I stick my finger in my wine glass and run it around the rim, trying my very best to look animated, even though I went past bored-to-death an hour ago. I will never let my cousin Cecile set me up again. Frickin’ Cecile. Oh, you’ll really like him! He’s perfect for you. You guys read the same books! He’s even seen the weird movies you watch on Netflix.

I sigh and force the smile I have on my lips to reach my eyes. It’s almost over. I’m drinking ice-wine. That’s a dessert wine. Dessert means dinner will soon be over.

Why did I agree to dinner, anyway? I’ve been doing this dating thing for ten years. I should have learned by now that dinner is too much and too long of a commitment. Whatever happened to drinks and appetizers? Those are easier to escape.

If the date was going south, I could just look at my phone and say, “Oh, crap, it’s the office. I might have to go back to work. I’m sorry. This was fun!” If the date was going swell, I could go on from there. And the drinks are cheaper.

With dinners, I’m obligated to stay at least a couple of hours, make nice to my date, and maybe give him a pity kiss at the end of it, if he paid for dinner. Especially if the dinner was at that chichi restaurant that’s so exclusive, it could take months to get a reservation… but he just happened to know a guy who knows a guy…

His name is Michael Rowland, and he’s a financial advisor from Stearns and Bear; Cecile is the executive assistant of the vice-president of investments for the company, so she always knows who’s single and looking. He’s unbearably handsome in that preppy, blond Zack Morris way who is lovely to look at now, but would probably be grating to wake up next to after twenty years. Too good-looking.

I’m a little unnerved by how straight and white his teeth are. These are what they call chompers. The way he tore into that practically bleeding steak during dinner made me want to consider vegetarianism. I shudder in remembrance.

“So,” he says, as he sticks his fork into the strawberry cheesecake. “What should I know about you that you don’t usually reveal to men on the first date?”

I drain my ice-wine in one gulp and signal the waiter for a refill. I consider telling him I’ve taken a vow of celibacy for life because I am devoted to my faith and need to keep my corporeal presence in the mortal world pure. I smile to myself. No, it isn’t worth the trouble. I might have to explain that I’m just joking, and that’ll prolong the date a little bit more. “Well,” I say, leaning across the table as I lower my voice. “I’m a virgin.”

He pulls back in surprise and looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time tonight. I don’t know what made me say that, but it’s completely untrue. Sure, it has been a while, but I lost the big Vee to Darren Takayama in my sophomore year at Stanford many, many moons ago.

I am tired of Michael’s intellectual posturing, want to shock him into silence, and have him thinking about something else other than himself. Like sex, for example. I know he finds ME attractive. His eyes practically popped out of their sockets when I walked up to him earlier and introduced myself.

“I…” stammers Michael. His hand shakes as he picks up his wine glass and takes a sip, before meeting my gaze again. “That’s one hell of a reveal.”

I shrug insouciantly. He can choose to believe it or not. I push back from my table and excuse myself to go to the restroom. I make sure to add a little wiggle to my hips as I walk away because I just know he’s looking at my butt.

I cannot believe I wasted my brand-new Diane Von Furstenberg on this date. Oh, well. This venue is first-class. People come to this place to be seen. It isn’t as though I could have gotten away with jeans and a cute top.

I refresh my makeup and exit the restroom, scrounging around in my clutch to find my mobile phone. Arrrrgh, with my luck, Luis is probably in some crazy-ass bodega in Queens, having the time of his life, not giving a crap that his phone is buzzing in his pocket. It could also be in his jacket, of course, if he didn’t want to ruin the lines of his trousers. The jacket, I fear, may be dumped in a booth somewhere, buried under the imitation Prada purse of some hag named Letty.

I’m not looking where I’m going. I hit a stationary object, or at least what feels like one. The wall stays standing, while I end up on my ass on the floor, with my three-hundred-dollar Diane Von Furstenberg dress hiked halfway up my thighs and the contents of my clutch spilled on the ground. I know, the usual stuff: lip gloss, powder, wallet, keys, that darn mobile phone, and a couple of foil packets of condoms that I stole from my gay roommate.

Oh yeah, the wall turns out to be a lean, hard body in an expensive, well-tailored suit whose owner has an English accent. I haven’t seen his face yet, but I can tell from his long-fingered hands and ohhhhh that voice—like the very best chocolate: smooth, rich, and European—that he is five-alarm, panty-dropping sexy, and my hottie alarm is never wrong.

He helps me pick up the stuff I’ve spilled, that sexy hand hesitating for a millisecond over the condoms before scooping them up, and dropping them right into my clutch. And then that hand, with its ready grip, belonging to a powerful body, pulls me right up easily lickety-split to my Charles David sandals.

And then finally, I do look up to say thanks and wish I hadn’t because this one glimpse at perfection robs me of my breath and knocks my life upside-down almost instantly.

The first thing that occurs to me is that I’ve never seen eyes so blue. He is tall, maybe a couple of inches above six feet, and has shoulders that probably challenge most doorways. He has high cheekbones, a square jaw, and one of those Roman coin noses. Handsome, to be sure, but there are a lot of handsome men in New York. But this one’s eyes are pools of deep blue I can swim in and explore its depths, never reaching the bottom.

“Are you all right?” he asks, patting my hand, which is sandwiched between his.

His very touch is electrifying, waking up something within me that I didn’t even know existed. What is this feeling of falling and never landing?

“I’m… okay,” I manage, surprised that I still have the ability to speak.

