15. Slow Dating

As I read the text from Monroe in the early evening, I'm shaking my head in admiration.

Monroe: Hey. It's Jared. Want to meet at Prohibition Spirit at seven-thirty? I'll be the guy in the suit at the bar. Coming straight from the office. I was nonstop all day.

Of course there's a whiskey bar in Darling Springs. Of course that's what Jared would pick too. Well played, Monroe.

Jared, real estate broker, would also use zero exclamation points, and he'd schedule drop, weaving in a mention of how busy he is.

But I don't mind. One, I like suits. Two, I like men who aren't lazy. Three, I prefer when guys take a little initiative. Monroe probably doesn't even realize he just won points with me.

Well, Monroe's Jared did.

As I head to my suitcase on the floor of the bedroom, I tap out a reply.

Juliet: Sounds great! I'll be there!

I hunt through my bag for something to wear to a whiskey bar, when…fuck. I didn't pack for a date. I only had that yellow sundress I wore last night. I brought it because I figured I'd want one cute little thing. But I don't have two cute things.

I whip my gaze to the cat clock on the wall. The black tail twitches ominously. It's six.

I paw through my bag, just in case I accidentally packed something pretty enough. But nope. I only have jeans, leggings, and casual tops. I don't even have time to hop on a bike and ride into town to find something at Second Time Around. Monroe has the car. He said before he left that he'd meet me at the date location, and that I should take a Lyft there. "We want tonight to be as date-like as possible," he said.

Then, he installed his credit card on my ride-share app, so he could pay for the ride. Which was not at all date-like, but which I loved, nonetheless.

Trouble is, now I'm staring at a suitcase of unsuitable clothes, tapping my toe, trying to figure out what will look good for a whiskey bar date with a guy in a suit.

"Oh well," I say, grabbing a snug, white tank top. "Casual is the new black."

But as I head to the bathroom to take a quick shower, an idea strikes me, and I let a sly smile take over.

Eleanor Longswallow would never let me down.

I thank and tip the Lyft driver, then walk up the stone path that meanders through overgrown gardens to Prohibition Spirit. It's right on the edge of town, not far from the beach. The door is a deep, rich red and the windows are up high, near the ceiling. Too high to see through. It's impressive, this speakeasy vibe from the outside.

I take a deep breath, drawing in warm summer air tinged with a salty sea breeze. But I still feel…jangly, with nerves hopping left and right. I hope this outfit isn't a mistake. I hope this whole dating experiment isn't a mistake.

I smooth a hand over the satin corset I found in Eleanor's closet of sexy wonders. It's black, tight, and hot. No idea how vintage it is, but I'm just grateful Eleanor and I fit in the same clothes. I also sprayed a tiny dab of my vanilla and honey perfume on the corset, and voila. It doesn't smell like a closet. It smells like me.

I glance down at my bare arms, a little glittery thanks to the lotion I rubbed in.

I've got on jeans and a pair of red platform sandals. My hair's swept up in a loose twist with tendrils framing my face.

I really should go in, but my belly swoops once more with nerves. Is this too outlandish, this dating experiment? Is this outfit too sexy? Should I dab off my red lipstick?

Probably. I snap open my purse and hunt around for a tissue when shoes click on the stone path behind me, then deep voices laugh. Two handsome men are heading my way. One has deep brown skin and shiny shoulder-length hair and wears a sharp vest. The other is fair-skinned and freckled and sports a tight paisley shirt.

"Need anything, hun?" the blond asks kindly, stopping a few feet from me.

"Just a little courage for meeting my date?" I ask.

The guy in the vest shoots me a sympathetic smile. "First date?"

I nod.

"You look great, if that helps. And this is a great place for a date too. This is where I met Bowen a year ago," he says, then runs a hand down his date's arm. Bowen looks at the dark-haired man with such affection my own heart skips a beat or two. They seem so happy. That's why I'm facing these nerves. To move closer to finding my own happiness.

"But I met Vikas online first," Bowen points out.

"And we're getting married on the lavender farm here next month," Vikas puts in.

Small world indeed. "The one Ripley runs?" I ask, thinking of my new friend.

"The one and only." Bowen reaches out and squeezes my arm affectionately. "You never know when you're going to meet the one. Now, c'mon, hun. We'll walk you in if you're ready."

