Page 12 of The Senator: Raphael

He smiles shyly. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Not many people take me seriously when I tell them I’m a biologist.”

I frown, a bit confused. “Why is that?”

“Because they don’t understand what my job really is. They think I hang out at the beach or on a boat doing nothing all day,” he explains and I’m surprised.

“Well, they’re idiots and sorry for the surfer comment. I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” I say seriously.

He shrugs and shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to complain. Can we please start over?”

“You want me to buy you another beer?” I chuckle, bumping my shoulder against his.

He smirks. “Will you do it if I say yes?”

“No, but you can try!” I wink at him, and he smiles leaning closer.

“Is it too soon to ask for your number and then kiss you? Because I get the feeling that if I don’t take this chance, I won’t have another opportunity to meet you again. This isn’t exactly my scene.”

He seems vulnerable and sweet. I’m used to cocky bastards asking me to follow them into the bathroom, and here I am, with a cute guy asking if he can kiss me. This is why I don’t like to pick up anyone at a club. It’s just my luck to find the only sweet, genuine man who wants something other than sex.

“You don’t want my number, trust me. And as for the kiss…there won’t be more.” My eyes never leave his as I say it.

He frowns, puzzled. “I’m not asking to have sex with you, I just want to know you better. That’s it. You’re gorgeous and funny. You seem smart and I’d like to know you outside this place,” he rushes to explain.

And this is exactly the problem. Sex with someone sweet like him would be okay. But something more? A date or two? I can’t afford that. Not knowing there will never be a happy ending for us.

“The problem is, I don’t date.” I scrunch my nose at his dumbfounded expression.

“Wait. Are you ditching me because I’mnotasking for sex?” he asks in disbelief.

I chuckle. “Not exactly, but sort of. You seem like a good guy, someone who doesn’t pick up a girl just to have sex with her in your car or in the back of the club, and I’m not the kind of girl who dates. I could give you my number and then ghost you in a week, but I don’t want to do that. I like you. You’re nice and sweet, and I don’t do nice and sweet.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Damn! This is the first time I got rejected for being too nice. I’ll have to work on my asshole skills.”

I chuckle. “Don’t. You’re perfect as you are. Don’t lower yourself to the level of most men. I’m just not your girl. My life is screwed up and I don’t want to screw up yours too.”

He relaxes his shoulders and looks at me. “Well, Silver, you’re kind of a nice woman too, even if your life is messed up.”

I smile. This is my life: being nice, trying to do the right thing, and paying for that with a miserable, lonely existence.

If she talks about her dogs again, I swear I will rip my ears off. She is beautiful, she come from one of the most influential families in the country, and she has so many bachelor’s degrees I can’t even count them, all from Ivy League schools. I can’t understand why she keeps talking about her dogs all the time. Every anecdote, memory, or conversation is related to those two furry companions. I’m shocked she didn’t bring them to this dinner.

She’s the last of the women on my father’s list. My last hope to find a partner because the other eleven were a no-go. In the fifteen days since my conversation with the old man, I’ve gone on twelve dates including this one, and I’ve never felt so miserable. Thinking about spending the rest of my life with one of them fills me with dread bordering on panic. I’ve always considered myself someone who’s willing to do anything to reach my goals—at least as far as my morals allow. But in these two weeks I’ve discovered my limits.

“Are you listening?” Cassandra’s shrill voice brings me back to reality.

“Yes. You were talking about your visit to DC with your best friend and how much you would like to live in the White House.” I point out her not-so-subtle suggestion that she be by my side when I become the president of the United States.

She huffs, pats my arm, and rolls her eyes as she smiles almost maniacally. “No, silly! I was talking about the matching outfit I bought for me and the boys.”

Here we go again with the dogs.

“You have matching outfits?” I ask, puzzled about how that works. Do human outfits come in dog sizes? God, I never expected that question to pop into my head during a date. I mean, I love dogs and animals in general, but she’s obsessed.

She brightens at my question. “Yes! I asked my designer friend if he could sew us different outfits for every occasion. We have some for formal occasions, some for the gym, and even matching pajamas.”

That last part raises even more red flags. “Do they sleep in your bedroom?”

“Of course, silly! We sleep all together in my king-size bed.” She answers like it’s the most common thing in the world. I know a lot of people who let their pets sleep in the same room as them, but the thought of waking up in a bed populated with matching pajamas is going too far for me.

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