Page 26 of Flirty Thirty

“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’veeverbeen 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 evenmarried, 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.”

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