They always run the other way.
Believe me, I’ve seen them all, been with them all. But I’m not like Bram. I’m not proud of it. The honest truth is, after a while, being a player starts to get tiring. I’m thirty-two years old, and the days of sleeping with anyone who throws themselves at me is over and done with. And as for relationships, well, I’ve never been one to get too close to anyone. I’m just not built for it. Being alone has suited me my entire life and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Which is why it’s really draining that I’ve had to go on a few dates with Justine already. She’s an all right girl—at least she’s easy on the eyes. Our conversations have been pleasant, and I seem to appease her with a simple kiss goodnight. But I feel pretty lousy leading this girl on.
Once again, it was all Bram’s idea. Justine’s father is loaded and has been known to make a lot of investments around the city. He’s hoping that if we get on her good side, she’ll put a good word in for us and then, bam, we’ll have enough to continue.
But because Bram is now happily attached to Nicola (thank god, since I couldn’t stand another day of hearing the lovesick fool pine for her), it all falls on me. I got way more than I bargained for when I came over here.
And I know that Justine can see through it all. At least I hope she can. I’m not exactly wooing her, and it’s been a long time since I’ve tried to woo anyone.
As if she can sense what I’m thinking, my phone suddenly lights up with a text from Justine.
What are you doing tonight? it reads.
I run my hand through my hair and sigh. I suppose anything would be better than lurking on Kayla’s photos and dreaming about home. Maybe getting out of the flat, out of my head, would be good for me.
Not much, I text back. You?
Her reply is immediate, like she already had it all typed out. A new restaurant opened up on Grant. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite and check it out.
I sit back on the couch and stare at the phone for a few moments. In some ways, this is no different from doing an interview. And even though this project isn’t my baby, it is Bram’s. I have my own projects back home in which I work tirelessly for, every single angle. I know what needs to be done.
I make plans to meet Justine and then get ready, slipping on a black dress shirt and grey trousers instead of my usual jeans and t-shirt.
Fifteen minutes later and I’m stepping out of a cab in front of some restaurant called Salt Air. There’s a line of overly fashionable people outside, and it’s exactly the kind of scene that I hate, the type of people who make me uncomfortable. All that judgement. All that ignorance. Give me a fucking pub that smells of stale cigarettes over this chi chi, Instagrammed crap any day.
“Lachlan.” I turn to see Justine walking toward me. As usual she’s dressed to impress, her simple red dress clinging to her long, lean curves. Her chocolate hair is piled high on her head, showing off stunning cheekbones.
Being a gentleman, I hold out my arm for her. “You look beautiful,” I tell her honestly.
She takes my arm and shoots me a coy smile. “You know, this is our third date and I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I nod, pressing my lips together before I say, “I call it as I see it.”
We don’t wait in line and instead go straight to the hostess who seats us right away. I guess Justine really does have a lot of power in this city. We get a secluded table in the corner where candles flicker in the dim light. Though the restaurant has this sparse, industrial vibe, there’s no denying that it’s romantic.
At least, it’s supposed to be romantic. And as we order the wine and look over the menu, I know that’s all that’s on Justine’s mind. She shoots me flirtatious glances over the menu and her foot brushes up against my leg more than once. Though she’s very demure about it all, there’s no question what she wants.
“So how was your day?” she asks me. I can tell she’s just trying to make conversation.
“It was fine,” I tell her, and mentally decide to get the ribeye, even if it comes with some kind of weird South American green sauce.
“You know, Lachlan,” she says, swirling her glass of shiraz around, “I don’t think I know a thing about you. Even still.”
Frowning, I glance at her briefly. “There isn’t much to know.”
“No? It’s hard to tell. You don’t say very much. You’re very quiet.”
There’s nothing I hate more than having to hear that. I lean back in the chair and stare at her for a few beats. “I only speak when I have something to say.”
She stares right back until I can see she’s getting uncomfortable. She looks away and then brings on that big white smile. “Luckily I like the strong, silent type.”
I’ve heard that before. They all say that. None of them mean it.
“But,” she goes on, “you know a lot about me.”
That’s because you don’t ever shut up, I think.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she says innocently. “Your past.”
A sour taste fills my mouth. I take a sip of wine and a deep breath. I can’t help but give her a hard look. “My past belongs to me and no one else,” I say, my voice sounding rougher than I mean it to.
She’s taken aback. “Oh.” She looks down at her hands.
“That’s what I always say,” I add quickly, remembering what an arse I was earlier in the day to Kayla, who also didn’t mean any harm. “The future is a more interesting topic. Don’t you think?”