Page 69 of In For a Penny
After careful consideration, we agreedthat a date right off the bat would be too much pressure for me, so we decided a “group hang” was a safer bet. Oliver had plans to go out that same night with his old rugby team from university. By some happy coincidence, his former teammates had been planning this informal rugby team reunion at a local pub, so there were going to be a lot of male prospects for me there, a lot of rebound options—though we’ve narrowed it down to one guy.
After breakfast, we looked up the Facebook profiles of each of the guys in the event group chat who were single. Like an old-school matchmaker, Oliver talked me through their different personalities while looking at pictures. We even discussed sexual performance wherever he had any piece of information.
“Bachelor number one is called Cameron. Originally from Edinburgh, Cam works in the city for RBS and enjoys doing copious amounts of cocaine.”
“Bachelor number two lives with his parents in Surrey, is dumb as a rock, but I’ve heard has great oral skills.”
“Bachelor number three is George. He lives in a massive flat in South Kensington, purchased for him by his rich parents, but he has been said to have a small dick.”
And so on.
Things aren’t going particularly well with the search, to say the least. It’s not until we’re reaching the very end while I am lying on my stomach next to him when I type in the name he gives me: Thomas Delancey. Tom.
I sit up, intrigued.
“He’s cute.” I point to the screen and look over at Oliver to gauge his expression.
“Uh, yes, I suppose he could be,” Oliver says hesitantly, quietly.
I look back to the picture of the man in my computer screen. Is he kidding me? Mr. Delancey is definitely cute.Hot, even. The picture shows a tall, shirtless man standing in front of a beach. His eyes are almost closed as he side-smirks into the camera against the blinding sun. He isn’t big, but he isn’t a string bean either. He is tan and has a great body. Tom also has incredible-looking golden locks that fall slightly over his eyes.
I click through his profile pictures and find one with his arm wrapped around an older woman striking a shocking resemblance to him. His mother? Both blond, both shocking-blue eyes, both wearing ugly Christmas sweaters.
“Seriously? Did you see the picture of him at the beach? And the one with his mom? A profile pic with a mother shows signs of a sensitive and nice guy, don’t you think?” I ask eagerly.
I think we’ve found our guy.
Oliver thinks this over, tapping a finger to his lips. “I guess Tom is nice,” he says, shrugging. “We’re notparticularlyclose, but he’s close with my friends.” He sighs. “But are you planning on sleeping with him, though?”
“If I’m feeling it, then yes.” I realize this doesn’t sound like the smartest plan, but I feel like the pancake theory is going to work for me here. And who knows, maybe I like this guy enough that he asks me out on a date, and he helps me train with that, too. It’s like when you’re looking for work. You start by interviewing for your least favorite roles so you have time to polish your resume and interview skills for the ones you really want. “But if he’s boring or I’m just not feeling it in general, then no.”
Oliver nods his head. “Good, because I’ve heard from my female friends that he can be quite…vanillain the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”
I keep clicking through Tom’s pictures and reply to Oliver without looking. “I always know what you mean.”
He sighs and scratches his head. “Just keep that in mind. He’s supposed to be quite dull in bed. He’s not like us.” His chest puffs a little.
I snort and turn to look at him. “‘Like us’? What does that even mean?”
He rolls his eyes at me and gets off the bed, reaching for his sweater on my dresser. “Forget about it.”
“No, please, tell me.” I laugh. I need to hear him say it. This is incredible.
“You know what I mean,” he says, exasperated. “We’re…adventurous. Exciting. We fuck in libraries, and you give me hand jobs in class—”
“Whoa! I didnotgive you a hand job in class. It was an over-the—”
“Yes, yes. An over-the-jeans cock rub. I get it,” he says, exasperated. “I’m saying he’s the type of guy who just does missionary. Getting a woman on all fours is probably his version ofFifty Shades. That’s it.”
Just missionary?
Boring.
He pulls his sweater over his head and starts walking toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” I ask. “You haven’t really told me much about him!” I need to prep. I’m not planning on this evolving anywhere, but I still don’t want to be rejected or feel like a loser. I need any help I can get. I’ve been out of the game too long.
Oliver smiles at me, one hand on the door frame. “There really isn’t much to say. He barely has any personality, but he is a nice guy, I guess. Great rebound potential.” He throws me two thumbs up.
