Adventures in Online Dating Page 2

  “You never had a problem with me using a table all afternoon before, and I’d be bringing in new customers every half hour this way.”

  Damn her logic.

  Peyton piped up. “Hey, I don’t mind watching this adorable banter and all, but in case we eventually get coffee, I’ll just take a jumbo black with a shot of espresso.”

  Marshall jabbed the register. “This isn’t banter. This is me saying no in every language you can think of. I’m running a coffee shop, not the local midlife hookup joint. So, no. Nyet. Nein. Non. Qo’.”

  The glare Alexa shot him was fiery in a way he wouldn’t mind seeing in her eyes in another, more private context. “Did you just call me old?”

  Her friend, on the other hand, snorted. “More importantly, did you just refuse her in Klingon?” At his shrug, she laughed even louder. “All those years of Star Trek paid off. Alex, why don’t you just date Marshall? He’s funny and charming, besides you’re here all the damn time anyway.”

  Yeah. Why not?

  She shot her friend a glare that seemed chock-full of meaning, but one Marshall didn’t quite grasp. “Because I already have three kids. They need a man in their lives, not another child who will quote Star Wars at them and probably shares Brendan’s taste in short films.”

  “Ouch.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she started sputtering. “I meant if I’m old like you said, that means you’re young. Not…”

  He punched the register a few more times and gave their total. “I’m thirty-two and own my own business. I’m hardly a kid. And for the record, I don’t think you’re old.”

  With her credit card handed over, Alexa stared down at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. You’re just quite a bit younger than me, and you have a different worldview than the people I date.”

  “How’s that?”

  “For starters, you wear purple Converse and, like I said, you quote Star Wars at every turn. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just don’t see how we’d ever be compatible.”

  Marshall forced a smile, reminding himself she didn’t really know anything about him, and handed over her receipt. “The shoes are for the Colorado Rockies. And a lot of people quote Star Wars since it’s an infinitely quotable movie, but if you’re going to give me a hard time about that, you should probably know I also quote Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, the Die Hard franchise, and pretty much anything that seems to fit a given conversation.”

  “I stand corrected. You quote widely from movies enjoyed by teenage boys.” She sucked in a breath and gave him that damned close-lipped smile again. “I’m sorry—again. You know I think you’re a great guy. The two of us together sounds a lot like oil and water, though. Pretty in the right light, but not a great mix.” She scrawled on the receipt and handed it back to him. “If you really don’t want me utilizing the Bean Counter for my dates, I suppose I can relocate to Starbucks. It’s less convenient and frankly, overpriced, but I don’t want to impose.”

  Shit. That wasn’t what he wanted, either. “Just enjoy your coffee. We’ll talk after.”

  As she and Peyton proceeded down the counter toward Claudette, he put the receipt in the register, but not before he noticed she’d added a ten dollar tip to the order. Damn it. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Alexa was one of his best customers. Always tipped—insanely well on occasion—never complained, and always cleared out if it was obvious they needed her table. It wasn’t her fault he had some attraction to her that he barely understood himself.

  And did he really want to lose her to the monster that was Starbucks?

  The Bean Counter wasn’t failing, but it wasn’t exactly raking in cash, either. He tried to tell himself she was only one person, but she was one person who came in almost every day with her tablet and paperwork. One person who brought friends like Peyton—or her upcoming dates—who also spent money. He needed her loyalty.

  And if he were honest, he wanted her here. Even though she treated him like a child half the time and blurted out the craziest shit all the time, she was…refreshing in some way he was sure she would manage to boil down to math if he gave her a chance to explain it.

  He was actually a little curious—maybe even jealous—about her experiment. It was batshit crazy with a side of fucking nuts, but he wanted to see what kind of man actually managed to break through her oh-so-serious shell. He wanted to see her laugh again.

  It had only happened once. Her kids had been with her—school delay so they’d come for muffins—and one of them had made her crack up. The joy transformed her face from the beauty of carved marble to something truly stunning, something so alive it seemed almost impossible.

  That day, her smile had been wide and toothy and full of the kind of happiness most people only wished for.

  He wanted to see it again, if only to know it hadn’t been a fluke.

  Damn it. He was totally caving.

  Marshall busied himself with orders and cleaning, waiting until Peyton left before he approached Alexa to refill her coffee one last time before she would inevitably leave, too. “Here’s the deal. When you come here to do your work, you usually buy lunch or something, which basically pays for your hours of using the table. I’m worried that for dating purposes, you aren’t going to do that. Run some numbers—as long as you and your dates’ orders are covering the cost of the table, I guess I’m okay with you bringing your particular brand of crazy here on a daily basis. Deal?”

  She looked up and gave him her usual, close-lipped smile. “Perfect. I’ll have numbers for you before I leave.”

  So that was that. He stalked back behind the counter as the door chimed. Fuck. Three o’clock. High school rush hour. He didn’t have time to figure out why the agreement made him feel prickly again. He was getting paid. She’d hopefully get laid. It was a win-win. But one last glance at her table had him feeling like he’d somehow lost out in the deal.

