“You must wonder what attracted me to you,” Dane said with a knowing smile.
Actually, I was mentally calculating my billable hours and hoping to be done here in less than thirty minutes because … round numbers. “You read my mind,” I said with a low, breathy voice. To my own ears I sounded asthmatic, but experience had taught me that horny guys dig breathless women.
Dane set his cell phone on the table next to him, screen up, so I’d see how very important he was when he got all those calls and texts he was expecting.
“Your profile says you’re looking for uncomplicated with a side of kinky,” Dane said, leaning forward to trace the path of ice sweat down the side of my glass. Ew. His meaningful glance was all imagine me doing this to you, and I barely suppressed a shudder as I forced a languid smile.
“I guess that’s one way to interpret my profile,” I said. The other way is to actually read the words, dumbass, which said I like simple pleasures and I’m open to trying new things. I pushed my drink away because he’d touched it and now his cooties swirled above it like poop molecules in a public bathroom, but which Dane took as an invitation to share because he was presumptuous like that. He slid his hand down the outside of the sweaty glass with a suggestive wink. This guy had all the moves.
“So, tell me about tantric yoga.” His hand fisted up and down the glass before he took a big gulp. To his credit, he hid his shock at the bubbly lime-water well, but I shot the waitress a grateful smile when she set the fresh drink down in front of me.
“Are you ready to order?” she asked. Dane was about to answer, but I quickly interrupted.
“Could I have a minute?”
“Sure, take your time,” said Tiffani, with an “i” dotted by a smiley face sticker. She walked away with the self-assured hip-sway of a woman who knows her own appeal.
I turned my gaze back to Dane and answered his question with a slow, seductive smile. “Imagine the possibilities of a person who can hold her leg behind her head.” I conveniently didn’t mention that I wouldn’t actually be wearing the leg that I’d be holding behind my head. I pictured my peg leg prosthetic resting on my shoulder like a wooden bat. Of course I had a peg leg prosthetic, because who wouldn’t?
Dane thought my low chuckle was for him, and I could just imagine the mental images with which he was torturing himself. And because the thought of giving him even a moment of pleasure was approximately as appealing as sucking all the snot out of a dog’s nose, I changed the subject.
“Tell me about yourself, Dane. What do you do? I mean now that you’re out of Special Forces, there must be something you do besides work out.”
He actually preened. “Oh, you know, I dabble in web development, mostly for social media.”
This guy was awesome! What he really did, according to my background check and an hour’s worth of research on his company, was sold digital ad space. It explained his confidence in the ex-Special Forces cover, because if you could sell the promise of eyeballs – not the actual eyeballs themselves, mind you, just the possibility that x-amount of people might look at your thing for the two seconds it takes to scroll past it – you could probably sell birth control to your grandmother.
“You must be really good at computers,” I purred. Actually, I was trying not to giggle, and had to drop my voice to keep from choking.
“Oh yeah, baby. I’m the best.”
Seriously, how had this guy ever gotten laid? Ever?
“Are you on Tinder?” I thought about batting my eyelashes, but decided it was too much, and I’d probably blink out a contact lens anyway.
“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
Of course he was. I shook my head and bit my bottom lip. I’d practiced the move in a mirror once and thought it made me look dim, but apparently dim was like catnip to men who lied to get laid. I looked at his phone. “Can I see your profile? I’ve been trying to decide if I want to join.”
His grin went wide and he quickly unlocked his phone for me. “Sure,” he said, as he scooted closer and showed me the app. “You get in like this, and see, here’s my profile.”
“That’s a great picture,” I said. “You look super fit.” And about a decade younger than in real life.
“I know, right? I get a lot of matches with that pic.”
“Do you mind if I scroll around for a minute, just to look?” I asked sweetly.
He waved his hand at me. “Go ahead. Just don’t swipe right on any ugly chicks.” Dude, really? Just for that I’d be swiping right on the biggest, most redneck, Deliverance-looking guy I could find.
Tiffani approached the table again. “What can I get you, Dane?”
I silently blessed her for her timing, and after my left-swipe on Junior No-Teeth, I navigated to Dane’s notes app and about a second later, air-dropped the whole file to my own phone. He had three banking apps in his office folder, and I clicked on one randomly. The account name was ADDATA, which was his business, so I switched to the next one. Dane was ordering something off-menu with a whole bunch of substitutions, so I took a minute to look back through his notes.
I had been counting on Dane’s arrogance and stupidity, and the simple statistics of probability, and neither one disappointed. The notes app from his phone included a page of account information and passwords, which listed, among other vital things, his social security number (who doesn’t remember their own social?) and all his banking passwords. It took only a few more seconds to find Dane’s private bank account – the one which his wife suspected paid for his “entertainment” – and another minute to transfer half the money into an account she’d already set up in her name. The wife had wanted to take it all, but I convinced her that a cornered dog was likely to bite, and she’d have a better chance of getting the house if she left him some operating cash.
“Hey,” Dane said suddenly. I cursed myself for jumping, then pasted a smile on my face. “Since you have my phone, you should just put your number in my contacts.”
“Oh, sure. Do you want me to put it under my first, or my last name?” I was pretty sure the answer would be neither, and he confirmed my suspicions.
“Just leave it open to that page and I’ll add your name.”
I typed in the number to my favorite bankruptcy specialist as he finished up his elaborate and high-maintenance order with Tiffani, and then slid the phone across the table to him.
Tiffani stood patiently, waiting for me to order. “I just need another minute. Go ahead and put his order in, okay?”
She shrugged charmingly. “Sure, I’ll get his appetizer started.”
“So, what do you think about Tinder?” Dane asked with a slow wink.
I bit my lip again, and realized I’d chewed off all my lip balm in my attempts to appear unthreatening. Dry lips were my kryptonite, so I re-applied, and took enough time with it to seem like a tease. “I’ve heard it can be hacked, and that makes me nervous. You seem pretty confident about putting your information online, though.”
He shrugged. “Oh yeah, my company has the best private security money can buy. No one can touch me without setting off alarms all over the place.”
I was about to ask about such mythical security, but just then Dane’s phone rang. I almost reached for it automatically, but held the movement down to a flinch. I did check the screen though, and saw Cypher Security Systems flash as he picked it up.
“Speak of the devil,” he said with a grin. “It’s the security guys at work. It’ll just take a minute.” He answered the phone with a deep voice. “This is Dane,” he said importantly.
I looked up at Tiffani and said quietly, “I don’t think I can eat anything, thanks.” I’d heard about Cypher Security Systems, and they actually were pretty mythical. They were the kind of company banks used to check for hacking vulnerabilities. I didn’t think Dane’s business was big enough to need that kind of protection.