Dating Mr. Right: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies Page 18

  “Stop, Noah, you’re getting me excited.” Excited is exactly where I want her.

  “Chores get you excited?”

  “Chores are the way to my heart.”

  I decide to nudge open that door, leaning on my sexiest voice. “Would you let me do some chores for you?”

  She waves her hand in front of her chest, like she’s heating up. “Please. You can’t say such seductive things in the office,” she whispers.

  Then I kick the door, as if I’m doing just that. Seducing her. “Cleaning dishes. Mopping floors. Sweeping, dusting, even . . .” I pause, take a beat. “Vacuuming.”

  She lets out a gasp, like I’ve hit the jackpot.

  Then she schools her expression. “Anyway, enough about chores. I do have to go back to my desk and I can’t very well spend the whole afternoon thinking about chores, can I?”

  This woman. Damn. I want her. “I don’t see the problem with that. But what do I get if I win?”

  She tilts her chin, like she’s thinking. Her eyes flicker, the hint of a smile in them. “What do you want?”

  I strip away the teasing for a split second, dead serious. “I think you know what I want.”

  She swallows, looks away, then back at me, vulnerability in her eyes. “I do.” And her expression and tone shift once more to flirty. “How about you get the satisfaction of me liking kale?”

  Now that, that is definitely flirting. And I’m fully satisfied.

  That night, after I run ten miles and do a full circuit of weights at the gym, I research the best kale salads in New York City, because no way am I fucking this up by making it on my own.

  The next morning, on the way to work, I stop at a gourmet shop that is purported to have an incredible kale salad with sesame.

  At the office later, I find her in the cafeteria and offer it to her for lunch.

  She arches a skeptical brow. “I won’t like this.”

  “I know. You won’t like it. You’ll love it.”

  She takes a forkful, chews, then stares daggers at me. “You tricked me.”

  I smile. “No trickery.”

  “This is bloody delicious.”

  “I told you so.”

  “But there’s no way you can top this.”

  “I so can.”

  “Why do you like healthy food so much? And exercise?”

  “Why? Because I want to live a long, healthy life, have a couple kids, and be around to play soccer with their grandkids too. That’s why.”

  Her eyes flicker with something new, something I haven’t seen in them before. “Is that so?”

  Her tone is a little less of the usual flirty and sarcastic. It’s almost like it’s been stripped bare.

  “That is very much so.”

  Her friend Julie joins her, so I return to my table. But I decide to have some more fun with the redhead, since she seems to like it so much. I ask the guy next to me for a sheet of paper from his notebook and a pen. I write in the middle of the paper. Then I fold it, give it some wings, and send it to her at her table. I watch as it soars, landing gently on Ginny’s tray of pasta.

  She seems surprised at first, then she looks up and notices me. I shoot her a grin. She smiles right back, and it sure looks as if she digs that I sent her this. That I’m not an annoyance to her, that she’s getting quite the little kick out of this strange flirtation.

  When she unfolds the wings, she grins. That sexy kind of smile. A little bit wicked, a little bit mischievous, something that tells me that maybe there are tingles running through her body.

  God knows I have way more than tingles—I’ve got a whole lot of lust rattling through me as I savor the view of Ginny Perretti opening my paper airplane and reading my note.

  “Satisfaction is coming.”

  4

  Ginny

  I shouldn’t have touched his arm in the break room.

  But who can blame me?

  The man is hella toned. His body is like a work of exercise art.

  Honestly, though, that’s not his biggest selling feature. I’d still like him if he was soft in the middle.

  Noah Rivera piques my interest for many other reasons. His persistence. His oddball humor. His zest for, well, everything.

  His big, crazy heart. My God, the man wants to have kids and grandkids, and wants to play with them.

  This is not fair.

  Still, I need to resist hot young things. I’ve been down this road before, and I don’t know that I want to travel it again and take a chance at being left high and dry.

  After I put my daughter to bed, I vow not to text him.

  Don’t respond to his paper airplane message.

  That’s what I’ve been trying to do all afternoon. All evening.

  Don’t respond, don’t give in, don’t do it.

  Two hours of Netflix bingeing later, I’m still resisting him.

  Though I have given in to my third glass of wine, turned on the scalding hot water in the tub, and run a bubble bath.

  Calgon, take me away.

  I sink down under the water with my phone on the ledge of the tub. One more sip of chardonnay.

  I picture Noah. Wonder what he’s up to. I linger on that word. Satisfaction. And as the water slip-slides around my naked body, I feel my resistance tiptoe out the door.

  Ginny: Satisfaction is coming? You don’t say. All from more kale?

  Noah: It was delicious, wasn’t it?

  Ginny: I’ll admit it was quite tasty. Just as I said earlier.

  Noah: Wait till tomorrow. I’ll have something even better for you.

  Ginny: Something better, you say?

  Noah: Does that pique your interest?

  I put my phone down so I don’t reply with something naughty like, say, You pique all sorts of parts.

