“Because they’re phallic?”

“You said it, not me.” I move toward the elevator. “So tell me, Cosy.” Her name is oddly comforting to say aloud. “Did you call to talk about produce?”

“Strangely enough, no. A new shipment of lube arrived, and you were the first person who came to mind since you failed to pick up more when you stopped by the other day.”

“I was too busy making an ass out of myself and getting shot down.”

“You caught me off guard, and I was being honest when I said I don’t date customers.”

“Mmm. Well, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I’m not sure I have much use for flavored lube since there are no more bachelor parties in my foreseeable future.” I punch the button that will take me to the penthouse floor.

“Might come in handy if you end up snagging yourself a girlfriend.”

“Not so sure that’s going to happen. The last woman I asked out seemed to think I was too creepy to risk going on a date with.”

“Oh yeah? How many women have you asked out recently?” Her tone shifts from curious to nervous.

“Just one, and I’m talking to her right now. I’m crossing my fingers this call means you’ve reconsidered.”

She’s silent for a moment before she mutters, “I hope I don’t regret this . . . What’re you up to tonight?”

“Taking you out for coffee, I hope.” The elevator doors open, and I step inside the empty car.

She chuckles quietly. “I don’t drink coffee after five or it keeps me up all night. Do you wanna meet up for a burger or something instead?”

Dinner is better than coffee, even if it’s burgers. “I sure would. What time works for you?”

There’s a short pause, like maybe she’s surprised I said yes so quickly. I’ve had more than three weeks to get the balls to go back to that store and ask her out. Also, I don’t play games, so if she’s calling to set up a date, I’m sure as hell going to do everything in my power to make it happen before she can change her mind.

“How about six thirty?”

My last meeting is at four, so that gives me time to get ready. “Perfect. I can pick you up, all I need is an address. I know a great place—”

“I already have a place picked out, and we can meet at the restaurant. I’ll text you the address. Oh, and don’t wear a suit. It’s not fancy, and you’ll look hot but way out of place, unless you want to look out of place, then go ahead and wear a suit.”

“Got it. No suit. I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Cosy.”

“Me too. I mean, I’m looking forward to seeing you, not me. I think. As long as you don’t end up being a total creeper, anyway.”

“I promise I’m not a creeper.”

“So you say. See ya later, Griffin.”

“Bye, Cosy.” I end the call with a smile.

For the first time since Imogen broke off our engagement, I have a date I’m excited for. With a woman named Cosy who works at a sex toy shop. Pretty sure I’ve gone insane, but I don’t think I give a fuck.

I’m in a fantastic mood during my afternoon meetings. I’ve been working with hotel management in Vegas for the past several weeks to determine whether buying a prospective property here is a sound financial investment. My family’s in the business of buying and running hotels, but we have yet to purchase in Vegas, mainly because of the casino side of things.

I’m a numbers and stats kind of guy, which is why I’m here, so I can look at the optics and the financial statements and decide if it’s worth the investment. So far, I’m handling things fine on my own. My younger brothers Lex and Bane are better at the people stuff than I am, especially Lex. I’m not big on small talk, and the whole schmoozing thing isn’t my jam, but I do it because it’s part of the job. Regardless, my good mood seems to rub off on the staff, because it’s the most relaxed meeting I’ve had since I’ve been in Vegas. It’s also the most productive, which is another plus.

At five I head back to my penthouse suite, shower, shave, and debate what the hell I’m going to wear. Cosy said no suit, and she mentioned burgers, so I’m thinking casual is best. But even my casual wardrobe is mostly khakis and golf shirts, thanks to my ex-fiancée. I don’t want to wear anything she picked for me when I’m going on a date with someone new, so I opt for an old pair of jeans, and search my selection of rarely worn T-shirts. Most of them have the Harvard logo on them. Boasting my Ivy League education seems a little on the pretentious side, so I keep searching until I find the band shirt my brother’s girlfriend gave me for Christmas. I’ve never heard of the artist, but the shirt is visually interesting, so I figure it’s a safe bet.