me about it. I’ve agreed to try yoga with her when she gets back from belly dancing in Bali or whatever she’s doing. I haven’t seen her since the night of the pre-party. Speaking of the party . . . after my mom busted me lying about having a date, I never found out why you were minus a hottie on your arm?”
My brain conjured Gabi’s image from that night. Not what she’d worn but the dismay on her face when she’d admitted she’d overheard the conversation at Buddy’s. I wanted to crawl in a hole after that. But she’d accepted my apology with more class than I deserved and then we’d had a great time. So technically, I did have a hottie on my arm that night—she’d just been twisting it instead of hanging from it.
“Nolan?”
I looked at my cousin. “Sorry. I’ve been reassessing that aspect of my life too. Let me ask you this. Do you think I have a specific type of woman I’m attracted to?”
Ash blinked at me. “Whoa. Really? You want my honest answer to that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. You like ’em easy. Tall and leggy. Hair color doesn’t matter. Bra size doesn’t matter. Age doesn’t matter. Ethnicity doesn’t matter. Most often intellect doesn’t matter. You definitely don’t like them pushy. You’ve been like that kid at a birthday party, who sees all these beautifully wrapped boxes of presents lined up and you open them one right after another, not caring what’s inside because the next present might be better, it might have what you really want. But at the end of the day, you’re just sitting amid empty boxes and you can’t remember opening any of them.”
I think my jaw might’ve hit the table.
Ash backtracked. He set his hand on my arm. “It’s not like you’re an asshole to them or anything. You’re just upfront about them curbing their expectations when it comes to what you’re willing to give them. They get one night, maybe two, but that’s it. And a date doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll end up in your bed.” He paused. “Am I wrong?”
“No. For some reason I thought that honesty would make me seem less shallow. But when I see it from a different perspective, it appears I have the depth of a sidewalk puddle.”
“So make different choices going forward. Or don’t. This wasn’t a judgment call from me. You like what you like.”
The question was . . . why did I prefer women like that? Had it always been that way?
No. I clearly remember dating the cute, funny, clarinet-playing geeky girl in high school. I’d also spent the first few weeks of college crazy about an in-your-face theater major.
I vaguely recalled a dormmate, a guy I’d thought had serious game, telling me to level up. To date girls worthy of my stature.
Then I remembered Jax had given me advice—aim high. Don’t pick the low-hanging fruit because I’d develop a taste for them.
Apparently, I hadn’t taken his sage advice. Then again, neither had he until he’d gotten back together with Lucy.
“Nolan. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“You haven’t. It’s hard to hear the truth.”
“Tell me about it.”
My gaze zeroed in on him. “Not that I’m deflecting, but what is going on with you? Since when do you have trouble getting a date?”
Ash blushed. “Since the only woman I’m interested in is the last one who should ever be on my radar.”
“Why?” Several years ago Ash had gotten involved with his secretary and it hadn’t ended well. I hoped for his sake he wasn’t headed down that slippery slope of mixing business and pleasure.
When he leaned in, his eyes were a little wild. “I can’t talk about it because it makes me crazy. So I’ll just continue trying to ignore it. And her.” He exhaled. “But goddammit. Some days—some nights, I’m like . . . but what if I’m missing out on something great?” He lifted his hand from the table in a stop gesture. “See? Even I can’t believe the mixed signals I’m sending. How the hell is she supposed to react?”
I reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to be less cryptic, okay?”
“Well, well, what do we have here?” a deep voice sneered above us. “A couple of queers holding hands. How romantic. Oh, my bad. I meant how disgusting. Why don’t you take your perverted PDA someplace else.”
I glanced up at the guy—late twenties, big and bulky, obviously used to pushing his weight around.