  Just to be safe, I set the phone on the bath mat so I’m not tempted. But as I sink under the water, I replay our flirtations, our break room bump-ins, the little touches, and the paper airplane.

  My skin heats up, and it’s not from the water in the tub. It’s from the way he flirts with me, and from the way I like it more than I want to.

  5

  Noah

  The next day, I do it again. I find another shop, and I bring her another kale treat. I hand it to her in the break room.

  “What’s this?” she asks, as if she can’t possibly believe it could be food. She holds it between her fingers.

  I adopt my most serious tone. “We call that chocolate-covered kale.”

  She coughs. “Seriously? Are you trying to turn me off?”

  Ah, hell. I just can’t resist. I step closer. “No, I’m trying to turn you on. Don’t you get that by now?”

  She doesn’t say anything at first, and I freeze, worried I’ve crossed a line. But she dips a toe over it, whispering, “Are you?”

  “I definitely am.” I take a beat. “So, is it working?”

  She holds up a thumb and forefinger. “A little.”

  And I can work with a little. I can definitely work with that. “Excellent.”

  “Just promise me you won’t ever bring me a kale smoothie.”

  I raise my right hand. “I’m taking an oath. I’m not that cruel. But chocolate-covered kale is another story. Why don’t you try it?”

  She takes a bite, considering. “What do you know? I don’t think that’s half bad.”

  I pump a fist. “I knew I could convert you.”

  She arches a brow. “I’m not totally converted. Now, in the future if you want to spoil me, chocolate and wine are the way to go.”

  I pretend to type. “Filing that away.”

  Leo strolls by, and I straighten. So does Ginny, almost as if we’ve done something wrong, and we don’t want the boss man to catch us.

  I choose to take that as another good sign, so much that I drop off a square of chocolate on her desk before I leave. That night while I’m at the gym, she texts me.

  Ginny: Now that was even better than the chocolate-covered k
ale.

  Noah: Excellent. Did you finish all of it?

  Ginny: I did finish it. I’m quite good at finishing.

  Oh, that’s definitely a dirty euphemism.

  Noah: I’m quite good at finishing too.

  Ginny: What are you good at finishing?

  Noah: Whatever I set my mind to. I have excellent stamina. I’ve finished marathons. I’ve finished races. I can finish whatever I need to finish.

  Ginny: I love finishing.

  And I’m on fire. Because she is almost certainly, most definitely, 100 percent all but sexting with me.

  Noah: What are you going to finish right now?

  Ginny: I’m having a soak in the tub.

  Noah: You’re a mermaid, yowza. Do you have a bath bomb?

  Ginny: I bow to the inventor of bath bombs.

  Noah: Favorite kind?

  Ginny: Honeysuckle.

  Noah: Of course. And you smell like honeysuckle.

  Ginny: You’ve been sniffing me?

  No point lying now, so I tap out a reply as I climb the StairMaster.

  Noah: Yes. You smell incredible. Your scent is the perfect finishing touch.

  Ginny: All this talk of finishing reminds me that I ought to finish this bath.

  Noah: And after that, will you finish other things?

  Ginny: It seems possible.

  I stare at the phone as I climb, sweat slinking down my brow. Holy shit. She’s a dirty girl.

  We’ve jumped from electric toothbrushes to kale to wine to bath dirty talk, and I want to go over to her place right now and get in the tub with her, and I don’t even like baths. I mean, come on, baths are kind of dirty.

  I’m a shower guy. But a bath with Ginny Perretti? Hell yeah.

  6

  Ginny

  The next day I bang my head against the desk.

  Must. Stop. Flirting.

  I absolutely must. What is wrong with me?

  I can’t believe I got that bawdy last night. I can’t even blame the wine. Because I know better. I was supposed to focus on arguing with Noah, finding things I dislike, reasons we wouldn’t work, and instead I flirted with him yet again. I write my mantra down in my notebook.

  Must. Stop. Flirting.

  But I don’t follow my own commands.

  I keep arguing with him, like when I see him in the break room over the next week, and we debate who the best Bond is.

  I say Pierce Brosnan, he insists on Daniel Craig.

  We discuss when mason jars became okay for pretty much everything, and then we talk about murses. I don’t mind them, but he says no man should ever carry one.

  And he sends me more paper airplanes. Sometimes he writes funny words in them. Sometimes he’ll suggest a random topic he wants to debate the next day—why does honey belong in mustard but not ketchup?—and other times his paper airplanes are a little flirty.

  Every day, though, I find myself looking forward to these moments, and at the same time, I remind myself that getting involved with a young guy from work would be a huge mistake, and I don’t have room to make any.

  * * *

  A few days later, I stop by my boss’s office before I leave for the day. “I’m all ready for the show this weekend. We’ll go searching for our star.”

  In a split second, he closes his laptop. For a moment I wonder if he was looking at pictures of that woman again. He turns his gaze away from the machine, and Leo leans back in his chair. “I have my treasure map. I’m ready.”

