His Curvy Enemy - Curvy Girl Dating Agency

Eva took a deep breath, almost as if she had to prepare herself to deal with me. Most of the time I’d take that as a compliment, only her expression and the set of her shoulders didn’t make it feel like one. “On the upside, the dates can only get better from here.” Her smile was a little too bright and her gaze couldn’t quite meet mine.

“If not, your business is in serious trouble, and it has nothing to do with me.” I shook my head. “How in the hell did your proprietary algorithm match us?”

“You were an eighty-seven percent compatibility match, based solely on the intake interviews. Perhaps one, or maybe even both of you, could do with a bit more insight into your actual wants and needs.”

I huffed out a laugh, watching Eva as she hopped onto the barstool beside me. “Couldn’t possibly be that your algorithm is whacked?”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” With effortless ease she waved down the bartender and ordered more drinks, without asking what I wanted. “The algorithm matches specific markers that are proven to increase compatibility, but only if you’re honest. The system must know that you don’t want a relationship.”

I barked out a laugh and shook my head. “No one’s buying that crap, not even from your pretty little mouth.” My words shocked those red painted lips into a perfect O shape.

“It’s true, but also Priscilla came on a little strong.”

“A little? I thought that kind of talk was bad date etiquette 101.”

The bartender returned with our drinks and a wink for Eva, who took a dainty sip and smiled at him. “Thanks, Colin.” She turned to me, a serious expression on her face. “Not at all. First dates are like interviews. You get to know each other enough to see if you’d like to know more.”

“Definitely not,” I said and knocked back half the tumbler of my favorite Scotch. “That was too much wedding talk and not enough talk about the weather or traffic.”

Eva tossed her head back and laughed. “You could have asked a few more questions, guided the discussion a little. Isn’t that what Your Best Bachelor would do, steer the conversation?”

She was right. I’d dropped the ball tonight. “I was afraid she’d find a way to turn sports talk into wedding talk.”

“Liar.” She laughed again. “You were probably afraid she’d say something to interest you.” Eva took another sip and swiveled toward me, crossing her legs while she examined me. Carefully. “What do you want in a woman? The fictional woman who doesn’t exist but if she did, could get you to commit—what’s she like?”

“Damn, woman, you don’t hold back, do you?”

She shrugged, her smile pleased as hell, heating my body all over. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it. Can’t you?”

She was flirting with me. I didn’t know much, but I knew when a woman was flirting and Eva was definitely giving off… vibes. It must’ve been the alcohol—at least, that was what I told myself as I leaned back to give each of us a few more inches of space. “I can.”

“Then tell me about her, the fake girl of your dreams.”

I thought about it for a moment, because it was a question I hadn’t really ever tried to answer. “Beautiful, of course.”

“Of course,” she said and rolled her eyes.

“Ambitious and determined, to do something great or be something impressive, not just a wife. Not that there’s anything wrong with wanting to be a wife,” I added, just in case.

“So, you have thought about it some,” she said absently. “And you think she doesn’t exist?”

I nodded. “An independent woman with a wicked sense of humor? If she does exist, she probably plays for the other team or she’s married to a football coach.” As women often said, all the good ones were taken. Or maybe they were good because they were taken.

“But Priscilla was all of those things and still, you didn’t want her. It’s almost as if there’s more to it than a few physical traits and some characteristics on a piece of paper.” Eva sat up tall and put a hand to her chest, eyes and mouth wide in feigned surprise.

“Those things work just fine for me.”

“Because anything can work for two or three days at a time.” This time, when she flagged down the bartender, Eva paid the tab and left him a big tip.

“Did you write your number on that twenty?” I heard how I sounded, but it was too late to do anything about it.

“No. If I wanted to give him my number, I would.”

“Seems like you were putting out all the signs,” I told her, annoyed as I pushed open the exit door and held it open for her.

Eva stepped out first with a laugh. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were jealous. If you must know, I do find him attractive. But he’s grieving a loss that might never heal and I won’t be a stand-in.”