In Bed With the Enemy: Dating and Other Dangers / Dare She Kiss & Tell? / Double Dare

OMG, we (and the rest of the planet) are so ablog over your war with the Ethan guy—too funny. You’ve so got to put him in his place. He sounds hot, tho—he’s a possible if it weren’t for the ego, right? So who cares about the ego? Just have some fun!

Um, yeah, she’d tried that. Succeeded too—until the doubts had needled in only seconds after her multiple-orgasmic warmth had started to fade. As for putting him in his place—yeah, right. She was going to. But the wish to do that had receded—there were other things she wanted now. Like to know more about him.

She curled her feet up beneath her in her big, comfy swivel chair and stared at the font he’d chosen for his GuysGetWise banner. It, like the rest of him, told her nothing. What more did she know of him after two dates? Even now she’d had sex with him did she really know him any better? Oh, sure, she knew he was quick-witted, that he had a wickedly infectious laugh, and that when he looked at her she felt like the most captivating woman on the planet—but beyond that?

Frowning, she leaned over her keyboard. She clicked into her own blog and started typing.

The Day Date

Okay, I admit it, as I did on the first date—I broke a couple of my own rules. Last time it worked against me. This time I hoped it would help me get one up on him. But it didn’t—if anything it backfired completely. So take heed of those tips, girls. They’re there for good reason.

In fairness—and I am trying to be fair here—Ethan is a nice guy. He makes an effort, he’s generous and, yes, he knows how to make a woman feel good. He’s courteous, he’s chivalrous, he’s protective. Oh, and he can talk flirt’n’dirt like no one else on earth.

Yet there’s so much that you just don’t get to know. He’ll get intimate physically, if that’s something you want. But emotionally?

That’s a total no-go. I know as little of anything meaningful about him as I did before date one.

In my last post I questioned whether there was anything beneath that charming, handsome surface of his. But now I ask why is he so determined to hide whatever there may be?

Is it his way of maintaining his “mystery”? Because, if so, then hats off to him—because curiosity is a thing that will hook a woman. Yeah, his tease and trap plan works. But then he still doesn’t share anything about himself, his family, what he cares about. And for most women sharing bodies isn’t enough.

So what is it he’s afraid to reveal? Maybe it’s just that there really is nothing there. He’s simply superficial. So he limits the length of the game because he knows his own limitations—and that if you go for anything more than three dates, you’re going to know it too.

Ethan stared at her blog, the churning lava of his temper boiling ever closer to eruption. A reaction that he knew was more extreme than her words warranted—for had she fabricated? Had she kissed and told?

No. That was honesty he was reading, and she’d been honest and open in a surprisingly discreet way. Some hints that really only he would pick up. There was no denial of what had happened, but no blow-by-blow account either. He guessed she’d neither confirm nor deny when her blog followers asked the inevitable “did you do him?” question. Which was exactly how he’d respond when his readers asked him.

She’d done okay with her write-up. But still he hated every word. Most especially that “Ethan is a nice guy” bit. Ugh—nice. What kind of a word was nice? It was ironic that he’d always tried to be nice and now he was it seemed as flavoursome as dishwater. He didn’t want to be so average, as if he was some loser she had to be kind to. He didn’t need her generous, not-particularly-moved judgement, thanks.

And, while she admitted a smidgeon of responsibility, she still laid too much at his door. What was the crap about not knowing anything more about him? She couldn’t blame that on him. Date one she’d been too busy talking about herself—which admittedly he’d engineered. Date two she hadn’t asked. She’d just got out of there as fast as she could. She hadn’t so much as glanced round his apartment, hadn’t asked about his work or life or anything. She’d screwed, then scarpered. So how was her not getting to know him more a result of him “hiding”? What was it she wanted to know, exactly? Should he draw up a list of his favourite things? His most happy memory? It was rubbish. If she’d wanted to get to know him then she should have stuck around and spent more time with him.

He knocked back his coffee in one gulp—and got the bitter bits at the bottom. Grimacing, he stabbed the keyboard.

Was Date Number 2 Nailed?

With that pathetic start, he stopped. He really didn’t want to answer it. Didn’t know how he could without admitting what had happened—which he really didn’t want to do. He didn’t kiss and tell. Right to his bones he now regretted the whole online blog thing. It was such a stupid idea, and it had dumped him into something he didn’t quite know how to climb out of. But he couldn’t just delete the thing because he refused to let it be over with her. And the three dates deal was the one way he could catch her again. Yes, he wanted to catch her one more time. Catch her and blow her mind. So he had to respond now.

Tease and trap—mission accomplished.

A surprisingly honestOlderNWisereven says it herself: the technique works. But she also points out the major flaw—it’s only successful for a limited time.

Sure, I accept that. But it begs the question for how long do you want to trap? Catch and release is the aim of the game for many men. And, let’s face it, lots of women love the chase and to be caught too, and are happy to go onto another game with another guy after. Therein is the excitement, the thrill. It all depends on what you’re looking for, and so long as you’re looking for the same things then no problem, right? It’s pretty obvious with most guys.

Guess it’s up to the ladies to be honest about what they’re looking for. In my experience they’re often not, and then the guy gets the blame for the broken heart when in fact it was the girl who decided to play with the matches in the first place. Think on that, all you sweethearts out there.

