First Time: Penny's Story (First Time (Penny) Book 1) (3 page)

It didn’t seem to bother him. “Well, they
don’t really have much of a choice about letting me in. My dad is
American.”

“
You’ve got dual
citizenship? I’ve never met anybody who had that before!” I had no
idea why that seemed so cool to me. Probably because I’d literally
never been out of the country.

He grinned at me. “Well, I’m glad to be your
first. I hope it was amazing.”

I froze. Just for a second, but enough that
he must have noticed, because we both stared at each other with
this deer-in-headlights look.

He couldn’t have possibly known where my mind
went, or why, when he said that; I’d expressly asked Sophie not to
mention the virgin thing, and I trusted that she hadn’t. So…that
could be a sign.

I filed the coincidence away, in case more
came up later.

“
What about you?” he asked.
“Where are you from?”

“
Pennsylvania. Harrisburg.
Very upper-middle and boring.” Nothing like New York. I wished I’d
been born and raised in the city, like a “real” New Yorker. “But
then, I moved here, gosh, almost five years ago, and it completely
changed me.”

There was that smile, again, that adorable
smile that had made me immediately like him.

Well, sort of immediately. I just hadn’t
known it at the time.

“
You grew a second head?” he
joked. “Or you shed the superfluous head you already
had?”

“
Thank god. That second one
was totally ugly.” When he teased me, it didn’t feel like something
I had to be defensive about. When Brad had done it, it had always
felt like a put-down. “I just meant I went from having a
personality that had been written for me by all the people around
me, to coming to this place where I was a blank slate. I didn’t
have to fit in with my clique back home anymore—we were so The
Plastics—”

He made a confused face. “Plastics?”

Oh, yeah. He hadn’t been in
middle school when that movie came out. “Yeah, from
Mean Girls
? It’s a movie.
Anyway, I felt like I had to fit in with them, I had to get perfect
grades, make my parents happy. Now, I’m here, and I get to be
whoever I want.” I couldn’t keep a straight face; I knew how silly
and idealistic that sounded. “And, someday, I’ll figure out who
that person is.”

He tilted his head and shook it sadly. “I
hate to break it to you, but no, you won’t. Look at me. I’m
fifty-three years old, newly divorced, absolutely none of my life
goals accomplished, and I’m out on a blind date.”

“
I’m on a blind date, too,”
I pointed out.

“
Yeah, well, you’re on a
blind date, but you’re on a blind date thinking you might meet
someone new and exciting you can really connect with. I’m just
terrified that you’re going to start laughing at me.”

I did start laughing, but not because I
thought he was pathetic. It was because he somehow managed to be
confident and vulnerable at the same time. I felt like I was
actually getting to know him, in a way that was more honest than
first dates usually felt to me.

“
See, we’re there already,”
he joked.

“
Gosh, is that what I have
to look forward to at fifty-three?” My laughter faded into
contemplation. I studied him a moment, then turned back to my food.
“You know, I like you a lot better here than in some stuffy
restaurant,” I said, my heart beating in my throat the whole time.
I didn’t just like him
better
. I
liked
him. Enough that it bummed me
out to think this might just be a one-time date due to the age
thing.

He cleared his throat. “I find you just
unbearable, with your beautiful face and your infectious laughter.
I haven’t had a fun night like this for a while, and I just hate
it.”

I looked down, too embarrassed and flattered
by his comment. I had to change the subject, or he’d see how giddy
I was from his compliments, but my brain went totally blank. I
tried to remember any other pre-game intel I’d gotten and
thankfully remembered a bit. “Sophie told me you’re an artist?”

“
Ugh.”

Okay. Ugh. Not great. Thanks, Sophie.

“
Am I not supposed to
ask?”

He grimaced uncomfortably. “You can ask.”

Since he’d given me the go ahead, and I was
curious enough to ignore the part where he’d only reluctantly given
me permission, I looked back to my food and asked, “What do you do?
Painting, sculpture—”

“
Drawing,” he interjected.
“Portraiture, mostly. Figure drawing.”

