Play Dates (37 page)

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Leslie Carroll

our ringleader nailed Kiplinger with a water balloon and he sur-rendered immediately. After all, “boys will be boys.”

“Okay, you got me—for the nine zillionth time since I was born,” Claire admitted. “But something must have made you pick that ‘gotcha!’ ” I could
hear
her smiling. Her voice took on a sweet, probing quality.

“That Owen Michaels is a pretty cool guy, after all.” Oh, God, I just got an all-gooey face, I’m sure of it. Good thing I don’t have picture phone. I’m so embarrassed. “But, Claire, he’s a DB! On my Excel charts. Charles made me add him, even before Owen and I went out. And he looked like a total keeper on paper, until our actual date, and then I had to add him to the DB category. Although, to be fair, he’s a DB with a star.”

“Don’t be so judgmental. You can be picky about the stupid-est things, you know that, Mia? You’re just as bad as your friend Gina with that Adam-Sandler–movies guy. And what do you mean by ‘he’s a
pretty
cool guy after all’?” Claire quizzed. “He was
mighty
cool at your birthday. And that’s the only time I met him, but he didn’t come across as an uncool guy at all. Not to me, anyway.”

I told her about our date.

On St. Patrick’s Day, I’d run into Owen accidentally-on-purpose at The Corner Bar, like I’d more or less planned to.

Charles came with me, in case I had to bail. That wasn’t the

“date,” though. That was just hanging out with a lot of other people around, kind of like my birthday. And Owen had just come from meeting a client, so he was dressed in a suit again, like the first time we’d met. Two smart-ass, ex-dot-com guys who’d gone to Yale, went through job re-training or whatever they call it, something Claire’s ex should have tried. Anyway, these savvy MBAs, seeing all the construction always being done in New York, figured they’d cash in. On the other end.

Since there’s no empty land around here, you’ve got to demol-PLAY DATES

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ish the old structure first. So they went to Owen to help them start up Edifice Wrecks. I told him that just ’cause of the name alone, I’d hire them anytime I had a building I wanted to knock down.

We spent most of the evening talking business, since the atmosphere in the bar was not exactly romantic. Owen listened to my
Mi
♥
amore Makeup
pitch and was genuinely interested. It was so loud in The Corner that it was really hard to chat, but he seemed pleased to see me. He said he’d been thinking about me a lot since my birthday, but he’d gone out of town on business, and was swamped when he got back. He told me he was glad he’d run into me, complimented my green mini-dress, and asked me out.

This was cool. Him asking me out, I mean. Very cool. I feel a connection with this guy. I can’t explain it. He’s so different from me. So not my type. But he’s so easy to talk to. It’s like I’ve always known him or something. I have to ask Celestia. Maybe I
have
known him and it’s some past-life thing. I hope we were never siblings. That would completely skeeve me.

We set up a real date for the following Saturday night.

He rang the bell at six o’clock and I buzzed him in. When I opened my door, I could have died. It, like, wasn’t the same guy.

I mean, he can’t dress! I’d seen him in a suit and then a tux and then a suit again. And all three times he looked great. Like James Bond. But he must have a sartorial blind spot for dressing down.

Owen picked up on my reaction immediately. “Is there anything wrong, Mia? You said to dress casual.”

“
Caszh
isn’t really your thing, is it?” I said, too bluntly. I felt like shit as soon as the words were out of my mouth. His face went all red. “I am
so
sorry, Owen. I’m an asshole. Please don’t go away. What can I do?” I started to run around the apartment, panicky, picking up a pair of wine stems, looking for a bottle of good stuff. Anything to appease. “Truth told, I’m scared shitless about fucking up this date, and, hey, look! That’s what I did as

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Leslie Carroll

soon as you showed up! Appearance isn’t everything. It’s nothing, in fact,” I continued to blather.

I uncorked the wine and poured. “Now you’ll think I’m the most shallow bitch in New York, if not on Earth.”

