Bridget sipped her wine to wash down the chicken. “So, why are you home so early. I figured you’d…you know…be with Brianna for a while.”
“Are you saying you thought I’d be getting laid right now? You just assume I’m easy and put out on the second date?”
She squinted. “You’re so full of shit.”
I leaned in with a big goofy grin. “You owe the jar a quarter.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But you like me anyway.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why am I home so early?”
She nodded.
I debated my answer, just like I’d done for the entire drive home. Scratching my chin, I said, “Let me ask you something first. If you could pick any animal to be, what would you select?”
Rightly, Bridget looked at me funny. “I don’t know. Off the top of my head, I guess a stallion.”
“Why a stallion?”
“Because they’re strong, wild, and free.”
I nodded. “Good answer.”
“What would you pick?”
“A lion. Because they’re king of the jungle, of course.” I brushed back my hair that still needed a haircut and winked. “Plus. They have a good mane.”
Bridget laughed. “Figures.”
“Wanna know what Brianna said when I asked her?”
“Absolutely.”
“She said a Pomeranian.”
“The little dog?”
Bridget’s wine glass was empty, so I refilled it. “Yep. And before you ask, her logic was because it’s so cute.”
“So it’s not the most well thought out answer, but you cut your date short because of that?”
“Just wasn’t feeling it, I guess. So it didn’t feel right to feel it. If you know what I mean.”
“You’re bizarre, Simon Hogue, you know that?”
“I’m glad you said stallion, or I might have had to move out.”
Bridget and I sat in the living room and polished off the chicken and almost a full bottle of wine—most of it consumed by her. I realized she was starting to get tipsy when she loosened up a bit.
“Let me ask you something.” She pointed her wine glass at me and nearly spilled it. “Have you ever done online dating?”
“You mean like Match.com?”
“Yes.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She sighed. “You probably don’t have to. You’re…” She waved her hand up and down at me. “Tall and all hot and stuff. And you’re a doctor.”
“You think I’m hot?” I smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t have to use Match to get a date. What was I thinking? You probably just snap your fingers like Fonzie and the girls come flocking.”
“Who?”
“Am I that much older than you? Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Alright. But are you really thinking of joining an online dating site?”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“You think it’s too soon?”
“No. I’m not sure if online dating is safe.”
Bridget waved me off and then gulped back the balance of the wine in her glass. “It was a stupid idea anyway. I don’t even know how to date. It’s been so long.”
“Well don’t worry about that. It’s like riding a bicycle, you’ll get right back on.”
She mumbled. “I haven’t taken a ride in a very long time, either.”
Yep. Bridget was definitely drunk. “What about a fix-up?”
“You mean like a blind date?”
“Yeah. It’s safer than meeting a stranger.”
“I guess…”
“I’ll tell you what, Bridget, you let me fix you up, and I’ll let you fix me up. We can go out on a double date.”
“A double date?”
“What’s the worst that can happen? If you don’t like the bloke, at the end of the night you’re stuck coming home with me.”
She grinned. “Okay.”God, I feel like crap.
Lifting my head from the pillow, my initial thought was that I must have the flu. Then I remembered the bottle of wine I’d polished off last night with Simon. I groaned as I reached for my phone from the nightstand and squinted at the time. 8:45!
“Shit!” I jumped out of bed. Brendan was going to be late for school. Darting across the hall to my son’s room, I whipped the door to his bedroom open and found it still dark. “Brendan! Get up, buddy! We’re late.” Flicking on the light, I was surprised to see an empty bed, so I checked the bathroom before heading to the kitchen.
A shirtless Simon was standing at the stove. With just the flick of his wrist, he flipped a pancake over in the pan, before turning to see me.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
Good Lord, the man had some body. Smooth, tanned skin, chiseled abs that looked like they belonged on a magazine cover, and a deep-set V that made it rain inside the desert of my hungover mouth. Jesus—I don’t remember men looking like that. Not in real life, anyway. I had to look away. But taking in the rest of the room just added to the strange scene. Music was playing from the countertop kitchen speaker. Brendan was beating a drum on the table with one hand and finishing up his breakfast with the other. Simon pressed a button on some contraption on the counter, and a loud whirring sound blared for a minute. Then he poured whatever he’d made into a glass and turned to me. “Juice?”