“
So, people.” Nope. I was
not going to imagine posing for him. That was too
Titanic
a road to go down
when I was already seriously attracted to him. “Are you any
good?”

“
Now, how am I supposed to
answer that?” For a second, he sounded like he might be angry with
me, and it shocked me. As he went on, it was clear that he was
teasing me, again. “Am I any good? If I tell you, ‘yeah, I’m
fuckin’ great,’ I sound like I’m bragging. If I say, ‘No, I’m
shite,’ it’s like I’m fishing for compliments. Either way, I come
off a fucking prick.”

I couldn’t help my startled burst of giggles.
I covered my face with one hand. “That is the most swearing I’ve
ever heard on a first date.”

“
This is me on my best
behavior. I may as well own up to it, now,” he said, like he truly
didn’t give a, well, a
fuck
what I might think. It was nice to not get treated
“like a lady”.

I put my food down. I’d only been picking at
it, anyway, and not to impress him. I was just too excited to eat.
The date had seemed doomed before it even began, but now I saw all
kinds of possibilities ahead of us. Possibilities I was even
willing to open up a teeny can of hope for.

But it was way too early to get any farther
than “gosh, I hope he calls me after this”. One of my biggest
problems was creating expectations and setting myself up for
disappointment.

I reached into the paper bag our takeout came
in, feeling for the fortune cookies. “Okay. We have to find out
what our future holds.”

“
Or our lucky numbers and
how to say ‘pork’ in Chinese,” he said dryly. The wrapper crinkled
in his hand as he opened it.

“
I’ll have you know, I take
these things very seriously.”
Like
horoscopes and numerology and tarot cards
,
I did not say, because I didn’t want him to think I was some
granola-fed new-age indigo child. I was just a little
superstitious, but most people couldn’t tell the difference between
the two.

“
What, fortune cookies?” He
sounded surprised, and a little wary.

“
A fortune cookie is the
reason I walked into that restaurant tonight.” I cracked mine apart
and fished the paper out. “Aren’t you glad I did?”

“
I am. Maybe I’ll start
putting more stock into these, then.”

“
Mine says, ‘Humor usually
works at the moment of awkwardness.’” Wow, that summed up,
basically, our entire date. That one was going into the jar. It was
definitely a sign.

He hadn’t said anything, yet, and there
couldn’t have been that much to read. “What does yours say?” I
prompted.

“
Nothing, it’s stupid.” He
crumpled it in his hand. “And it’s got a typo.”

“
A lot of them have typos.”
I reached for the paper, and he jerked it away. My forward momentum
didn’t stop, and I caught myself with a hand on his
knee.

Hmmm. Innocent, accidental physical contact,
and he hadn’t recoiled? Under the guise of trying to grab the
printed fortune, I leaned across him.

He moved his arm out of my reach. “No! I
don’t want you to see my lucky numbers and steal the lottery
winnings that are rightfully mine.”

The side of my boob pressed against his
chest, and it was enough of a distraction that he dropped the
paper. I caught it and sat back, trying to disguise my rapid
breathing. Whether it had been playful or not, being that close to
Ian was a surprising turn-on.

I looked down at the red
print on the scrap of paper in my hand.
The
love of your live will step into your path this summer.
Well, there was the typo. But holy shit, what kind
of fortune was that to get on a first date?

Not to mention the fact that that his first
lucky number was an eight, and in numerology, my lifepath number
was eight.

It was a sign.

Oh my god, it was a total sign.

I had to keep it cool, but the laugh I faked
came out like a pig snort, and I sounded so ditzy when I said,
“Well, I hope she hurries up. It’s already August
twenty-first.”

When I looked at him, I
couldn’t keep fake-laughing. I couldn’t say or do anything, at all,
because I’d never received such clear messages from the universe
before, and now even
I
thought I was reading too much into things.