MsOlderNWiserdebates my level of superficiality vs. depth. I’d challenge her definition of superficiality—’cos, honey, I’m not going to sit around pontificating about politics or religion on a date. Where’s the fun in that?

But we have one more date to go, so let’s see what that brings. Clearly it’s time to put her in touch with my “sensitive” side. But I’m not giving away any secrets pre-date. We’ll do it first and then I’ll report back. I can tell you it’s my choice for the date, and it is going to be nothing like what she expects.

Ethan watched the cursor flash, unhappy with what he’d written but unable to come up with anything better. He was still too steamed. She wanted to know more about him? He’d let her learn a few things, for sure, and he knew exactly how to throw her into it. He laughed at the evilness of his idea—but she’d asked for it, after all. The almighty great pain in the neck was that it couldn’t happen for a week. He pressed “publish” then shoved away from his desk, suddenly furious that it was so many damn days away. Still, maybe that gave him a chance to get his hot-for-her hormones back under control. Damn it, maybe he’d go out on another date himself on Friday night. She’d said this wasn’t exclusive. He could go and have some real fun with someone less trouble. He’d head to his favourite bar with the boys and see what action he could chase out.

His guts twisted painfully again, and the bitter coffee taste still burnt his tongue. Yeah, he was definitely suffering some sort of flu when the thought of hitting the scene made him feel sick.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were the longest days Nadia had ever lived through. Nothing had rattled her nerves, sleep and appetite like this. Not even discovering her perfect boyfriend actually made a hobby of conning the virginity out of as many young uni students as he could—as he had her. Nope, not even that had had her as distracted or on edge as this.

She was awake more than half each night, watching the comments coming in to the blogs. It was horrific. She was so, so glad of her anonymity, and hated the fact his name was out there—even though most of the comments on his blog were bigging him up as “the man”. The speculation was rife—and also right—and several comments were crass. Interestingly there hadn’t been a word from the women who’d posted on the original thread. It surprised her—she’d have thought they’d be interested and amused by the challenge.

She even surreptitiously checked at work—totally fixated. She struggled to stop herself refreshing both their blogs every other minute. Most of the time she managed, but one in ten she didn’t. Nothing more appeared online directly from Ethan. He didn’t comment on the comments. Nor did she any more. But she was waiting. Nothing, she now knew, was as bad as waiting. He’d said they were going to do date three, yet he hadn’t contacted her about it. So she was waiting, waiting, waiting. Jumping every time the phone went or her e-mail pinged, sitting on her hands to stop herself calling him. So much for never seeing him again, for getting over her fatal attraction to him. Instead she wanted to apologise for being such a cow when he’d dropped her home—wanted to suck back that bitter end to the afternoon. Only she really didn’t think he’d care all that much. He just wanted to win. It was still all a game to him.

And then it happened—her mobile rang, with his number on the display. Sweat bubbled from every pore and she gulped a breath which didn’t help. Her lungs and brain still shut down as excitement overrode everything. All she had in her head was the stupid hope that her voice wouldn’t hit squeak territory when she said hi. Of course it did.

Panic shot high as she waited to hear what he had to say—except she could only hear her pounding heart.

‘About our next date,’ he said slowly.

‘You still want to do another?’ she blurted.

There was a pause. Nadia closed her eyes and winced at her unintentional entendre. She really had to learn not to jump in on him.

‘Did you think I’d let you off that easily, Nadia? A deal is a deal. Or are you backing out?’

‘No. We can do the last date.’ She spelt it out, giving him no cause to think she meant something else.

‘I know you’re already seeing someone on Friday, but can you do Saturday?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t correct her lie, but didn’t try to play any more games by putting him off again either. This was purely about survival now. Of course if she really wanted to survive she should just say no, but she couldn’t say no to him—the beating of her blood just wasn’t going to let her.

‘Afternoon,’ he said calmly.

‘Another day date?’ Heat filled her face as she thought of the last one. The scent of the grass suddenly hit her, along with the remembered sensation of him pressing her into it.

‘Kind of. But there won’t be any exercise this time. You need to wear something a little more formal. That dress you wore to the movies would be good.’

She swallowed. No exercise, huh? His oh-so-casual attitude sharpened her antagonism. He so wasn’t dictating her wardrobe to her. ‘I can do a little more formal.’

‘Great. Then I’ll pick you up at one.’

‘Okay. See you then.’

He rang off without saying goodbye. It made concentrating on work the rest of the day impossible. Well, not impossible, but it was extremely annoying that she had to be there and not at home so she could obsess.

She went out for a walk and bought an ice-cream—to cool herself down on the inside. Gave herself a headache by eating it too quickly. She really had to pull herself together. She was not going to ruin her reputation at work because of some guy she was going to see only once more. She had to get a grip. Self-pep-talked up, she went back to the office and sat down and worked overtime, losing herself in the tasks and not once going back online.

In the evening at home she texted Megan for support. He wanted a little more formal? She was going to need some help with that. Formal for day-time wasn’t that easy to pull.

Def wear dress but hair down not up. Help yourself to anything in my wardrobe.

Saturday morning she followed Megan’s advice, plaiting just a narrow section of hair near the front and then clipping it back. She totally wished she could borrow some of Meg’s amazing shoes—except she’d have to stuff tissue into the toes to fit them, and that just wouldn’t be a good look. She put a little more make-up on than usual—mainly to hide the signs of sleeplessness under her eyes.