “No.” He shakes his head hard. “No, I don’t believe that for a second
. A year, ten years, fifty… there is always going to be something to say, something to learn about the person you love.”

  I slowly shake my head, dropping my gaze to my empty plate. “I just don’t think like that. Even this”—I wave my finger between the two of us—“will burn out. Especially if you’re diving into the deep stuff right in the beginning.”

  He tilts his head, his back straightening like a shock went right up his spine. His lips kink up, his brow pulls down, and he looks completely bewildered by that statement, like I’d just spouted it in Greek.

  “Stay with me,” he blurts, and I blink a few times to make sure I heard him right and I’m not overly buzzed.

  “What was that?”

  “I’ll be here for a while,” he says with a nod at the mansion he’s staying at. “Take two weeks, spend them here with me. I’ll prove to you that things can be just as exciting as they are in the beginning.”

  “How exactly would staying with you do that?”

  “Pretend we’re not on date number three right now.”

  “This is date number two.”

  “I’m counting brunch.” He playfully wrinkles his nose at me. “And it’s a moot point anyway. Because let’s just, pretend we’re twelve months into this thing.”

  “A year.”

  “You ever made it a year before?”

  I run a tongue over my lips, the dryness of them probably caused by my rapid breathing and the fact that I can’t keep my jaw closed during this conversation. Do I really want to admit to him that I haven’t had a relationship last longer than three months? And that was so long ago, I barely remember it. Fun and flirt is my forte. When it’s no longer either of those things, I duck out, or he does. Singlehood suits me.

  “All right. Here it is…” he says, relieving me from answering his previous question. He closes the gap between us, taking my hand in his. “I like you. I want to really get to know you. And I plan on asking you out again. And again. And again and again. But if you think it’s not gonna go past all the firsts, let’s just… fast forward. See if you can handle a relationship that’s in a year deep. Then we’ll know.”

  He’s off his rocker. He’s a bona fide dreamer, his head so up in the clouds that I can’t even see it from where I stand, my two feet rooted into the soft earth. I can’t stay with him; he’d see me when I wake up with no makeup, maybe catch me after having one of my late night snacks, crippled over with indigestion. And if we’re truly going to pretend that we’ve been in a relationship for a year, maybe even married, will we talk? Will we go out? Do I need to dress it up or keep it casual? What are the rules, here? I’ve always ducked out before it ever got to the point of passing gas in front of each other and passing out in the bed after a long day without even touching. How in the world can that be better than the dolling up, getting spoiled out on the town, the butterflies in the stomach, and the sexual tension in the air?

  Wait… does that mean sex isn’t even in the near future? Because I have a problem with that.

  “Is this… I mean, is this another experiment? Trying to test me out to see if I’m marriage material? Because I’ll tell you right now that I’m not.”

  He drops his blond head, and I see his shoulder blades shaking with laughter. “If you want to think of it as an experiment, that’s fine. But it’s not about seeing if you’re marriage material.” He lifts his eyes. “If anything, I’d like to convince you to take a chance on me.”

  I’m already taking a chance on him. Believe me, if he wasn’t so unique and interesting and surprising, I would’ve stopped us in our tracks the second I found out we wanted different things. But as I watch his thoughts roll around behind his eyes, listen to his breathing as he waits for my thoughts about this, I have to admit, he could be worth it. He already said he’d ask me out again, and I’ll say yes; I know I will. I’ll say yes to every time the question falls from his lips until the day we lose this electric spark. And I have a strong feeling that Cooper Sterling could be the guy who could rip my heart out if I let him anywhere near it. Maybe it’s a smart move to find out now while my heart is still solely mine.

  “How do you do that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and shaking my head at him. “How do you make such insane ideas sound…”

  “Fun?” he offers, hope rising up in his expression.

  “Logical.”

  “Well,” he says, nodding to my empty glass. “The alcohol probably helped a little.”

  “I don’t know.” I let out a breathless laugh. “I’m pretty sure you sobered me up, and I still think that you have a point.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  I tug at the hem of my dress, not ready to give him a yes or a no. “It’s an ‘I’ll sleep on it.’”

  His mouth pulls into a slow smile, one that will weaken my every resolve if he keeps it up much longer. He claps his hands free from his food and starts to rise from the blanket. “Okay, let me give you the tour.”

