The Sexpert

“Hey.” He turns to face me. “So you’re not really afraid of bulls, right? Bulls are awesome.”

“No, I really am. When I was in school up at Colorado State we had Ag Day every fall. I don’t know where you’re from or where you went to school—”

“Originally from Kentucky,” he says. “Bennington for undergrad, then Berkeley for grad school. Art history.”

I snort. I can’t help it. That’s all funny. “Well, anyway. Ag Day is a big deal up there and the school actually has like… a farm? So they bring out the bulls for Ag Day and I swear to God, I was just minding my own business eating my waffle cone as I watched the cowboys do their cowboy thing. And this bull just comes charging up to me. Apparently, it had gotten loose while they were walking it around the stadium. And even though everyone insisted I overreacted and it was tame, I sorta… overreacted and… I don’t really think it was tame.”

“Did it trample you?” Andrew says, aghast.

“No, it licked my ice cream.”

His laugh is so loud I startle.

“It wasn’t funny,” I say. “Do you have any idea how big a bull actually is? That thing was a monster. Scarred me for life.”

“OK,” he says. “Forget the rodeo. But seriously, let’s have dinner tonight. Please?”

“I dunno. I think…”

“What? You think what?”

“I just… Pierce is my boss and…” And you two are probably going to talk about figuring out who this Sexpert chick from the internet is.

“He made a reservation for eight-thirty. Which is a ridiculously European thing to do. I’ll find out where and change it to six-thirty. Which is a very American time to eat. We can meet up then, have dinner first, and then you can scram before he gets there, if it makes you feel weird to hang with your boss socially. I get it. It’s like seeing your elementary school teacher at the grocery store or something.” He looks at me with these puppy-dog eyes that are totally unfair. “Please? I feel like taking you out is the least I can do to make up for stealing your charger.”

I smile at him and say, “Borrowing.”

Which makes him light up with delight. “So, is that a yes?”

I look at him. Consider how I should back away from this. It would be the smart thing to do. I mean, Pierce did ask him to figure out who the Sexpert is, and the more time I spend with him, the more likely it becomes that he will actually do that.

But he’s… he’s cute freeway guy. And well… “OK,” I say. “But I really gotta go now so—”

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go get keys, I’ll sign my lease and I can walk back to the TDH with you. I’m still new. Don’t wanna get lost.” He winks again.

OK. It’s not un-charming.

So I let him do all that. We go back to the leasing office where Cheryl pouts because she can tell Andrew is interested in me, not her, and we do our thing and pick up our respective keys.

And then he walks me back to work. And it sorta feels like he’s holding my hand, even though he isn’t.

And I’m starting to get the sinking feeling that very soon I’m really, really going to regret ever having let this guy borrow my charger.

CHAPTER EIGHT – ANDREW

The restaurant is French. Because of course it is. I’m sure that after he gave Myrtle carte blanche (that’s roughly all the French I speak) to make a reservation, he vetoed every one until she got to the French place. You gotta love him.

I approach the maître d’—realizing suddenly how much French works its way into the English language, especially where food is concerned—and she says, “Bon soir, monsieur, under what name is la reservation?” At least she’s actually French, like from France, or at least Montreal, so it doesn’t make me wince like it does when Pierce says stuff like that.

“Uh, Chevalier? Pierce Chevalier?”

“Ah, oui, Monsieur Chevalier. Pour deux. Your other party is already here.”

I drove in from Moab fourteen hours ago expecting to see what my new office and apartment are like, and maybe ask someone if they can get a ping-pong table put into the break room of Aureality, for, y’know, team-building and stuff (I really have no idea how to run a company, but I don’t plan on telling anyone that), and now I’m wearing a blazer and a pair of pants that aren’t jeans, going on an impromptu date with a girl I met during a traffic jam on the freeway this morning.

Colorado seems pretty solid, so far.

The dining room itself is appointed with burnished wood and soft lighting. The bar area is bustling with all the TDH denizens coming together after work to hook up and hit on each other under the pretense of talking about whatever important business thing it is they’re pretending to talk about, but the main room is still pretty sparsely populated this early in the evening. Which is partially why it makes it easy to spot…