Write It Up!. Elizabeth Bevarly
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as someone she might want to see a second time.
The men had a similar list of the participating women and were supposed to do likewise. Their hostess—in this case, a woman who owned a Manhattan dating service—would then compare the lists and see whose names corresponded with whose, and anyone who showed up on both lists would receive notification that there had been a spark of interest on both sides and given the opportunity to make further contact via e-mail.
So if, at the end of the night, Julia put a check mark on her list of men’s names by, say, Armand 13—as if—and if Armand 13 put a check mark on his list of women’s names by Julia 6—oh, please, God, no—then they’d both be given each other’s e-mail addresses so that they might continue with their conversation, and, ideally, a romance. The way things were looking so far, however, Julia was reasonably certain tonight was going to be a bust. Which was okay. Sort of. Because she’d arranged to attend four of these things this month in order to get as full a view as possible for her story.
Gee, had she actually been thinking at first that it might be fun? Julia was beginning to wonder. Had she actually attended the story meeting with their editor in chief, Tess Truesdale, discussing the idea—three writers, three styles of alternative dating, no waiting—she could have won one of the other topics. Or maybe changed Tess’s mind. Maybe—
Oh, who was she kidding? Had Julia attended the meeting, the outcome would have been no different. She and Abby Lewis and Samantha Porter—all in-house writers for the magazine—would have ended up with the same assignments. Once Tess decided to go with something, there was no stopping her from getting it. Woe betide anyone who thought she could change Tess’s mind. No matter what went down in Tess’s office that morning, Julia would still be sitting here, nursing her appletini, perusing her notes about unremarkable men, and wishing she was anywhere but—
“Hi. I’m Daniel 9.”
She glanced up from her notes with a glib response on her tongue, but it dried up completely when she got a look at her next date. Mostly because there were better things to put on one’s tongue than glibness. Like, for instance, Daniel 9.
His sandy hair was thick and tousled, unruly and long enough to let her know he wasn’t obsessed with excessive grooming, but clean and combed enough to make clear his desire to look good. And, baby, did he look good, dressed in slightly faded but form-fitting blue jeans, a white oxford shirt open at the collar and a black blazer. His hazel eyes, an intriguing mix of gray and blue and green, reflected intelligence and good humor, as did the scant smile that curled his lips. Even seated as she was, Julia could tell he easily topped six feet, and that every last inch of him was lean and solid.
Oh, yeah. Continuation of the species was looking better and better. As was the species itself.
She extended her hand and hoped her palm wasn’t as sweaty as the rest of her suddenly felt. “Julia 6,” she said, introducing herself with her first name and her assigned number, as each of the fifty participants had been instructed to do.
Daniel 9 smiled, something that made Julia want to purr and rub against his leg. “Six and nine,” he said as he slipped his hand into hers. “Now, why do I think those numbers would go so well together?”
She was so besotted by his dark, velvety voice, and so agitated by the frisson of heat that charged up her arm when her fingers connected with his, that she didn’t even care he’d made such an adolescent remark. In fact, she was starting to suffer from a case of overactive hormones herself.
“Have a seat,” she told him as she reluctantly released his hand.
He sat immediately, and she made a mental note of how obedient he was. They were off to a very good start as far as she was concerned.
“So what brings you to tonight’s event?” she asked.
Daniel 9 smiled again, and Julia did her best not to swoon. “It sounded like fun,” he told her. And, to his credit, he actually sounded as though he meant it. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously for a while, and I’ve been missing the companionship.” He shrugged as if that weren’t a big concern of his, but something in his eyes indicated otherwise. “A buddy of mine heard about this thing tonight,” he concluded, “and invited me to tag along.”
“And how’s your evening been so far?” Julia asked.
He pretended to give that some thought. “Actually, I don’t think my evening started until I sat down at your table.”
Oh, good answer, Julia thought. She was ready to start working on that continuation of the human race right now. She wondered if there was room for both of them under the table.
She smiled, and he smiled back, and suddenly, two hundred and forty seconds wasn’t nearly enough. And then she realized she was wasting them by just sitting there ogling him. Oh, wait, no, she wasn’t. There was no way a second could be wasted, provided she was within viewing range of Daniel 9.
“So tell me a little bit about yourself,” she said.
“Well, I don’t like piña coladas,” he told her, “or getting caught in the rain.”
“Excellent,” she concurred. “I’m not much for either myself. So what do you like? Raindrops on roses? Bright copper kettles?”
“I can handle those,” he said, “as long as you don’t make me go bicycling through the Alps with a bunch of kids wearing lederhosen made out of curtains.”
So he was familiar with The Sound of Music, Julia thought, putting another mental gold star by his name.
“What do you like to do in your spare time?” she asked.
He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding really boring,” he said.
“Try me.”
And, gosh, smart guy that he was, he totally picked up on her double entendre, because his smile this time was a little suggestive. Oh, goody.
“The usual stuff,” he told her. “Movies, music, books, eating out.”
“Sports?”
“Some,” he said. But he didn’t start frothing at the mouth the way some guys did, which was a definite bonus. “I like to watch the Rangers when I get a chance.”
Hockey. A manly man sport. Cool.
“And since I grew up in Indiana, I’m really into college basketball.”
A small cry of delight escaped Julia before she could stop it. “I grew up in Indiana, too,” she told him. “What part?”
“Indianapolis,” he said, obviously as pleased by the discovery as she was. “How about you?”
“Evansville. So do you miss Bobby Knight as much as I do?”
“Hell, yes,” he told her. “I don’t care what anyone says about him, he was the best damned coach that team ever had.”
They launched into an enthusiastic dialogue about college hoops, which was inescapably what Hoosiers talked about when meeting for the first time outside Indiana. Or inside Indiana, for that matter. All too soon, the bell was sounding, announcing the end of their date and Daniel 9’s departure.
“Dammit,” he muttered, sounding genuinely hacked off.
Oh, they really did have so much in common, Julia thought. She was peeved by the bell, too.
“Intermission’s coming soon,” he said as he stood. “I’ll be looking for you, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ll find me with little trouble,” she assured him.
He grinned at that, lifted a hand in farewell and walked away. But not without looking over his shoulder and meeting her gaze. Six times. Not that Julia counted or anything.
The men who visited her table in the next half hour might as well