The chagrined smile he gave her said everything she needed to know. He was suggesting they sleep together. Even though they’d bored each other. Even though they had about as much in common as a grasshopper and a skyscraper. And he’d said it as if it were a totally normal thing to suggest.
She tilted her head. “So even though we clearly don’t have anything in common and this date has been pretty boring, you’re inviting me to go to your place?”
Now it was Doug’s turn to blink like an owl. His smile faltered. “Wow, you don’t pull punches, do you, doc?”
She had a tendency to blurt things out and speak her mind, but she wasn’t going to apologize for it. “Am I reading the situation wrong?”
He chuckled and adjusted his tie. “No, you’re not. I like your honesty. The date hasn’t gone as well as either of us had probably hoped, but I think we’re just two very busy people who have a hard time talking about anything but work. But”—he shrugged—“that also means we’re two people who could probably stand to blow off a little steam without worrying about who’s going to call whom tomorrow. You’re attractive and smart. Physically, we’d probably work out just fine. It could still turn out to be a good night.”
Taryn considered him. That was the first thing he’d said all night that made some sense—or at least had a shred of logic to it. Maybe Kincaid hadn’t been totally off base with this match. When Doug dropped the smooth-talking, I’m Mr. Important act, he was almost likable. Almost.
But it’d been longer than Taryn cared to acknowledge since she’d slept with anyone, and if she was going to break that dry spell, she wanted to make it count. She’d had It’s convenient and we like each other well enough sex before. It’d always been vaguely unsatisfying during and then awkward after. She’d sworn to herself after the last uninspired hookup that she’d wait for some kind of Oh my God, I must get this guy naked spark. So far, she’d only gotten that watching the occasional movie with a hot actor in it.
She tried to imagine tugging off Doug’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, running her hands over his chest, letting him touch her. Her internal interest meter swung to the far left, to the icy tundra zone. Nope.
She pulled her purse onto her lap and gave Doug a polite smile as the waiter dropped the receipt and card back on the table. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of work left to do tonight.” And probably a James Spader movie to watch.
“You sure?” he asked, looking genuinely disappointed.
She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “Yeah. Thanks so much for dinner, though.”
“Here. Let me walk you out.”
She let him lead her with a loose hand on her lower back through the restaurant and out into the muggy spring air. A few cars whizzed by on the damp downtown street, but otherwise, this part of Austin was pretty chill on a Friday night—only a couple of restaurants and after-work-type bars were open, mostly frequented by the locals living in the condos along this stretch. The tourists had more exciting places to be. She’d always liked this part of town.
She turned to Doug and put out her hand to shake his. “Thanks again. It was nice to meet you. I’ll be sure to call you when I decide to invest in some mutual funds.”
His face lit up. “Oh great. Here, let me give you my card.”
She didn’t have money for mutual funds, but she accepted the card and tucked it into her purse like a peace offering. “Thanks.”
“And if I run across any sociopaths, I’ll send them your way…” He cringed. “Wait, that was supposed to be a joke, but now that I say it out loud…”
She smirked, amused. “It sounds like a threat.”
His cheeks dotted with red in the glow of the streetlight. “I didn’t mean it that way. Sorry, after what you’ve been… That was kind of horrible. Sorry.”
Her stance on Doug softened a little more at his obvious embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t so much a narcissist as a guy trying to be smooth and confident when he was just as awkward at this as she was. Plus, once people knew who she was and her history, they inevitably put their foot in their mouth about it and forgot everything else about her. It was like some weird disease.
She’d gotten used to it. Her past either freaked people out or morbidly fascinated them. She wasn’t sure which was worse—pity or rubbernecking. Flip a coin. At least Doug had made it through the whole date without asking her about the Long Acre High shooting. He got points for that. “It’s fine. I know that’s not what you meant.”
His shoulders sagged in relief, and he met her gaze. “I really do think it’s remarkable what you’re doing. I’m not sure I’d be able to bounce back after something like that. I definitely wouldn’t be able to dive into research about school shootings. I’d probably never want to think about it again. I’d be a total ostrich.”
She laughed, picturing Doug sticking his head in the sand in full suit and tie. “Ostriching is a valid reaction.” She slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “That might’ve been the route I would’ve taken if I remembered that night like my friends do. But my mind has blocked most of it out.”
His brown eyes widened. “Seriously?”
She nodded, though she got that familiar uncomfortable twist in her stomach at the oft-repeated lie. “I lost my sister. I remember that part. But I have no solid details of the rest of the event.”
“Wow, that must be kind of scary.” He tugged on his tie as if it’d gotten too tight. “I’m not sure I’d like knowing there are memories I can’t access. Doesn’t that make it hard to, like, move on?”
Move on. Was that a thing people really did after something ripped your entire world in two? Move forward, maybe, but moving on seemed like a ridiculous expectation. That was like saying Why don’t you move on from your personality and get an entirely new one? Taryn lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have to remember that night to know how important it is to make sure those kinds of tragedies don’t happen again, you know? I’ve got all the information I need.”
Doug tucked his hands in his pockets, his gaze serious as he nodded. “Now I feel kind of shitty that I was so checked out at dinner. I’d like to see you again, do better, really get to know you ins
tead of being so distracted by work. You think I can have a do-over?”
Taryn smiled, though it felt a little brittle. Now she’d captured his interest. She was beginning to worry that the only thing others found interesting about her was her tragic history. That was goddamned depressing. “How about as friends next time? No pressure to impress.”