Page 58 of Pregnant By the Playboy
She doesn’t ask any further questions as we head inside. I’ve gotten to know this bar well over the past week. It’s one of these quirky, dimly-lit places with antique lampshades. I lead her to the back corner, where there are two red armchairs by a low wood table. There’s a menu on the table, and I hand it to Marissa.
“There’s an extensive selection of mocktails on the last page,” I say. “So I can still take you out for drinks even though you can’t have alcohol.”
I hope she likes this. I spent a lot of time looking online for mocktails in the city, and then I went out and tried three places. This one was the best. I came back a second time so I could try more drinks, the better to properly advise Marissa.
“The one with ginger beer is my favorite,” I say. “Ginger beer, pear, and vanilla. It works really well.”
Ugh, maybe I’m trying too hard. I don’t know. “Trying too hard” hasn’t been a problem for me in the past few years, but yeah, I did extensive research on mocktails just for this date.
“You come here regularly?” Marissa asks. “And you’re familiar with the mocktails? I’d expect you to drink, well, alcohol.”
“I knew nothing about mocktails until five days ago.”
And then I went totally overboard.
Her eyes soften.
“Vince,” she says, patting my hand.
Nobody looks at me like Marissa does. Nobody else is moved by my actions.
Will she come to love me?
I swallow. “Anyway, if that ginger beer mocktail sounds good to you, you should get it.”
“Okay,” she says, but rather than putting down the menu, she continues to study it. “I’m curious about the one with lemon, rosemary simple syrup, and muddled strawberries.”
“I haven’t tried it before,” I say. “I’ll get it and you can have a taste, alright?”
She nods before turning back to the menu, as though she cannot leave a single menu item unstudied, even if she knows what she’s ordering. She’s thorough. I like it.
I wonder if she’ll read several baby name books cover to cover.
“I’d like to get some food, too,” she says.
“You’re worried you won’t get enough to eat later? Trust me, there’s no need to worry. I’m taking you to a restaurant with large servings.”
“Ooh, where are we going?”
“It’s a secret.”
“I don’t like secrets.”
“Somehow this doesn’t surprise me, but I’m keeping it a secret.”
It looks like she’s trying to shoot daggers at me with her eyes, but fortunately, she fails.
Though she does succeed in looking sexy.
“I’m still going to order food,” she says. “Those lemon-rosemary savory donuts sound amazing, and I think they’ll perfectly complement your drink.”
She makes a compelling argument. When the waitress comes around, we order drinks as well as donuts. I don’t miss the appreciative glance that the waitress gives me, and when she walks away, Marissa makes another attempt to shoot daggers, this time at the back of the waitress’s head.
A woman acting possessive. I never expected to enjoy it so much.
“So, why engineering?” I ask. “Why did you decide to study it?”
She seems momentarily disoriented, then says, “I was good at math and physics. I wanted a degree that was geared toward a career without spending ten years in school. The job market was a little rough when I graduated, but I found something eventually.”
