I guess Old Newton had it right. Bodies in motion tend to want to stay in motion.

I type up some notes on how to integrate all of that into a booth design, zoning out for a while, until Cookie’s shrill voice explodes down the hall.

I glance up and find Mia watching me, her green eyes holding an undercurrent of sadness. I look down at my screen again, my stomach tightening. The things I said to her in the alcove at her parents’ house come to mind, and I feel my face heat.

What a fucking asshole.

I pulled the jealous boyfriend card on her after one kiss. But, Jesus. What a kiss. And it wasn’t just Saturday night. It was our first night, too. Mystery evening. In which I woke up with a hot, smart, funny naked girl in my bed.

Who’s now my co-worker.

Who’s also ironically making it hard for me to get any work done.

Christ. This has to go away.

The only real mistakes are failures to learn, Coach Williams used to say, and my ass is learning. I’m not going to let this girl ruin my plans. I’m not going to let her become an obsession.

Or maybe I am.

Jabbing at my keyboard, I pull up RobbyDTF’s profile. Robby Down to Fuck. Excellent freaking choice, Mia. I shake my head, staring at his fake-tan mug. Zooming in, I notice he has bad teeth. Then I spend the rest of the day thinking of ways I can force him into much-needed orthodontia. Really, I’d be doing the guy a favor.

At six, I stand and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder. “So,” I say to Mia. I’ve denied myself the pleasure of looking at her for hours, but the flipside is that now I feel like I’m starving for the sight of her. I rub a hand over my hair, trying not to stare. “See you tonight at Rock Sugar?”

“Wow,” Mia says. “Time flies.”

I almost roll my eyes. Time did not fly. Today time broke a wing and had to be put down. I’ve just spent four hundred and eighty minutes thinking about Mia, looking at Mia, and actively not thinking about and looking at Mia.

She shuts down her tablet and pulls her purse onto her lap. Usually it drives me nuts when girls can’t find crap in their purses, but I’m a fan of this quirk of hers. Free pass to check her out. Which I shouldn’t be doing, but screw it. A man only has so much self-control.

The girl is pure sex appeal, and those boots are killer on her. I’m picturing her with only those boots on when Mia comes up with her keys and stands.

“Do you need a ride?” she asks, scooting her chair in with her hip.

“Ethan?”

“What? Oh, no thanks. I’m good. Rhett’s waiting for me.”

She nods, and I can’t tell if it’s disappointment I see in her eyes. “What about tonight?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got Jason’s car.”

“Okay . . . How’s it going living with Isis?”

It’s cool that she asked. I want to tell her, but things between us need to stay strictly professional. I drew a line in the sand on Saturday, and I’m not crossing it.

“Great,” I say, using the mother of all non-answers.

“Great,” she says, giving me a taste of my own medicine.

She pulls her purse over her shoulder. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Hold up,” I say. “Should we have an abort signal or something for tonight? If it’s awful, we should be able to communicate that, so we can bail each other out. What do you say?”

What I really want is to be able to step in if she needs it.

Mia shrugs, like she can’t imagine Robby Down to Fuck being anything other than a complete gentleman. “Okay. How about we text the word Baudelaire?”

I shake my head. “Too hard to spell under duress. How about . . . Cookie?”

She smiles—a real smile—which guts me. I can’t fuckin’ win. She can be cold, or warm, or anything between and it doesn’t matter. I’m screwed.

“Cookie it is,” she says. “See you at eight.”

“Okay,” I hear myself say, but it’s not.

Nothing about this scenario is okay with me.


I’m the first one to arrive at the restaurant, which is a bad call. Technically, Rock Sugar isn’t Chinese food, it’s Asian fusion, but my body can’t tell the difference. The smell takes me back to that night two months ago with Alison, and a queasy feeling settles in my gut.

I grab a booth and take a moment to give myself a little pep talk about recommitting to the single lifestyle, which was the plan pre-Mia, and still is the damn plan. Land the job. Pay off some student loans. Apply to law school. All that stuff.

I open the menu and stare at it, wondering if I’m going to hurl before the food even gets here.