So, maybe Ian wasn’t destined to be the love
of my life. That seemed like a long shot on a first date. But that
didn’t mean I couldn’t hope for a chance to find out.

We were sitting there, just staring at each
other, when the police officer came up the pathway.

“
Uh-oh.” I knew the park was
supposed to be closed after sunset. There was a sign at the gate
and everything. We’d broken the law. On our first date. This was
going to be a disaster.

“
NYPD,” the officer
identified himself. “Are you two aware that this park is closed
from sundown to seven a.m.?”

“
No, I can’t say as I
noticed,” Ian said, not even slightly intimidated. And there really
wasn’t any reason he should have been; as a white, middle-aged
taxpayer, he was pretty much safe from the police. I’d learned a
lot about that subject from my roommate.

“
Terribly sorry. We’ll go.”
Ian stood and tried to shake the officer’s hand, but the cop wasn’t
having it.

In fact, the officer looked suspiciously
between the two of us. Did he think we were in the middle of a
heist or something? “Miss, how old are you?”

Did he think I was drinking out here?
Trespassing, yes, but public intoxication? Absolutely not. “I’m
twenty-two. Do you want to see my ID?”

“
No, ma’am.” The cop wasn’t
looking at me, he was looking at Ian, like he was trying to figure
out something bad he knew we’d been up to. “Are we on a date
here?”

“
Yeah, a blind date.” What
kind of a question was that for a police officer to ask? But if he
was so interested in personal details, I could give them. “We were
set up by a mutual friend.”

“
A friend? You mind telling
me what kind of friend?”

“
A work friend.” I tried to
smile at him and use my feminine charm the way I assumed would be
effective with a policeman.

And then I totally
understood what he was getting at.
Penny,
you idiot.

I had to fix this. I stood and waved my
hands, trying to wipe away the entire notion he’d gotten into his
brain. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I am not a prostitute. Not that there’s
anything wrong with sex work. I mean, besides the illegality of it.
I don’t know why it’s illegal, I mean, if it’s ethical and nobody
is getting hurt—”

Shut up, Penny! Shut up now!

“
I’m sorry. I’ll stop
talking, sir.” But I didn’t stop talking. I didn’t stop at all.
“Officer. Is that impolite to call you sir? I’ve never talked to a
police officer before in a disciplinary…Am I getting
arrested?”

“
Penny works at a magazine,”
Ian explained. Thank god for him, because if I had kept going, I
would have admitted to something, even something I didn’t do, out
of a guilty conscience. He stepped in at the right moment and
prevented me from confessing to the kidnapping of the Lindbergh
baby. “I’m old friends with her boss, and she set us up. That’s
really all that’s going on here.”

“
Trespassing’s your idea of
romance?” the cop asked, but he seemed like he was starting to
believe us.

“
No, I took her to a very
expensive restaurant where neither one of us were having a good
time. This seemed like the better option. So far, I think it’s
going pretty well.” It was possible that Ian had the most charming
smile on the planet. But it was also possible that charm wouldn’t
work on a police officer who’d looked exhausted and pissed off the
moment he’d approached us.

“
I think it should be going
away from the park.” The way the officer said it, I didn’t think it
was a joke, but it seemed like it could have been a very dry one.
He pointed his flashlight down the path. “I’m coming back around
this way in five minutes, and I don’t want to see you
here.”

I nodded, ready to prove that everything was
on the up and up. “And we don’t want to see you, either.”

The look Ian gave me plainly said, “stop
talking.”

“
We’re going,” he promised
the cop. Then Ian reached for my arm and steered me gently toward
the bench. At his touch, my skin prickled all over with
need.

One of the worst things about my breakup with
Brad was the absence of cuddling. Brad had been a champion
cuddler—though in hindsight I suspected he’d never really been all
that interested in cuddling for cuddling’s sake—and I liked
touching other people. I needed it, like plants need water.

“
Are you cold?” Ian
asked.