I am so very ready. "Let's do it."

Bowen swings open the door, and I head inside, jazz music greeting me. Immediately, I soak in the atmosphere—dark wood walls, mahogany bar tops, leather furniture, and subdued lighting. A long, elegant counter is stocked with a variety of whiskey brands on mirrored shelves.

"Do you see him anywhere?" Bowen asks, looking around. "Please say he's the hunk in the suit at the bar."

Vikas gives a low whistle. "Yesss and please and sir."

Bowen chuckles, then drops a possessive kiss onto his soon-to-be husband's cheek as I turn my gaze to the end of the bar, searching for Monroe, playing Jared and?—

I gasp. My heart stutters. "Ohhhh."

Vikas laughs. "That's right. We told you the vibes were on point."

And so is my dating coach. He's wearing the hell out of a deep blue suit that hugs his strong body. No tie. Monroe's holding a tumbler of amber liquid, and he hasn't seen me yet. He's sitting at the bar, casual, relaxed, and…powerful.

When I swallow, I realize my throat is dry.

"Go get your happily ever after," Bowen says.

"I will," I say to them, and my voice sounds a little floaty. Hell, I feel a little floaty as I head to the bar.

As I walk, Monroe's gaze swings to me. His eyes darken, smolder, glimmer. He never looks away.

It's thrilling and gives me hope for this date.

When I reach him, the butterflies are flapping full speed in my chest. "Hi. You must be Jared. I'm Juliet."

I stick out a hand, and when he takes it, he looks like he's about to whisper a reverent wow. But he must switch gears because the words that come out of his mouth, in a slightly deeper tone than usual, are "Looks like it's my lucky night."

What?

That's kind of a trashy opening line.

Immediately, all the sensual vibes slip out the door as Monroe/Jared pats the barstool next to him. "What's your poison, babe?"

Babe?

Seriously? He's playing one of those first date babe guys? This is so not fair.

"Anything's fine," I say, irked that Monroe's already tanking the date. Is he doing this deliberately? And do I need to summon Jumanji already?

"You need to get the Woodford Reserve. Only the best," he says in that voice he must have assigned to this character. He licks his lips wolfishly. "And you look like you deserve the best."

I arch a skeptical brow. It's a compliment, but it's also too much. "Sure. Sounds good," I say, keeping my tone even. I don't want to let on how doubtful I am. I truly want to try this experiment.

He lifts a finger toward the bartender, who strides over. "What can I get for you?" the man in the leather apron asks me.

"Your best Woodford Reserve for the gorgeous lady," Monroe says. "And put it on my tab."

"Will do," the man says, then heads off.

The second he's gone, Monroe turns back to me. But right before he tries some new showy tactic, I grab the reins of the date and turn the conversation in a different direction—a more real one. "You said you worked all day. Sounds like you're a busy man. What is it about real estate that excites you?"

There. That's better than his subtle and not so subtle brags.

For a second Monroe blanches, like he didn't expect me to steer the ship. But he adjusts quickly. "What's not to like? I get to wheel and deal all day long."

"And that's your passion?" I ask, trying to have some meaningful get-to-know-you time.

He leans back, smirking. "I have a lot of passions, Juliet."

Then he winks.

He fucking winks.

I slap a palm on the table. "Juma—" slips past my lips, but then I slam my mouth shut. Nope. I'm sticking to the date plan. I'm not backing down. I'm here to practice.

I strap in and play the game as the liquor arrives. We drink and he brags about the size of his properties, the quality of the liquor, and the frequency of his CrossFit workouts.

It's not awful.

About thirty minutes in, I've managed to endure more deal talk than I'd like. But I'm a trooper. "So you've been into the slow-dating thing lately?"

Proudly, he nods. "Definitely. It works for me since there isn't a lot of free time between the gym and my work."

The logic doesn't entirely add up, but I still think his slow-dating penchant has to be a good sign. "It's nice to get to know someone. Just like this. Out and about in real life. Not texting. Not on the app."

"Absolutely. There's nothing like meeting right away for the slow-dating lifestyle."

Something definitely doesn't add up there. "Right away?"

He flashes a cocky grin. "Well, I do like closing deals. I'd like to close some more now."

I hold up my hands like What gives? "Jumanji! Jared said he likes slow dating!"

