Dirty: The Complete Series (Secret Baby Romance Love Story) (106 page)

Chapter
Six

Zeke

A few days passed after my first practice
date with Natalie and her reaction to the roses I’d bought for her stuck in my
head. I’d anticipated her being thrilled—flattered, even—by my thoughtfulness,
but instead, she’d told me that if I was going to buy flowers for a date, I
should find out what kind she actually liked and get those. At first, it had
felt almost like an insult: I had done something thoughtful, and she was
telling me that it wasn’t good enough?

But the day after the date, with some
distance behind me, I realized that I had been a little bit stupid. After all:
I’d been trying to game the system. I’d only wanted to show off how little I
really needed her help—I hadn’t actually put much thought into the gesture.
She was right.
And after all, she was
supposed to be teaching me how to be better at dating. She wasn’t insulting me,
she was helping, offering a suggestion. I was still sure that there were
probably plenty of women out there who would have been completely thrilled to
get a nice, big bouquet of roses on a first date with a guy, but obviously
Natalie wasn’t one of them—and if she wasn’t thrilled, then not every woman I
would ever date would be, either. Why should I ruin my chances with a potential
girlfriend or future wife with a bad first impression?

I wasn’t sure exactly why Natalie stuck in
my head. She was beautiful and charming, but I’d met plenty of beautiful,
charming women who I hadn’t wanted to date. She was smart, but I knew plenty of
smart women. There was just something about her—something that was different,
something I couldn’t help but admire whenever I thought about her. And because
of that, I found myself going back again and again to the comments that she’d
made about the flowers I’d gotten her.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sat
back at my desk. Part of my arrangement with the matchmaking service was that I
could text Natalie at almost any time—within reason—or call her with specific
questions related to dating or any of the information she’d given me. I smiled
slowly to myself; other than arranging our first date, I hadn’t really used the
privilege of being able to text her. I decided to put that arrangement to the
test.
Hi, Natalie,
I wrote.
I was wondering, since I’ve been thinking
about what you said about buying flowers for my dates: what kinds of flowers do
you actually like?
I set my phone aside so I wouldn’t be tempted to keep
checking on it every few minutes like a teenage girl waiting on her crush to
reply.

I heard my phone buzz as I finished up an
email to one of the partners I was working with. I clicked send and grabbed my
phone, unlocking the screen quickly to see the message.
I think maybe that’s something we should leave for later on,
Natalie had written, adding a winking emoji at the end of the sentence.
Anyway, it’s not all that important what
kind of flowers I like—you’re not actually dating me, remember?
I rolled my
eyes and typed a fast reply.

But
I am practicing with you. You should give me a chance to do these things the
right way—especially after telling me what the right way is. I promise I won’t
show up to our next date with armfuls of flowers for you.
I set my phone aside again, but I didn’t have time to even move onto the next
order of business on my plate before it buzzed with Natalie’s reply.

Okay,
fine! As long as you promise. I like tulips and daffodils.
I grinned to myself; I’d at least managed to get that much out of her. I
pressed the call button on my desk phone and punched in the extension for my
personal assistant, Trevor. “Come into my office real quick, Trev,” I told him.
I turned back to my cell phone.

While
we’re on the topic,
I wrote,
what’s your favorite color? Your favorite bands? Movies?
Trevor
knocked on the door briefly and then came in. “What’s up, Mr. Baxter?”

“Just a moment, Trevor,” I told him,
setting my phone aside to check my email again while I waited for Natalie’s
reply. My phone buzzed again, and I looked to make sure that she wasn’t simply
refusing to tell me what I wanted to know.
My
favorite color is green. My favorite bands are Hot Hot Heat, The Strokes, Yeah
Yeah Yeahs, and Franz Ferdinand, and movies…well, there are too many to list.
“All right, Trev,” I said. “Take a list.”

He began writing everything down as I
listed it off. “What’s this list for, Mr. Baxter?”

“It’s a list of preferences for my dating
coach,” I told him, setting my phone aside. “I want you to keep them on record
for me, in case I need to arrange for gifts or things for her.”

“I can do that.” He gave me a quick look.
“These seem like the preferences of a girlfriend, not a coach.”

“She’s a dating coach,” I pointed out. “We
go on practice dates. The same kinds of gifts apply, even if we’re not in an
actual romantic relationship.”

“I will keep the list for you,” he said,
shrugging it off. “Anything else you need?”

“Not right now,” I told him. “I’ll meet
with you before I leave for the night, debrief you about the next few days.”
Trevor nodded and left my office as I went back to work.

The more I thought about it, the more it
made perfect sense to me to get presents for Natalie in the course of our
practice dates. I wanted to see the look on her face when I brought her a
bouquet of flowers that she actually liked. Instead of that look like she
wanted to avoid hurting my feelings, she’d light up—I knew she would. I would
see her smile, and she’d get that soft, sweet look that women got when they
were truly pleased and thrilled.

Why
do you want to see her truly pleased and thrilled, though? She’s a coach—she’s
not your girlfriend.
I shook my head. It was hard to say
specifically why I wanted to impress Natalie that way; there was something
about her that brought it out in me.
You’re
being an idiot. She’s not interested in you that way. Why invest feelings in
her at all?

I sighed and turned my attention back onto
my work, trying to ignore my phone and the temptation to ask her more
questions. It was supposed to be for questions and for clarification and
advice, not to get to know her better as some kind of friend or prospective
girlfriend.