  Chapter Two

  Alexa had spent two days organizing a methodology of how to choose men for her speed dates. Even at forty-two, she still got more messages on dating sites than seemed sane. Which meant she couldn’t possibly date them all, even at the rate she planned. At the end of the day, like so many other things in her life, it all came down to numbers.

  The site’s algorithms never seemed to produce the desired outcome, so she created a new one of her own and put it to work. Her profile clearly outlined not only her plan for the twenty-minute introductory dates but also included a questionnaire all interested parties had to respond to in their message to her. If a man didn’t bother reading or take the time to answer the questions, she moved on to the next. It made surviving the gauntlet of the online messages so much easier.

  Three hours after posting the plan online, she had more offers on the table than she really wanted to deal with, but she powered through, calculating their compatibility based on her formula. By the time she was done, she had her first three days of dates booked solid starting the following Monday. None of the men had balked at her plan the way Marshall had. In fact, several of them applauded her ingenuity, which was refreshing.

  But now that the day had arrived, deciding how to dress for her first round proved a bit more challenging. Normally, where a date took place gave her a good idea of attire. Dinner. Theater. Those had definite dress codes. But hanging out at her favorite coffee shop didn’t require…anything. Including makeup. Hell, Marshall probably would let her come in wearing pajamas and her favorite fuzzy slippers, but obviously, that wouldn’t do.

  In the end, she decided to leave on the suit she’d worn for a meeting that morning—deep burgundy skirt and jacket with black trim and a white silk blouse. Dressy, but not overly so. She traded her flats for heels and swapped out jewelry. Good enough.

  When she strode into the Bean Counter, however, she worried she had overdone it somehow.

  Marshall had just grabbed someone’s order and turned toward the register when he s
topped dead in his tracks and stared at her. Gaped really. It wasn’t until the customer—a young woman with more va-va to her voom than Alexa had ever seen outside of a nightclub—cleared her throat that he shook off whatever fugue state he’d entered and delivered her order. The woman stomped off in a huff.

  Marshall glanced at the piece of paper she’d handed him then stuffed it into his pocket. But the instant Alexa reached the counter, he turned all his attention to her. “What are you wearing?”

  “A…suit?” She glanced down at herself, ensuring that everything was in place and that her blouse hadn’t come unbuttoned. Nope. Perfectly put together and not a hint of skin showing that Marshall hadn’t seen a million times before. He’d likely seen more on those occasions when she’d come in wearing more casual attire.

  “Jesus. You look like you’re about to audition for a porno where the new male hire has to prove his worth to the boss.” Porn? Again? At least this time there were no tentacles involved. He handed over her double-double in a jumbo mug and tipped his head toward a chair with clear visibility to the door but not in the way of other customers. A reserved sign was tented on the tabletop in front of it. “Kept a spot clear for you.”

  Alexa still hadn’t quite wrapped her brain around the porn comment—or decided if it was supposed to be an insult—so it took a long moment for the remainder of his words to register. “Yes, that will be perfect. Thank you.”

  Without thinking, she strode from the counter and sat down. Only once her butt hit the cushion did she realize she hadn’t paid for her coffee. That was hardly the way to start her new venture. She moved to stand, but Marshall appeared to sweep away the sign and drop a muffin in front of her. “You can get me after you’re done with the table since you agreed to make sure at least thirty bucks came from your three-hour reservation.”

  “Thank you. That will make things much easier.” She nudged the muffin away. “I don’t know if eating in front of these men is the best first impression, especially with the brevity of our dates.”

  He shoved it back in front of her. “If they aren’t okay with you eating, do you really want to see them again? Even if you don’t touch it, their reaction to a double chocolate muffin will tell you a lot about what kind of guy you’re dealing with.”

  “Like one allergic to chocolate?” She picked off a tiny piece from the edge of the muffin top and put it between her lips.

  The shrug and lopsided smile he gave warmed her insides as much as the mug of coffee heated her hands. “Or like he thinks you shouldn’t ever treat yourself. But that’s none of my business. I can take the muffin away.”

  He reached for it, and she laid her hand over his—warm, just like the coffee. “I already took a nibble. Leave it. The data might actually be worth having.”

  “Is everything always numbers to you?” He let his hand linger a second longer before wiping it on his apron.

  Once upon a time it wasn’t. Once upon a time, I was a goddamn romantic, but then divorce and necessity turned my world around. This time, she managed to keep the words inside, choking them down before they spilled out unbidden like they normally did around him, and smiled at him instead. “Numbers make sense. They don’t have hidden agendas or secrets. Numbers just are.”

  “So that’s a yes then?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, feeling momentarily chastised.

  He leaned close and whispered, as if he were sharing some deep, personal secret, “Good, because that’s a supersize muffin with extra chocolate chips. It’s a dollar more.”

  A tiny snort of a laugh escaped her as he turned and walked away. Humor. That was one thing she hadn’t accounted for in all her planning. What if a guy couldn’t make her laugh to save his life? Was that the kind of person she wanted around long-term? The kind she wanted influencing the boys?

