Page 15 of Flirty Thirty

“Okay…” She rises from her seat, Nate holding her chair for her. I tilt my head at the insignificant action, realizing just how significant it really is. Cooper did the same thing for me at our brunch.

Jules leans over to give me a hug, whispering in my ear. “Talk to you tonight.”

I smile and nod against her cheek. Talk to her about what, I have no clue. I don’t know how much of Cooper I should divulge, if anything. She’d only get excited, encourage me to date him exclusively, get serious, say yes to proposals, and have lots and lots of babies. As interested as I am in getting closer to Cooper for a fun fling, he’s not interested inonlythat, and honestly I should find a way to back out of tomorrow night before things go farther with him than they already have. Easier to preach than to practice, I’m afraid, especially when I keep thinking about that knee-wobbling kiss.

They leave the busy restaurant, and I put a smile on my face and hope to heavens I at least look like I’m enjoying myself.

“I figured something like that would happen,” Steve jokes, nodding at my sister and brother-in-law’s retreating backs. “My sister always has a sitter excuse when she sets me up.”

A little laugh floats from my lips. “You get set up a lot, too?”

He leans in, his thick brows twitching as if he’s sharing some type of secret. “Always.”

“At least I know I’m not with a blind date novice.” I pick up my glass of water, attempting a flirtatious tone and hoping it stays with me throughout the rest of the meal.

“So,” he says, leaning back in his seat and settling in with his taco. “How do you like selling houses?”

I shrug, smile fading at the change in subject, knowing it will inevitably bring on thoughts of Cooper. “It’s interesting, for sure. Never the same clients twice.”

“What’s the worst client you’ve had?”

I clasp my fingers together to rest my chin on, toying with my bottom lip as I think on it. The question feels like part of an interview, even though I’ve been asked it many times, and with each new prospective dating partner, I’ve had a different answer. It’s never bothered me before; I enjoyed the light-hearted, puddle deep conversations that surround the first date. I know all the answers, I know how to move my lips and kink my eyebrow at just the right moments. Steve isn’t even that bad to look at—he’s got great hair, strong arms, and he’s not bad company either. It’s just… lacking for some unapparent reason, and I feel as if I should blame a Mr. Cooper Sterling for that.

“The one I had today,” I say, bitterness lacing into my tone. Steve’s bushy eyebrow tilts upward, his mouth too full to vocally ask me to continue. “He’s a picky billionaire, and very… blunt in his opinions.”

He swallows. “That’s a bad thing?”

“Annoying, I suppose.” I’m lying through my teeth.

“Well, I hope for your sake he finds the right house soon.”

He said house—a bachelor thing to say. I give the response way too much thought for what it’s worth. I wish I could feel comfortable enough to ask what I really want to know—what is he looking for? Cooper came out and said it, his directness at first, surprising, but in hindsight…refreshing. But as I’m not looking for anything serious, I feel I can’t talk about serious things with Steve.

I internally sigh at the fact that Cooper was so right, and I’ve spent most of the hour thinking of him, and I’m most likely destined to do so the rest of the evening. I take another sip of water, put on a polite smile, and try to do my best with the small talk I’m not so sure I like anymore.

“So… What do you do?”

***

My heavy front door clicks shut behind me, and I consider the kiss that just took place on my porch as I swing the deadbolt into its nightly position. My lips don’t feel as if any attention was given, which is probably an accurate description. I think Steve was trying to make things quick, and the peck was more out of obligation than desire.

I fling my purse up on the hook by my door and slip out of my heels. I don’t blame him in the slightest; I was just as dull of company as he was, if not more-so.

Hooking my fingers into the sling-backs of my heels, I pad my way through to the kitchen to stash my doggie bag, only to be stopped short by a dark gray-covered bottom.

“Hello?” I say, and the refrigerator raider peeks from under her extended arm.

“Whoa…” Holland says, straightening her spine. “9:15. Someone had fun.”

I roll my eyes at my best friend’s sarcastic smile and open the snack cupboard. “Looking for these?”

She practically drools a stain onto her pink tank top, reaching for the chocolate frosting and graham crackers in my hand. I pull back and gesture to my plushy couch where all our emotional eating happens. She grabs the milk while I get a couple of cups.

“Is Warren helicopter spousing again?” I ask, flumping into the cushions. Holland plops down next to me, setting the milk on the coffee table.

“He cleansed the entire house. If it’s not baby book approved, it doesn’t cross the threshold.”

I pull the graham cracker sleeve open and quickly hand her one. “Even the cookie stash?”

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