I shrug. “Yeah, okay. When we first met you were a stripper and I wanted to date you then. This isn’t much different.”
“You—really?” she asks.
I smile. “Really.”
“But you realize that I help men get off over the phone. Like . . . intimately.”
“You’ve got to make a living, right?” I ask.
She blinks. “I mean, yeah, it pays good, and it’s actually safer than stripping. But it’s still sex work and I?—”
“Did you really think I’d have a problem with this?”
“Most guys would.”
I reach out and place my hand on her bouncing knee. “Look, I’m not a jealous guy. Like . . . at all. And as someone who frequents strip clubs? It would be pretty hypocritical of me not to support sex workers since they’re some of my favorite people.”
“But could you date one?”
“I’d date you.”
She closes her eyes for a long moment then looks up at me. “But the stuff I have to say, the way I have to act—how can that not bother you?”
I try to think of a reason but nothing forms in my brain. “Do you have feelings for those people?”
She shakes her head. “Well, no?—”
“And you kind of sort of have feelings for me or you wouldn’t have agreed to go out with me, right?”
A pretty pink blush paints her chest. “Yes.”
I shrug. “Then nope, it doesn’t bother me. Actually, it kind of intrigues me. Does this mean that you’re a professional dirty talker?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she laughs.
“Hey, just because I’m a fantasy phone girl doesn’t mean I dirty-talk on the first date.”
I raise my hand to my chest in mock disbelief. “I would never suggest it m’lady. A perfect gentleman is what I shall be this fine afternoon.”
Placing her hands in mine, I pull her up. “Okay.” She smirks again. “But maybe not too gentlemanly.”
“Perfect, because I don’t know if I’ve ever been called a gentleman in my whole life. Let’s go. And Stella?” I turn and look at the fluffy orange cat watching me from the window sill. “Be good, there’s a lot riding on this date.”
* * *
“Bowling?”she asks as we exit the car.
“You don’t like bowling?” I ask.
She taps a finger to her mouth. “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”
“You’venever—Jesus Christ. Okay, this should be an experience for you, then.”
“You’ll teach me?” she asks, an adorable wrinkle of worry creasing her forehead.
“Of course.”
I grab her hand and entwine our fingers. She grins at me, and we walk through the double doors into the noisy bowling hall. The bang of bowling balls shooting down the lanes followed by the clatter of pins being knocked down is something I’ve been familiar with my whole life. It’s somewhere I feel comfortable and confident, and I hope that comes across during this date.
“It’s loud!” she says when we get to the shoe rental counter.