  I thrust a fist in the air. “We won’t leave until we track him or her down.”

  “We will be victorious.”

  “Of course we will.”

  As luck would have it, we do find a promising prospect at the chocolate show, a lovely, friendly, wildly outgoing woman with crazy curly hair, bright blue shoes, and a big personality. I hit it off with her instantly then learn something extraordinary.

  She extends a hand. “Lulu Diamond.”

  Ohhhhhhh.

  Well.

  That’s rather interesting.

  She’s the woman from Leo’s past.

  She’s the one I’d bet a lifetime of chocolate he still carries a torch for, even if he’d deny it under oath or severe tickling.

  But requited or unrequited love isn’t for me to weigh in on.

  “Ginny Perretti. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She glances at my jewelry, a heart-shaped necklace my daughter gave me. “I love your necklace, and you have the best hair.”

  I pat my red locks. “And you’re perfect. You’re hired. For anything and everything.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be there tomorrow morning at nine a.m. on the dot.”

  I decide I love her, and I’m pretty sure I want her to be my new best friend.

  That’s one more reason I’m glad my company chooses her as our next rising star chocolatier.

  But the weird thing is, when I sit down for lunch at the cafeteria a few weeks later and see she’s chatting with Noah at the salad bar, a small nugget of jealousy digs into me. I’m almost embarrassed that I’m the least bit envious.

  I like Lulu. I consider her a fast friend, and I don’t want to feel so green, especially since nothing has happened with Noah.

  I remind myself that Noah’s friendly, he talks to everybody. So when Lulu sits down with me to dine, I shove thoughts of him away once again.

  That’s truly becoming my top sport—denying my desire for the hot young guy who’s become so much more than that. He’s become the man I’m interested in. Very, very interested in. Because this hot young guy is so good, and honorable. It’s not him, it’s me—my past makes me want to be very, very cautious.

  “I’m so glad it’s you who’s the rising star,” I say.

  “Well, I’m glad it’s me too,” she says.

  “We need more chicks here at the office.”

  “Girl power. I’m all for that.”

  As we chat about her plans for the new line of chocolate, something whooshes over my head. A paper airplane lands in front of my tray, and a rush of heat spreads across my chest. “Noah,” I say, rolling my eyes to deflect but unable to hold in a smile.

  “Noah sends you paper airplanes?”

  I pick up the winged object. “He likes to send these to me at lunch. He’s such a goofball.”

  “Regularly? He sends them regularly?”

  “Once or twice a week.”

  “Pretty sure that means he’s into you.”

  I try to dismiss the idea, even though I know he is. But if I give in to it, I’ll give in to him. And it’s too soon. “Oh, no. He’s just . . . festive.”

  Lulu glances behind her, and Noah waves to me. “No. I think he has a thing for you. A big thing. The look on his face seems to say it all. What about you? Is it mutual?”

  I’ve been storing all my worries inside me, and at last I have the chance to talk them through. I blurt out, “I’m thirty-five. I’m ten years older than he is. Is that terrible?”

  “Only if you let it be terrible. But your face says you like him too.”

  My stomach swoops. What am I going to do about all these butterflies? What am I going to do about Noah?

  I look over at him, taking in his handsome face, his golden skin, his dark hair, and his smile. I don’t even want to admit it to myself, much less to her, but I think I need to.

  “Maybe I do,” I say, since the truth feels better.

  “Maybe someday, then, for the two of you.”

  “Maybe someday,” I echo.

  After Lulu leaves, Noah walks over, clears his throat, and hands me a paper airplane.

  This one seems different than all the others, but the trouble is I don’t know if I’m ready yet to set aside my rules.

  Even though I find myself wanting to more every day I spend around him.

  7

  Noah

  Do it now.

  A voice in the back of my head repeats: Do it now. Just go for it. Ask Ginny out this weekend. Ask her out for
lunch. Ask her out for coffee. Ask her out for a glass of wine. Ask her to go bath-bomb shopping. Ask her out to taste-test kale salad anywhere. Take your chance.

  This time I listen to the voice, writing on the paper airplane, then personally delivering it as we leave the cafeteria together.

  She opens it as we walk, reading the words I wrote.

  “Someday I’d like to take you out.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and hers seem to sparkle with a little bit of hope, maybe even possibility. “You would?”

  I keep going for it. “I would. What would you say if I asked you?”

  She nibbles on her lip, sighing.

  That’s when I remind myself that love is a marathon, it’s not a sprint. I press my hand over hers. “Don’t give me an answer now.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asks curiously.

  “Because there is only one answer I want.”

  A smile seems to sneak across her face. “What is the answer you want?”

  “The only answer I want is yes.”

  Her smile stretches further. “And you think I’m going to give you a yes?”

  “I’m an optimist. Optimism is my strong suit. Maybe even my strongest.”

  “That’s a good strong suit to have.”

  “It is,” I agree, since it’s what’s going to fuel me as I run this marathon with Ginny. “Now isn’t the time. But someday it’s going to be a yes.”