The man smiles, and dimples appear on both sides of his mouth. “I’m glad. Again, I apologize. I didn’t mean to mow you down.”

My hand is still caught between his and I never thought hand-holding could be sexy. I don’t want to pull it away, but I’m dimly aware that the two of us have been standing there for several minutes now, possibly attracting attention. “I was the one who bumped into you,” I murmur, hoping my face isn’t as red as I feel it is. “I’m truly sorry for my clumsiness.”

“Far be it from me to argue with a lady,” he says with another devastating grin, finally releasing my hand. “May I buy you a drink?”

I think about that smug-faced jerk at my table and consider ditching him, but don’t want to embarrass Cecile, who has to work with him. I sigh and hate Cecile a little more. “Umm… I kind of have a thing…” I gesture in the general direction behind me.

His dimples pop out again as he smiles conspiratorially and leans closer to me. “How long have you two been together? Are you oh so very committed?”

His hand is on the small of my back and his breath tickles the micro-hairs on my cheek. I hold back my shiver. “It’s a first date. We barely know each other.” My heart pounds erratically inside my ribcage.

His lips form a rueful grin and his blue eyes glimmer under the yellow lights above him. “Then go back to him, tell him you received a better offer, and return to me.”

The inside of my mouth dries as I stare at his Adam’s apple. I never noticed what a sexy feature it is on a man. “And did I? Receive a better offer?”

He strokes my arm up and down while gazing into my eyes. “Don’t you think so?”

I swallow nervously. “I’ll… make my excuses, I guess. Wait for me in the tavern next door? I don’t want him to see me leaving with you.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

Dear God, does anyone deserve to be this good looking? It doesn’t seem fair to the rest of us mere humans. “Well… imagine being on a date and getting dumped in the middle of it for another guy.”

The hand on the base of my spine squeezes my flesh and he pulls me close. “Good point.”

I push him away as his heavenly scent makes my head swim and before I’m tempted to just grab him and kiss him. “I’ll be right back.”

He bends his head to press a kiss on my eyebrow. The sensation of his lips on my skin leaves me breathless. “Hurry.”

I turn away from him and walk back to Michael whose handsome face lights up at the sight of me. It falls a little when he sees my expression.

I’m clutching my stomach. “I’m not feeling very well. Maybe my period is starting early or something.” I’m being gross. Who talks about their period during a dinner in a fancy restaurant? “Or it’s the Ethiopian fusion dish I had for lunch.”

My date reaches across the table and takes my hand to squeeze it. “You poor thing. You are looking a little green.”

“I think I’m gonna have to cut out early.” I bite my lower lip as though I’m trying to endure some great pain. “Thank you so much for taking me to this place. It’s really nice.”

“You don’t look very well at all,” he says, sounding genuinely concerned. “Maybe I should take you to the emergency room. Food poisoning is no joke.” He lowers his voice so the patrons won’t think we’re talking about this particular restaurant dining experience.

“No need. My office mate Lisa has a condo nearby and she says I can crash there tonight. I don’t think I can make it home without…” I go for broke and make exploding noises with my mouth, adding hand gestures.

Michael’s eyes widen. “That bad, huh? Should I escort you there?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No. I want no witness to my shame.”

He looks at me as though he couldn’t decide if it was okay to laugh. “Well, all right. I’m really sorry you’re feeling poorly. We should reschedule for when you’re better.”

Really? I’m hinting at explosive diarrhea and he still wants to hang out? Kinky. “Yeah, I’d like that. Listen, I need to go back to the restroom again. Can I Venmo you half of the bill for dinner?”

He chuckles. “Of course not. I’ll take care of all of it, Helena… just take care of yourself.”

I squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Michael. Yes, let’s def…”

“Hey, Michael Rowland, fancy seeing you here,” a boisterous voice behind me calls out. “It’s been forever, man!”

I look over my shoulder and see a dark-haired version of my date. “Friend of yours?” I mutter.

He groans. “Old fraternity brother who loves reliving the glory days of Greek life. Run. Save yourself.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “Call me when you feel better.”

As I walk away, I hear him say in the same cheerful tone, “Steve-O, living large and in charge! How the hell are ya? Is that the lovely missus?”

I experience a modicum of guilt for leaving him with people who seem awful, especially since he turned out to be a decent guy who was genuinely concerned for my welfare. Ugh, I’m such a jerk. But time enough for recriminations later.

Where is that British hottie?

I FIND HIM RIGHT next door at Jesus Green Tavern, which is named after a park near a college in Cambridge, and see him sitting at the bar with some hot blond clinging to him like dryer lint.

I grit my teeth as I imagine my lovely evening of planned sexiness fading away. It would serve me right if he dumped me for this woman, though. Karma is a bitch.

He looks up just as I start to think about leaving and meets my eyes. He excuses himself from the blond vixen, removing her hand from his arm, before leaving her behind so he could greet me.

He puts his hands on my waist and draws me in to kiss my cheek. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

The husky timbre of his voice makes my toes curl in. “I’m here now. I don’t think you would have waited long for more company to entertain you, however. You were looking pretty cozy with another woman.”

He chuckles even as his fingers bite into my flesh. “I had no interest in her. How could I when I was waiting for you?”

“Charmer,” I murmur while silently telling myself to be careful. The guy is slick as hell. “Should we sit down and get a drink?”

“We could, but I think we should go to my hotel suite and have a drink there,” he says directly into my ear.

Though my heart is beating so hard I could feel it in my throat, I manage to sound cool as I reply, “Sure. Why not?”