Monroe drops his facade, his expression turning serious. "Jared said in his bio that lately, he's really into slow dating."

Now I'm even more confused. "Right. That's the same thing!"

Monroe shakes his head, sadly. "No. Because what he meant is he's trying a new tactic to get laid."

I jerk my gaze away from him, frustrated, and a little hurt. "Why would you say that?" I mutter.

"Lately and really are the key words. He's overselling his dating approach in his bio, and since this new tactic is something he only started recently, that translates into it's his new tactic to get you to sleep with him."

My stomach churns. I feel so stupid. "Are you sure? What about the things Jared and I have in common? I love my job. He loves his job. We both like to exercise."

Monroe is quiet for a moment or two. "Juliet," he says gently. "He's in love with power. He goes to CrossFit to look good naked. He's trying to impress you with the size of his wallet. And he's only into so-called slow dating as a code for getting you naked."

When Monroe says that, his gaze travels up and down me, lingering on my corset for longer than I'm used to from him. Like he wants to get me naked. I'm not sure if it's a Jared stare or a Monroe gaze, or why I like it so much, especially when I feel so foolish.

Because Monroe isn't wrong. They all add up, those red flags I didn't see.

"I thought Jared would be a good one," I say, horrified and dismayed. "How did I miss everything, and how did you see it all?"

He tucks his fingers under my chin, then lifts my face so I'm forced to look at him. His eyes are kind, caring as he says with sincerity, "I recognize all the bad boys because I've studied them. I can see them coming. And you have a big heart. You want everyone to have the benefit of the doubt. It's one of the best things about you."

My heart warms from the compliment. "I do. I don't want to become cynical. I wanted to believe he had promise," I say. But I still wish I'd done a better job at picking. This dating practice is suddenly much more overwhelming than I'd expected. "I feel like I have to learn a whole new language. Maybe I've been doing everything wrong all along."

I sigh heavily, then turn my glass in an aimless circle.

"We all do," he says, reassuring. "I bet I do lots of things wrong on dates. Feel free to tell me," he says, and it sounds like he just wants me to feel better.

Which I appreciate. But since he's been honest with me, I ought to be with him. "You role-played a little too hard," I say.

He nods crisply. "Noted." That's all. He doesn't protest. He doesn't deny. He simply adds, "I'll do better next time."

Next time.

My hopeful heart reappears. There will be a next time. I'll try again. I'll learn from this. Hell, I'll learn more from tonight than I ever would from a dating podcast. This is in-the-trenches education.

"Thanks," I say, then fidget with the napkin and glance toward the door. Vikas and Bowen are seated in a booth, cuddled up together. Vikas has an arm slung around his fiancé, and they look happy. Vikas glances my way and gives me a furtive thumbs-up in question.

I smile and nod, then return to Monroe. "I should go."

He reaches for my arm. "I'll give you a ride obviously."

As he settles up, I reapply my lipstick, then tuck the tube back into my purse. When he's done, we walk to the door and I wave goodbye to my new friends, then leave. When I head down the stone path, my attention lands on a gleaming black limo, waiting at the curb.

"Someone in there is a big roller," I whisper.

Monroe is quiet, but when I turn his way, he's smiling smugly. "Jared is."

A laugh bursts from me. "You got a limo to take me back to the house?"

Monroe clears his throat, then adopts his Jared voice and persona again. "Like I said, I'm really into slow dating and deal-making."

He's too much. Too committed to the role. And I'm too amused. I slide back into the game as well, playing the part, stepping closer, fiddling with the lapel of his suit. "Is this how you close deals, Mister Real Estate?"

A low rumble escapes his throat as he stares down at my hand on him. He covers it, pressing my palm more tightly against his firm chest.

"Is it going to work?" His smile burns off. In its place is heat and want.

My pulse surges. I glance at the limo, then at Monroe, then I drink in the whole vibe he has going tonight—the suit, the attitude, the red carpet of gifts.

They're coming from Jared, but really, they're from Monroe.

And they're for me.

Impulsively, I tug on the lapel, dragging him a touch closer. "Maybe it is."

He runs his thumb down my cheek, making me shiver. Stopping at my chin, he says, "Good. Because I can tell you for sure that there's one thing bad boys do better."