Truth-Or-Date.com

He was eating an omelette using cutlery. That was all. And the whole fork thing was not sensuous at all. Oh, no. Not a bit. Well … Maybe a little.

Well, that clinched it.

This man was way too handsome to be single and looking for girls online. And he could speak in joined-up sentences and use cutlery.

There had to be something wrong with him.

She had heard about married or engaged men who went on Internet dating sites to have extramarital affairs with unsuspecting girls. Perhaps he already had a perfectly charming lovely lady back at home? Or he was actually a journalist doing a documentary about desperate sad girls who met men through Internet dating.

She inhaled sharply.

Focus, Andy, focus. Stop letting your imagination run away with you.

She took a breath and her words came tumbling out in one huge rush.

‘I need to tell you something. I am not the #citygirl executive you were expecting. My boss is. Only she had to go away on urgent business and it was too late to cancel. So, I came instead to apologise. Sorry.’

And then she sat back, dropped her hands into her lap, focused her gaze on his chin and waited for the fireworks to start.

The man on the other side of the table continued chewing for a moment, then put down his cutlery, crossed his arms, stretched out his neck and seemed to double his size. If he was intending to be imposing and maybe a little intimidating, his plan was working perfectly.

He stared at her through slightly narrowed eyes, his eyebrows low and dark, and she had to fight down the sudden urge to start chewing at her fingernails.

‘So let me get this straight. You’re not the girl I was supposed to meet here tonight.’

Andy pressed her lips together and risked a small apologetic shrug.

‘And you’re not a company executive?’

She shook her head very rapidly from side to side.

‘I see,’ he replied with something close to disappointment in his voice. ‘So how do I get to meet the girl who wrote those emails? Or has she got cold feet?’

She blinked twice before answering. ‘Oh, that was me. I wrote the emails. My boss paid me to write them for her, you see, and I really enjoyed chatting to you and learning about your life as …’

A low growl stopped her mid tracks. ‘Paid you? To write them. Right. So just who are you and what are you really doing here?’ he asked, and slid the whole top half of his body across the table towards her.

She tried shuffling backwards as he invaded what little personal space she had left but it was no use. Unless she wanted to leap sideways like a gazelle and make a run for it she was stuck. It was confession time. If he let her get a word in edgeways.

‘Is this some sort of game you and your boss play with men you set up on the Internet? For all I know you could be pretending to be your PA because you don’t like what you see or maybe you’re using your boss’s Internet account to meet someone above your pay scale. Am I close? Which one is it?’

Andy stared at him in horror, the blood pounding in her neck.

‘A game? Of course it isn’t a game. Elise doesn’t even know that I’m here. And I would never use her account to meet people. That’s a terrible accusation. No, it’s nothing like that. Nothing at all.’

‘Okay. Then what is this all about? Why are you here?’

‘Well, I am beginning to wonder, because, if you must know, my boss cancelled less than an hour ago and I didn’t like the thought of you sitting here all alone waiting for a date who has stood you up. There. That’s it. Happy now?’

And before he had a chance to answer, Andy picked up the Panini with both hands and took a huge bite. And the second her teeth hit the toasted bread, a large squeeze of tomato shot out and hit her straight on the chest. And her white blouse. Her only, her favourite, her best and most expensive, white blouse.

Gulping down the rest of her overfull mouthful of food, she tried to scrub at the spot with her napkin. Only it was pink and made out of paper so that she now had a pink dye and a hot tomato stain on her blouse.

She put down her shredded napkin, took a quick glance at #sportybloke, who was looking at her in disbelief.

‘Fast food. Always a risky business. The steak sandwich is not the only dangerous item on the menu,’ she murmured, sighed out loud, picked up the Panini and took another bite. She couldn’t do any more damage so she might as well finish her food.

#sportybloke blinked several times, pushed his shoulders hard back against the chair and unfolded his arms so he could stretch them out on the table, his palms flat on the gingham. The white scars on the backs of his hands and knuckles were just large enough for her to notice, but then she had to look at something, because he was doing the laser stare again.

His gaze seemed to be locked onto her face, as though he was looking for something, and she tried desperately not to squirm. And failed.

‘Happy would be pushing it, but I completely agree.’ He nodded, a strange smirk on his face, then tapped his forefinger against his full pink lower lip, then pointed towards her. ‘About the food. Especially the cheese.’

Cheese? What cheese?

Andy patted her napkin against her lip in a dainty and ladylike fashion and all was going well until she dropped it back to her lap to reveal a string of molten yellow plastic-looking cheese, which must have been dangling from the corner of her mouth.

Well. So much for the sophisticated and elegant look.

‘That’s better,’ he said with a fixed smile, sitting back. ‘And the name is Miles, by the way. Now where were we? Oh, yes. Being stood up. Does that still happen?’

Miles? She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

She had rain-damp hair, a stained blouse and she had been sitting there in blissful ignorance of the fact that cheese strings were dangling from her lips.

Why did he trust her with his real name? If it was his real name.

Her mouth opened, ready to share her name, but then she closed it again. Not yet. But she could answer his question.

She paused and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Oh, yes, it has happened to me more than once. I think that’s why I hated the idea of doing it to someone else. Yes, I know that we have only talked through emails, but texting is not the same as apologising in person. Or at least it isn’t to me. That probably makes me sound very old-fashioned, but that’s the way I am.’

He seemed to think about that for a second before replying. ‘I happen to agree. And your boss doesn’t know that you are here?’

Andy shook her head. ‘She’s changed her mind about the whole Internet dating business. But there wasn’t enough time to call you and cancel. So here I am.’

Then she braved a smile over the top of her sandwich. ‘I hope you’re not too annoyed or disappointed. Especially since I’ve eaten most of your food and I’m not actually your proper date.’

He sat back, eyebrows high, and pressed one hand to his chest. ‘My pleasure. You have seen through my evil plan to win over a lady with toasted cheese and coffee. I feel the shame.’

‘You should.’ Andy nodded and inspected the last part of her Panini. ‘Even though this was a most superior cheesy snack. So thank you for that.’

‘Glad you approve,’ he murmured, and raised his coffee beaker. ‘Here’s to cheesy snacks, although I am curious about something. Does your boss often ask you to pimp for her?’

Only just as the words left his mouth Andy was swallowing some coffee and between spluttering and coughing it took her a while before she could attempt to reply with a raspy voice. ‘First time. And the last. We went to school together so I suppose Elise trusted me not to let her down.’ She flashed him a glance. ‘Did I? Let her down?’

A long, slow, languorous smile crept like dawn across the whole of his face, and then he wrapped his hands around his beaker. ‘I might have chatted to a couple of girls. But this is the first Internet date I have ever agreed to.’

He rested his elbows on the table to support his chin. ‘The only one. Does that answer your question?’