Page 43 of Maneater
“I didn’t say I never get laid, Josephine. Just that I don’t date.” When I answer, I continue to watch her face to track the changes, and I’m not disappointed in what I see: the slightest tightening of her jaw, a shift of her shoulders back, a centering breath—the tiniest flare ofjealousy.
“Well, maybe you should try. A couple of dates here and there might help with your shitty attitude.”
“I’ve got bigger priorities. Dating doesn’t mesh well with my lifestyle.”
She lets out a huffed laugh like she finds that ridiculous. “Priorities? What kind of priorities could you have? You’re doing better than every other man your age, I think it would be okay to put yourself first just a bit.”
I look ahead of us to where Horace is talking loudly to Jeff at the front of the pack and to Gene and his girlfriend talking in hushed, cozy tones, and for some reason, I explain.
“I owe a lot to my boss. I was an intern for her during my undergrad, and she saw something in me. She took me under her wing when I was just starting there. She saw something in me that no one else, not even myself, did. She trained me, let me shadow her. Fuck, she’s the reason I even went back to school to get my MBA. She petitioned the board to cover the cost, saying it was an investment intheirfuture.”
“That you were the future?” she asks, clarifying, and I nod, lost in the memories.
“So, I don’t like to waste my time on distractions that don’t matter. I don’t have time for Friday night dinner dates and regular weekends away. My schedule is chaotic, and even if I have a low-key week planned, things come up, and I have to be ready to go visit a resort on a moment’s notice. Unfortunately, although a lot of women like the idea of hitching themselves to a wealthy, powerful man, they don’t like the reality.”
I tried dating over the past few years, but it never went well. It always ended in an argument and a “this isn’t working for me” text. At the end of the day, despite my expressing it explicitly at the beginning of the very first date, choosing my job over a woman never seems to be what they’re looking for.
“That’s insane,” Josie says low after a long beat, and I look at her, confused. “They have to know that your passion and hard work arewhat make you what you are. That’s the attractive part: not the money. Not the power. The drive.” She’s not looking at me, instead looking somewhere far off, but I can’t stop staring at her. “That’s the sexiest part about a successful man: not what they have, but how theygotit. Hard work, determination.” She shakes her head, a small knowing smile on her lips now. “The ones with power and wealth, but also time on their hands? They were either born into it or thought they deserved it without putting in the effort.That’snot sexy. I don’t get how some people can’t see that, can be attracted to the career but not the drive.”
I’m silent as I watch her obvious confusion mixed with a hint of irritation, and once again, I’m at a loss.
Who the fuck is this woman?
And why is she so fucking perfect?
And how is shestillsingle?
“You know, I just don’t get it,” I say with a disbelieving laugh.
“Get what?”
Without meaning to, I confess everything rumbling around in my head, thoughts I’ve had for a while but, now that I’ve spent time with her, feel more prevalent.
“You’re perfect. You’re beautiful and funny, you’re insanely smart, even though you hide it, playing the idiot woman. You could have any man you want. You clearly make enough to afford two weeks at a place like this, and yet you’re always out there dating these assholes who, you and I both know, you are so out of their league it’s not even funny. It doesn’t add up.”
Finally, she turns to me, taking me in for moments as we walk before she speaks.
“What’s your theory?” she asks, further confusing me.
“My theory?”
“You seem convinced that I’m something other than what I say. What’s your theory?”
I don’t miss how she doesn’t deny that she’s hiding something. Still, I shake my head, giving her my honest answer.
“I don’t know. I don’t know, and honestly, Josie? It’s driving me insane.”
Her smile goes wide. “So, you’re admitting you can’t stop thinking about me?”
It always comes back to this with her, trying to get me to admit I’m into her, something that, at this point, we’re both well aware of.
“Absolutely not,” I lie.
Her smile goes wider, like she expects that. “That’s fine; the gift you sent me last night did it for you just fine. Thank you for it, by the way. It’s my new favorite drink.”
I almost forgot about the stupid decision I made to send her up a bottle of the whiskey I drank at the bar, the one that was on my lips when we kissed, with a note reminding her that I found her after all.
“Maybe we should enjoy it together tonight.”