  “It’s not a yes, Cooper.” Yet.

  “I know… but I figure showing off my buddy’s mansion could help nudge you off that fence you’re on.”

  He holds his hand out for me, and after giving him a good long look, I take it. Maybe seeing more playrooms will help remind me that we are so not made for each other, and he’ll be easier to say no to, even though the tingles in my fingers from being in contact with his big, warm hands tell me otherwise.

  11

  Wack Verbal Contract

  I pull at the knot in my tankini, trying to get it untangled before I toss it into a suitcase to join a pile of various wardrobe choices. A few minutes into my struggling, I slump onto the bed and fling it toward my dresser.

  “I can’t do this,” I mutter for the third time since I’ve started packing. I took all night to sleep on it, all day at work to think about it, and still my head keeps teetering from one decision to the other. I’m half convinced that taking Cooper’s offer is a good idea, half convinced I have lost my mind.

  All I want is to spend some time with the man. He’s attractive and handsome and seriously, the kissing… It’s my Achilles heel. As much as I try to talk myself into turning down his every advance, putting it into practice is so much harder.

  I turn to Tom, who is curled up in the empty space of my suitcase, and scratch his black and white head. “It’s more about the house than the guy,” I tell him, falling to the low point of convincing my cat why staying with Cooper would be a good idea. “You should see this place, Tom. Indoor pool, private balcony, open bar… any girl would die for a week like this.”

  I don’t mention the company the vacation also provides because I’m determined to let my decision be Cooper-influence free. But if I were to mention it, it’d definitely be added to the pros column.

  Tom leans his head into my hand and purrs so loudly I bet Kat will be in here any second to try to get in on the back rub. I let out a sigh and rest my head on the unorganized mess I plan on taking with me, if I decide to go. The main problem still exists, though; he wants to show me what married life would be like, but he doesn’t know what it will be like. I don’t either, for that matter. I only know what I see, and he only knows what he’s seen. Our perception on the subject is so far off from one another, and I don’t see either of us changing our minds. I’d hate to indulge in the newness of what I can already feel is an exciting and addicting infatuation, only to get to the inevitable boredom a few months later. He may want that boredom, find excitement in something long term and promising. He wants a wife, a family, a settled life… things I don’t ever see for myself.

  It’s dangerous and completely unfair. I know it is. I feel as if I’ve already gone down the road farther than I should have. Every time I talk myself into walking away, I see his smile, picture that dimple. I hear his laugh and wish he were near so I could tease and flirt my way into his head, because he sure as hell is in mine.

  “Who am I kidding?” I say to my chubby cat. “This is so about the man.”

  I p
luck Tom from the suitcase and dump all the clothing at the foot of my bed. I’m stuffing this thing into the darkest corner of my closet where it can’t be found.

  What I need is a little reminder of why I’m so set in my ways. I flick on Siri and ask her where the nearest club is. Having a night to innocently flirt with men who are just looking for a non-committal romp is the prescription I need for my Cooper addiction.

  I’m not one to go off without my wingman, however, so before dedicating to the evening, I should send a message to Holland to see if she’s okay coming. It may not be the most fun place for an expectant mother, but my other choices require babysitters on short notice.

  I trip over the pile of clothing I just spread all over my floor and bounce across my bed to get to my phone plugged in the charger. Just as I get a grip on it, Kat leaps up on my nightstand and jolts me backward. That kitten must get her skittish tendencies from her owner.

  “Shush,” I tell them, even though my cats rarely mewl during my phone calls. Rolling to my back, I hold my phone over my head and swipe the screen on.

  Cooper, 1 new message

  Forgetting why I needed my phone in the first place, I open up the message, heart pounding as if my teenage self was in the company of Nick Carter.

  Thought you looked really beautiful in this one.

  Attached is one of the photos from the shoot, but not one from the test shots. Robbie, or someone else on set, must’ve taken it while I was hyena laughing at something that evening. Could’ve been from a number of moments, if I’m being honest. My mouth is split open in unabashed amusement, eyes crinkled in the corners and smile lines creasing near my mouth. I reach up and smooth over my cheek, frowning at how old I’m starting to look. I can feel my nose wrinkled in disgust as I type back a simple, Ugh. Aging may suit Cooper well—very well—but I am not pulling it off.