“Thirty should be my cap,” she says softly.

“And twenty-three should be mine.”

“Twenty-three and a half,” she corrects.

“I was rounding down so you’d feel better about being close to my minimum. Maybe we could make a concession this one time and see how that goes?”

She smiles shyly. “Maybe we could.”

“Maybe?”

She plucks the cherry from the sundae and sucks off the whipped cream with a smile. “Well, I already broke my no-dating-STW-customers rule with you, so what’s the harm in breaking another one?”Chapter Four: Onion KissesCosy

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Okay. I know what I’m doing. I’m using food suggestively, and of course Griffin is taking it as an invitation to get closer, because it is one. It makes me feel both juvenile and powerful in some strange way. He moves from his side of the booth to mine. Here’s the thing about older guys, as a general rule, they know what they’re doing. They’ve been down the dating road before. They know how to work it.

Griffin could have picked me up in his sweet car and taken me out to some fancy restaurant where he’d buy an expensive bottle of wine—which I wouldn’t appreciate at all since the only wine I usually drink is in cooler form—and I’d be expected to order some expensive meal, eat a few bites, and pretend I was full. Then after dinner he’d take me back to his place for a drink, and I’d get naked. At least that’s how I imagined it would go. So I took control of this date and made it alcohol- and pretention-free.

I knew Griffin was older before I said yes to going out with him. He had a five o’clock shadow at two in the afternoon the first time I met him. Most guys my age are lucky if they can grow a half-assed ’stache.

I’m twenty-two, and the oldest guy I’ve dated was four years older than me and still in college because he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do with his life. At least that was his excuse.

He also worked at a nightclub three times a week and did a lot of recreational drugs. I’m not sure he was ever destined to graduate. Older men are more my sister’s speed. Although, Griffin would be on the low end of her dating age. Usually her boyfriends are approaching sugar-daddy status. They’re rarely less than fifteen years older, drive expensive cars, and boast padded bank accounts.

Nevah is the queen of stringing along loaded assholes until either she gets bored, they want more, or they stop spending money on her and providing her with a place to live. It’s a pretty shallow existence, but then Nev doesn’t like to do a lot of depth.

I, on the other hand, consider myself a free spirit. Not free with my vagina, but free to do as I please when I please. Relationships tie you down, and make you accountable to someone else, which is not what I want at this stage in my life. So normally I’d shut down a guy like Griffin. In fact, I had every intention of doing that when I came here for this ridiculous date.

But he’s really damn hot. And he’s actually fun to talk to, so here I am, tucked into the booth, his bulging bicep rubbing against my arm as he steals the spoon and takes a massive bite of the sundae we’re apparently sharing with a single utensil.

He doesn’t look old. Not that thirty-three is old, but the decade that separates us feels like a significant amount of life experience I don’t have yet. Regardless, he’s only here for a few months, and I’m sure all he wants is someone with perky boobs and an in-depth knowledge of sex toys to pass the time with.

I’m willing to give him at least one more shot. Then I’ll reevaluate my position. Which will not be under him, tonight, for anyone wondering. I don’t give it up after the first date. Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with him, though.

I dip the cherry into the whipped cream and pop it back into my mouth. I’m very aware Griffin is watching me. I can feel his eyes on my mouth. So I turn, slowly, and pull it out with a pop.

He grabs the cherry dangling from my fingers, frees it from the stem, and tosses it into his mouth, biting down with a cheeky grin.

“Hey! I was going to eat that.”

He leans in and lowers his voice, eyes intense, but he’s still wearing the hint of a smile. “You were being obscene. This is a family establishment.”

I consider arguing, but he’s right. I was purposely being inappropriate, and there’s a family of four sitting two tables over with a tween boy who keeps looking over here, and his face is beet red.