  Smart. Kind. Successful. Generous. Stable. Those are your requirements, Alex. Anything else is a bonus.

  Still, she couldn’t discount the appeal of traits that weren’t on her top five. And as she watched Marshall behind the gleaming counter, she realized humor wasn’t the only thing she’d forgotten. Physical attraction. Chemistry. Though preferably none of that disarming quality he had. Living her whole life constantly worried about what she would blurt out because a guy tore down all her walls just by his presence wasn’t a sound plan at all. She’d allowed that to happen once before, and it had lasted just long enough to be devastating. Even so, she was definitely going to have to reconsider her metrics if none of this week’s dates panned out.

  As soon as the thought crossed through her mind, the bell over the door chimed and date number one strode in. Pierce. Forty-six. Software developer specializing in games. Not exactly her normal guy, but she’d googled him, and he was incredibly good at what he did, which was appealing in its own right. It also allowed him to adopt a more casual air than most people during the workday. Button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of slightly wrinkled khakis.

  Marshall would probably be proud of her for stepping out of her comfort zone if only he’d seen her comfort zone first.

  Pierce caught her eye as he stood at the counter and gave a small nod of recognition. In a moment, he was sliding into the seat across from her. “Hi, Alexa. Nice to meet you in person, and can I just say it’s a pleasant surprise to see that you weren’t using pictures from thirty pounds ago.”

  The comment took her aback almost as much as Marshall’s porn thing—but somehow this felt even less like a compliment. Thirty pounds? Not even years? Pounds? “Is that something you worry about?”

  “You’d be surprised how many women in their forties post pictures from college only to show up looking drastically un-college-like.” He sipped his coffee and pulled a face as if he thought it tasted bad. Considering she loved the coffee here, that was definitely a mark against him. After shoving the small to-go cup aside, he said, “So, what were you like in college? Wild child? I think I see a bit of the wild in your eyes.”

  If he did, it was because part of her wanted to leap across the table and attack him for being so sexist and the other part wanted to run and hide in the bathroom from his immediate sexual innuendo. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that Pierce had broken a record. She hadn’t needed twenty minutes—he’d taken care of showing his true colors in two. Alexa forced a smile on her face. “I was incredibly studious in college and played piccolo in the marching band.”

  Eyes sparkling, he opened his mouth to speak.

  She held a hand up, knowing exactly where this would be headed if she allowed him to continue leading the conversation. “And regardless of what you may have gleaned from American Pie, not everyone has band camp stories of the sexual kind. In fact, I’d say the percentages favor people not sticking any instruments in orifices other than their mouths.”

  “That’s too bad.” He gave her a lascivious grin.

  Alexa broke off a huge piece of muffin and stuffed it in her mouth. Before she was done here, her pictures might indeed be of the thirty-pounds-ago variety.

  …

  The men just kept coming. Marshall knew that Alexa’s planned schedule was twenty-minute date, ten-minute break, twenty-minute date, on repeat for three hours, but regardless of the fact that he was decent at math, he hadn’t really anticipated a new man every thirty minutes.

  Finally, at two o’clock, she sat alone at her table.

  This was the calm before the storm at three, when the Bean Counter became the local teenage hotspot, so Marshall found himself watching the door for her next date. Ten minutes into the guy’s twenty-minute slot, he realized Alexa was having her first no-show.

  A glance at her table indicated she was taking it in stride. She had her tablet propped in front of her and was typing away as if it were any other day and she hadn’t just been stood up. No way was he going to stand there and have her tough it out on his watch. He grabbed another muffin and walked over. “Break time?”

  She gave a halfhearted shrug.


  “David didn’t show.”

  “Did he message and let you know?”

  “No. But that just verifies my initial online assessment that he might be flaky. I don’t do flaky unless it’s a croissant.” She gave him that tight-lipped smile then spied the muffin. “And I really don’t need another muffin, especially with sitting here for days on end. They’ll all go straight to my ass.”

  Considering he’d seen the curve of her ass in all sorts of clothing, he didn’t think she had anything to worry about in that department. “And the problem there is…?”

  “I don’t need any extra padding, thank you very much.”

  He debated arguing, but there was no point in it, so he slid into the seat across from her. “Good thing it wasn’t for you then.” Without missing a beat, he took a huge bite of the muffin and chewed, wishing like hell he’d brought his coffee over with him. “What did you mean, that it verified he was flaky?”

  The way she watched as he took another bite made him question her resolve when the muffins were around. She wasn’t quite drooling, but she licked her lips more than once. “His profile had indicators. While he has a good job, what he wrote implied it’s his third new job in the past five years. And while that isn’t a definite of any sort, I did red flag it. In the end, though, he scored high enough to be given a chance. He just blew it.”

  “And the other guys?”

  “Date number one was a disaster, but the rest were fine. Nice, decent men.”

  “And how many of them are you going to talk to about a second date?”

  “Probably none. There just wasn’t any spark.”

  Spark? Somehow he didn’t get the impression she cared much about that—after all, it wasn’t quantifiable. “Right. Without something to ignite the fire, there’s really no point, is there?”