The matchmaking service I’d gone to had
assigned Natalie to me after I’d done an evaluation—a questionnaire with a
bunch of weird things on it. I’d also let the owner of the company interview me
over lunch and gone on what she’d called “an evaluation date” with someone else.
I had no idea why they’d specifically picked Natalie to work with me, but I
liked the fact that they had. It was obvious that she was smart, that she was
determined, and had a good background in education, even if I’d ignored most of
what she’d told me during our first meeting.

Thinking about our date again, I pulled up
the tutorials she’d sent me after our first meeting.
Obviously she thinks I have trouble actually paying attention, and a
big part of that is my fault,
I thought, going through them again. I
considered the other things that she had said to me at the end of the date, the
feedback she had given me. She was right about one thing: I did tend to treat
everything as business. I wasn’t sure why I did or when I had become that way,
but it was obvious that it wasn’t working. Apart from a handful of one-off
dates with women to corporate events or to dinners with charity managers, I had
pushed any idea of a romantic life out of my radar view for years. I didn’t
have time for it…until I suddenly did.

I went through the tutorials again on
company time, telling myself that all the normal work of the day was done,
anyway. I thought about the tips and advice that they provided and decided to
try and implement some of the things that they recommended. If I was going to
get anywhere with Natalie, I had to show her that I could accept criticism and
work to improve myself.

But then I asked myself again why I was so
interested in proving myself to her.
Because
she’s your coach…and you’re not going to get a chance to date anyone else until
she clears you.
But that wasn’t it. At least, that wasn’t all of it. I
wanted to impress Natalie, to put any negative impression she’d ever gotten
about me so far in the past that she couldn’t even remember it anymore. I wanted
to prove that I was a good man—a better man than even her other clients.

“She’s never going to actually date you,
she told you that,” I said out loud, shaking my head. She had been clear on the
fact that it was company policy that she couldn’t date clients—not really. I
could see the wisdom in that policy for a matchmaking service: they were
charging people to set them up with prospective husbands and wives. They
wouldn’t want their employees snagging the best clients away. I sighed and
considered calling Trevor back into my office to tell him to go ahead and
delete the list I’d given him, but I decided not to. I needed practice to
become the perfect date, and the premise I had given Trevor was perfectly
valid: if I was going to be a better date, I had to learn.

I put my phone away and turned my
attention fully onto my work, telling myself that I would end the day strong. I
would get through the coaching with Natalie, and I would get the clearance to
actually date women who were interested in me, interested in being my
girlfriend and maybe my wife. I pictured an imaginary woman in my mind: she
would be tall, but curvy like Natalie. She would be accomplished and
intelligent, funny and charming, and she would call me on my bullshit—not that
I would have as much bullshit for her to call me on once I got finished with my
coaching sessions. I would have the final piece of my ideal life, with the job
already in my hands and a family in the future. I thought I would probably
continue to stay in touch with Natalie and maybe even introduce my future wife
to her, explaining how Natalie had helped me to become a better man.

I
won’t bring flowers to my next date with her, but I’ll find a good time to show
up with them. When she least expects it. Tulips or daffodils, exactly what she
likes.
I grinned to myself at that thought and finished out
my workday, deciding how I was going to put the information I had to good use
on our next practice date together. I made a mental note to talk to Trevor
about date ideas and get his feedback on them to come up with something that
would really impress Natalie. The more I impressed her with my progress, the
sooner I could get on to real dating.

Chapter
Seven

Natalie

“Mama, tummy hurts,” Brady told me for the
fourth time that afternoon, and my heart twisted inside of me.

“I know, baby,” I told my son, smoothing
his hair back from his forehead. “I wish I could make it go away.”

“It
hurts
,
Mama,” Brady insisted, his voice taking on the tearing, whining tone of toddler
suffering.

“I’m so sorry, little man. Let’s get some
Pedialyte into you, okay? That’ll make your tummy feel better.” I got up off of
the bed and hurried into the kitchen. I checked the time on the stove; it was
only about an hour before I had to meet Zeke. I wasn’t going to be able to make
it to our date. That much was clear. There was no way that I could leave Brady
with a babysitter when he was so sick. I wasn’t even sure what it was that he
had, other than that he’d been throwing up for three hours and had been running
a fever for four. I would have to cancel my date and cancel the babysitter who
was supposed to watch Brady while I was out.

I poured some Pedialyte, watering it down
a little bit to make it even milder. If he got much sicker, I would need to
take him to urgent care, maybe even the hospital. I found my phone where it was
plugged into the wall, charging, and found Zeke’s contact details in my address
book.
Hey, Zeke. I am so, so very sorry
to do this to you, but I really have to cancel tonight’s date. I know that it’s
short notice, but I can’t avoid it.
I texted the babysitter, telling her
that I would have to cancel on her.
Brady’s
really sick, and I just can’t bring myself to leave him when he’s down like
this.

I grabbed the Pedialyte and went back into
Brady’s room with my phone in my pocket. “Hey, little boy,” I said, sitting
down on the edge of his bed. “Sit up for me and let’s get some of this yummy
juice in you.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding weakly. I set the
cup down and helped him sit up in the bed. My poor little boy was flushed, his
hair damp around the edges with sweat, his eyes glassy. I held the cup for him
and Brady swallowed down a few gulps of the Pedialyte, pulling back to take a
deeper breath.

“When you get to feeling a little better,
we can get you some ice cream. How’s that sound, bud?”

“Bad,” he said, frowning. “Tummy will
hurt.”

“No, silly,” I said, soothing him as best
as I could with my hands and getting him to take a few more sips of the drink.
“It’ll be once your tummy stops hurting.”

“It stops,” he told me. “And comes back.
Why it comes back?”

“Because you’ve got tiny little critters
in you,” I told him. “And, your little body is trying to fight them off.”