Page 4 of How to Date a Younger Man
“That was exactly what I needed. Thank you,” I reply, slowly pulling myself together.
The awareness that I’m half naked under this thin white sheet seems to knock some sense into me. Carefully turning over while still keeping myself covered, I swing my legs over the side of the table, holding the sheet up over my chest.
He doesn’t turn around, and I take the opportunity to admire the muscles that fill out his fitted black shirt. Ten years ago, he would have been exactly the kind of guy who would get me in a lot of trouble. The kind of guy you assume wants the same things you do, until you wake up six months later and find yourself wondering why he hasn’t introduced you to his friends yet.
I shake my head, grateful to be past all that twenty-something bullshit. It didn’t come easy, but I can confidently say I feel perfectly complete without a man. I’ve been focused on myself and my career for the past decade, and I’m genuinely proud of where I’m at. But that doesn’t mean I want to be alone forever. It would be nice to have a partner to share this crazy, fast-paced life with, but I haven’t found the right guy yet.
“Be right back,” I say, heading into the private restroom connected to my office.
Once inside, I crumple the sheet and set it on the counter. I quickly slip back into my nude-colored bra, crisp white button-down shirt, and gray tweed pencil skirt. Then I take stock of myself in the mirror, fluffing up my flattened hair and wiping away the smudge of mascara from beneath my right eye.
I take a step back and give myself a once-over.
My shiny dark hair is threaded with golden strands, thanks to regular appointments with my colorist, and my cheeks have a healthy glow. My breasts, while full, aren’t exactly where they’re supposed to be. Gravity has shifted them a couple of inches lower than I would prefer. But I’m relatively fit and take good care of my skin. Thank God for SPF. It’s something, I guess. But even as I look myself over, I noticed that my features look more relaxed than usual. I smile. Maybe Griffin was good for me.
When I step into my office again, Griffin is exactly where I left him.
He turns, a confident smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll bet you have a great view of the sunset from here.”
“Unbelievable, actually.” I wander closer to where he’s standing.
He turns to meet my eyes. “I know a spot with an even better view. How about I take you there sometime?”
Wait. What?
Did this infant just ask me out?
My stomach does a backflip, and for a second, I’m flattered. But the reality of the situation hits me quickly—and hard.
Is he even legal drinking age? Regardless, he’s clearly several years younger than me. If this kid would have been my kryptonite in my twenties, now, in my thirties? He’s jailbait. I don’t know what kind of mommy issues he’s looking to work out, but I don’t have time for any of that bizarre Freudian stuff.
“Oh, uh, you’re kind, and it’s very sweet of you to offer, but that’s not necessary,” I say, uncharacteristically stumbling over my words.
He blinks, and then an amused smile overtakes his face. “Are you single?”
I clear my throat and then lick my lips, which have suddenly gone dry. Maybe that water he suggested is a good idea. “Well . . . yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
He takes a step closer and I suck in a desperate breath and wait for whatever this weird feeling in my stomach is to fade. “Come on, you can’t tell me that you’re so out of practice that you can’t tell when a man is asking you out.” There’s a hint of a smile on his full lips.
I stay quiet. This is absolutely none of his business.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice dropping low, “and you’re obviously very successful. I think we could have some fun. Unless you’re not attracted to me? Is that it?”
Ha! The most devout nun on the planet would be attracted to him. But he’s not my type. I’m looking for someone stable, someone my own age, someone ready for marriage and babies, sooner rather than later. These eggs of mine have an expiration date, a little fact I’m acutely aware of, unfortunately.
“I’m flattered, honestly, but I’m too busy, and too old for a fling with my company birthday present.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, his lips still tilted in a smile.
I nod. “I’m very sure.”
His gaze lingers on my lips as I speak, and my stomach does this weird twisting thing again. And, wow, he smells good. Like fresh laundry and lavender and man.