I feel Mia’s arrival before I see her. I look up and sure enough, there she is, following the hostess through the restaurant. She’s wearing a dress—red, I’m almost sure—that makes the black one from earlier look tame by comparison. Her curls are smoothed into long waves and she looks completely different but still the same—still unbelievably hot.

I watch as the hostess brings her to a table only a few feet away from my booth and says. “How’s this?”

Mia does a double take when she sees me. “Oh . . . Um, this is fine.”

Then she sits so that I have a perfect side view of her perfect body.

Awesome. Looks like I’ll be spraining my peripheral vision tonight.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. Five minutes until our dates get here. Opening the menu again, I stare at lists of food, not really seeing anything but letters, until Mia crosses her legs. Then my eyes pull over like they’re attached by a string.

She looks goddamn amazing. Couldn’t she have worn sweatpants? A trench coat, maybe?

She catches me looking, so I clear my throat.

“Ready for the Robster?”

“Ready. You?”

“Yep.”

We fall quiet but keep looking at each other. I wish it were awkward, but it’s not. Looking into her eyes just feels right.

Mia looks away first, her attention shifting to the front of the restaurant, where a girl with a turquoise gift bag in her hands is speaking to the hostess. I recognize my date, Raylene. Walking up right behind her is RobbyDTF in the flesh, scanning the restaurant with the hungry look of a great white shark.

I get up from the booth, raising a hand so my date sees me.

“Ethan Vance?” she squeaks as she walks up. She does a mini-clap thing, then looks me up and down with such crazy excitement on her face that I want to make a break for it right then. “I’m Raylene Powers. My gawd! Aren’t you gorgeous? How much fun are we going to have? Isn’t this night already the best?”

I have no idea which question to answer, and I’m too busy focusing on the full-body hug Robby is giving Mia. He’s practically lifting her off the ground.

“Nice to meet you, Raylene.” I shake her hand, trying to ignore the way her inch-long fake nails dig into my skin. Then I wait for her to sit down before I take the opposite seat.

Raylene reaches for her dinner napkin. Her hand freezes, hovering there for a second, her fingertips trembling slightly. “Do you want me to sit next to you?” she asks. “I just sat here because it seems customary, but I can move if you want, so we’re closer? What do you think? Too much or okay?”

Holy shit.

Holy. SHIT.

“What—no,” I stammer. “I think we’re good like this.”

Raylene’s shoulders sag, and I see my night going up in flames, with my career roasting over them, all because I couldn’t survive a single date. Words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Raylene. If you want to sit next to me, by all means. Please do.”

“Great!” She scoots to my side. “That’s so nice of you. Charming, actually. People say that chivalry is dead, but I don’t know what they’re talking about.” As she speaks, she pulls over her place setting and straightens everything in front of her with total precision, like she sees only right angles. Then she straightens my fork and knife. Wine glass. Water glass.

“Perfect!” she says, when there’s nothing left. “We are ready to go! Isn’t this great? I’m already having so much fun. Aren’t you?”

Suddenly, I’m having a hard time processing everything. Raylene claimed to be twenty-four in her profile, but I’m thinking she’s ten years past that at least. The other thing is the way I can see white all around her dilated pupils, like she just saw a ghost. And won a new car. Then there’s the way Robby is talking to Mia’s rack, like her eyes are at chest level. It’s really too fucking much to handle.

A bead of sweat runs down my ribs. I draw a deep, deep breath—then blow it back out as I see a steaming plate of kung pao noodles go by.

Too late. My stomach twists.

“Ethan?” Raylene says.

“Yeah?” I’m boxed in. The only way I get out of this booth is by climbing over it, and I’m actually considering it. There is a part of me that’s dying right now. Dying and screaming Cookie! Baudelaire!

Raylene turns a little, hiding a smile behind her shoulder in a gesture that I think is supposed to be coy. “I brought you a little something. Don’t worry, it’s nothing extravagant. I wouldn’t do something that forward or slutty. That’s totally not my style.” Raylene’s eyes go even wider and drop to my pants before coming back up. “I made triple-quadruple sure this was okay with the salesman at the store. He said this was the perfect thing for a first date. Not too much. Just right.” She hands me the gift bag, which says Tiffany’s on the side. “So, here. Open it!”

“Wow, Raylene. This is really nice of you, but I can’t—”

“Yes, you can! Open it!”