Owen took a glass from my hand. “Slow down, Mia. Calm down. Deep cleansing breaths. All that.” He steered me to my couch and we sat, side by side. “Actually, I dressed this way on purpose.” He was wearing a Harris Tweed herringbone over a brown and orange argyle cashmere V-neck over a blue and yellow tattersall-patterned sportshirt. “I mean not on-purpose badly. This is the kind of thing I always wear when I go casual and I get ribbed about it all the time, but no one wants to tell me why. They’re too busy laughing at me, or else they don’t say anything. Even my sisters refuse to help. They’re all sparing my feelings, I guess.”

“You can’t do anything about your kin, but maybe you need to find yourself some new friends. Including me, probably, after what I said to you a few minutes ago.”

“Well, knowing the way you are, a real shoot-from-the-hip kind of person, I figured you’d be honest about it. I realize I need some help, here. But it’s like getting a math problem wrong, and you acknowledge that, okay, you got it
wrong
, but no one shows you
how
to get the
right
answer.”

“Honey, you need more than me. You need the Fab Five.”

“Oh, I’m not
that
bad,” he chuckled. “I’m a stickler for good grooming and you could eat off my bathroom floor. If you had really a mind to.”

“I think I’ll pass. But I believe you.” I laughed.

He raised his glass. “Cheers.” We took our first sips. “I’m okay with everything else, clothes-wise. I know how to dress up.

You’ve seen it. Three times already. So you know it’s not an accident.” He chuckled at his own expense. “I guess it’s a good thing I went into a white-collar profession.”

“How are your comedic skills? Because, with this,” I said, gesturing to his outfit, “you might get hired by Barnum and Bailey.”

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“I
was
a clown, actually. Back in college. I did kids’ birthday parties. I more or less sucked at it,” he added. “That’s when I decided that business school was a better bet for me.”

“I don’t want to spend our first date giving you wardrobe pointers,” I said. “But here’s a quick tip. Lose the sweater for now. ’Cause the jacket and shirt actually coordinate pretty well.”

“But I’m going to need it for where we’re going.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“A night cruise. The food may not be four-star, but it’s good enough. The view, however, can’t be beat.”

I love boats. “You made a good choice. I mean it. It doesn’t have to be a dinner cruise to get me revved up. We could paddle around Manhattan in a kayak with a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and a few cold beers and it would be a great date.”

Owen slipped his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

I snuggled against him on the couch. “I wasn’t kidding. You may not think it to look at me,” I added, indicating my leather pants, vintage top, and stiletto heels, “but I can be outdoorsy.

Depending on what it is. Just don’t ask me to go bungee-jumping.”

“What about diving?” Owen asked, letting his fingers do the walking through my hair. “I’ve been certified for years—I love it.”

“Never did it. But I’d be up for it, I guess—after I took a class or ten. I love water. I’m a Pisces, remember?”

And then the next thing I knew I was on his lap, straddling him, my knees digging into the couch cushions. I don’t know who

“put” me there—me or him—it was just an urge—and I couldn’t stop kissing him. He tasted like toothpaste and Merlot. I could have kissed him for hours, though I figured it might be best to wait until after dinner to suggest a remedy for his multiple fashion
faux pas
.

On second thought . . . “What time is our reservation?” I whispered.

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Leslie Carroll

“There’s only one sailing,” Owen whispered back. His fingers traced a line along my collarbone. “Should I cancel it?”

I weighed our options. “No. Let’s go. It’ll be cool. We . . . can pick this up when we get back . . . if you want.”

“I want. I very
much
want, Mia.” We straightened out our limbs and clothes. “Unless you think it’s too soon, and this was just a heat-of-the—in which case, that’s totally okay.”

I looked at him. Who knew he’d press all my buttons, ring all my gooey bells? And what a nice guy. I saw that when we first met.

And how sweet he’d been on my birthday, being such a knight.

That was long before I started to think about his lips. “The way I see stuff, there’s no set pace. Everyone’s—each situation is one-of-a-kind, right?” No need to tell him that I do tend to move faster than most chicks I know. Always have. It’s not a crime. Truth told, I’ve spent more time talking with Owen and seeing him, just as a person, not a lover, than with nearly every other guy I can think of.

Before I went to bed with them, I mean. In a Mia-way, this is a first.

“Well, you can’t dress down, but at least you don’t eat weird,”

I said to Owen after dinner. We strolled on the deck. It was kind of cold. Maybe that’s one reason he picked it. If you wanted the full effect of the view, you had to snuggle to stay warm.

