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chapter five

“Winning is for winners. Losing is for losers. Simple concept, but many actually fail to understand the logistics. Take, for example, my friend Jason. He looks like a winner, talks like a winner, even acts like a winner — most of the time, when he’s not sporting black eyes and limps — but he’s actually a loser. And this, men, is where you pay attention. He’s a loser because if say… a certain past came back to haunt him, he’d open his arms and proclaim, “Welcome home! I’ve been waiting.” Men, we don’t wait. Ever. And if you are waiting, go look in the mirror, and say after me, “I will not pull a Jason,” and repeat. Feel better? Good. Now go get your woman and stop crying during ESPN. It’s pathetic.”

~From Max Emory’s Guide to Dating and Other Important Life Lessons

Maddy

Escort? What? He fought crime during the day as a police officer and then at night thought, “Hey, why not get more use out of those steel handcuffs?”

I tripped as the elderly lady lifted Jason’s hand into the air then kissed his palm… ending it with a good lick.

Like an ice cream cone.

He looked stunned. But maybe that was part of his gig that he playacted to their fantasies?

“Crown Royal on the rocks.” I set down their drinks and tried to appear calm, even when the lady reached into her whiskey, fished the cherry out of her glass, and held the stem between her teeth.

Jason stared at her, then at the cherry, then at me.

The woman cleared her throat.

Jason, very slowly and methodically, stood and hovered over the table, his hands pressing on either side of her plate as his head bent down. He gripped the cherry between his teeth and gave a little tug.

And I felt that stupid tug all the way down to my toes, as a shiver wracked my body.

He’d always had an amazing mouth.

A mouth that did very dangerous things, that made girls forget about things they needed to remember.

“I love it when you do that,” the lady sighed.

“And I love…” he stalled, then grinned wickedly, “pleasing you. And apparently everyone else on Main Street.”

I coughed wildly, choking on my spit then cleared my throat.

“Oh.” The lady sniffed in my direction.

I fought the urge to sniff myself to make sure I didn’t smell.

“It’s still here.”

“It,” I said with clenched teeth, “would like to take your order.”

“Dessert,” Jason piped up. “Two chocolate soufflés to go.”

“Oh, Jason.” She blushed. “How you tease.”

“Anything else?” I just wanted to leave. This was not the Jason I’d left; then again, maybe this was the new Jason, the Jason that I’d created because of my own stupidity.

His green eyes briefly met mine. Emotion clogged my throat all over again, as I tried to keep myself from checking him out. He was huge, like MMA fighter huge, with muscles ready to burst out of his black button-up. One dimple — the dimple that made almost every female in our high school swoon against their locker — appeared. “No, Maddy, that will be all.”

Dismissed.

I hurried back to the kitchen, grabbed the stupid soufflés, and stomped back to the table with their check.

“I got this, pumpkin sauce.” The lady laid down a hundred-dollar bill and then eyed me. “Keep the change. After all, I think I owe you a thank you.”

“Pardon?”

“Had you actually stayed with our Jason, I wouldn’t have ever been privileged to experience what he has to offer. And honey, this man just gets better with time.”

“Okay, we should get you in bed.” Jason shot out of his chair.

The lady turned on her heel and glanced at me with a sad, yet dismissive, look. “It’s a pity.”

“What is?” I just had to ask.

“Knowing what he used to be like, wondering how it could get any better, and then realizing you’ll never know.” She smirked, grabbed the box, and whispered, “Have a good night.”