“Eat weird?” he asked.

I explained the Serena thing. “We Marshes don’t trust people who eat weird. Except when
we
decide to do it.” I told him about my niece and the orange food month.

“You are a stunning woman, Mia,” he said, happy to change the subject.

“Ah, it’s all artifice,” I teased, mocking myself. “The makeup makes me magically youthful.” Suddenly I thought of Lucky Charms.

“Hardly,” he laughed. “I mean the makeup is nice and all, but what’s this about you and age? You’re only thirty. I was there, remember?”

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“And a good thing, too!” I cuddled into him. “I wouldn’t have been half as good at handling all that.”

“Nah. I bet you would have.” We kissed. His mouth felt soft on mine. Our lips touched, just gently, for a long time. “It’s one of the things that attracts me to you. Your ability to go with the flow. To not freak out under pressure.”

“You didn’t think I freaked out when we found out I was robbed?”

“That was nothing, compared to just about every other woman I’ve ever known. Including the ones I’m related to. My sisters are very girly-girls.”

I pulled away and smacked him on the butt. Playfully, but pretty hard. “And I’m not? I’m insulted, you know that?” I was only half kidding.

“Oh, boy,” Owen sighed. “Talk about finding yourself between a rock and a hard place. I’m damned either way, right?”

“Yeah. You are.”

“Mia, you are
very
feminine. You have nothing to worry about on that score, believe me. There is no doubt in my mind, or in the minds of all the other guys I’ve noticed noticing you. At Jake’s, on your birthday—”

“That may have been because I was running around the East Village in a strapless wedding gown in the middle of February.”

Owen pretended to think about that. “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point. But after the initial shock value, believe me, it was all about how you looked in it.” He brought me close and tipped my chin with his finger, tilting my face towards his. “Which was . . .”

he said, right before we kissed for about two straight minutes,

“breathtaking. Spectacular.”

“You’re not so bad yourself! Look!” I pointed to the Brooklyn Bridge. “Now,
that’s
breathtaking and spectacular. The lights look like diamond necklaces, don’t they?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re a hundred percent
girly-girl
, all right. I give

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you a kiss and a compliment and the very next thing you talk about is diamonds!”

“Nuh-unh,” I said nuzzling him. “You’re wrong, my sentimental friend. I gave you a compliment back. First.”

After Owen brought me home, we made out some more on the couch. We both stood up and I was about to lead him to the bedroom, but something made me stop. I turned back and told him,

“Please don’t think I’m a cock-tease because of this. Because, trust me, I’m not. No way. But . . . I can’t even believe I’m saying this after such a great date . . . and you . . . you’re so great . . .

and maybe it’s because you’re so great and because I have such a piss-poor track record that I want this to be different. For me, anyway. Can . . . can we wait a bit?”

He took me in his arms. “Of course we can, you nut! You don’t need to get yourself so worked up over this.”

“Oh, yes. I do,” I said. “Wait ’til you get to know me better. I
do
. Trust me on that, too.”

“No big deal, Mia. Whenever you’re ready.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not just saying that because I think it’s what you want to hear.”

“You sure about that, too? Because guys say they’re sure and they don’t really mean they’re sure. What they really mean is, ‘I can’t fucking believe I didn’t get laid tonight. And I bought dinner and everything!’ ”

Owen started to laugh. “That might be true in your experience, but I am not ‘guys.’ And I can only speak for myself, not these nameless, faceless, generic ‘guys,’ but I promise you Mia, that when I say something I mean it. So, take your time, and I’d love to see you again, if that’s okay.”

“It’s very okay.” I kissed him and walked him to the door. “I had a blast tonight.”

“Me, too.”

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“Thanks, Owen.” We shared another kiss at the door. “I’ll call you soon.”

I closed the door and went back to the couch. I liked the slight dent in the soft cushion where his ass had been. A goofy me-mento of his presence. I wondered if it still was warm. The cushion, not his ass. He’d probably hailed a cab when he got downstairs. Owen Michaels didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who took mass transit at 11 P.M., just to save a few bucks. I went to the phone and dialed his cell.