Chapter 2

Seated at the bar, he is watching the door as I walk in. He stands as he sees me, smiling. “Debbie?”

“Ryan?”

He looks good enough to eat. Beckoning me to the barstool by him, “What can I get you?”

“Red wine, please. Did I keep you waiting long?”

“Not at all, I just arrived a couple of minutes ago.”

As he waves over the barman, I study him. Ryan understated himself in his profile; tall, with strapping
shoulders and a lean fit build. Dark, slightly wavy hair and a light tan set off his white smile and dark
eyes.

He is disconcertingly attractive. There’s usually a reason that someone who looks this good is on the
dating circuit, even when it’s only for sex dating.

Fourth finger, left hand…. No, nothing there….

Nice hands though…. long fingers….

Holding two glasses of wine, Ryan eye-points me across the room. “I hope I’m not out of order here,
but I booked us a table. Even if we can’t stand the sight of each other after a couple of hours, at least
we’ll have a good meal inside us.”

He sees me looking askance at the table. Holding both hands up, almost warding me away, “Hey, it
doesn’t mean I’m making any assumptions other than it’s the end of the working day, and I’m guessing
that you’re hungry. I certainly am.”

Feeling foolish. “Yes, sorry. My suspicious nature….”



He looks at me oddly.

Weighing me up?

I think so, yes.

“Shall we sit?”

He seats himself opposite me, ignoring his wine, gazing at me. Chin propped on a fist, he is, very
obviously, looking me up and down.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asks. “Women who look like you don’t tend to appear on dating sites like that
one. There’s generally some guy in the background beating the jungle drums.” He glances down at my
left hand. “And if you ever wore a wedding ring, there’s no sign of it now. Have you ever been married?
For that matter, are you married now? Is this supposed to be some kind of ‘on the side’, ‘playing away
from home’ kind of thing?”

He's wary of me….

“Is this ‘Twenty Questions’? Yes, I’ve been married. But no, not now. Been there, done that….”

He laughs. “…. Seen the movie, read the book, got the tee-shirt, eh? That bad, was it?”

“Oh, yes, that bad. But I’ve got control of my own life now, and I’ll not be letting it slip out of my fingers
again.”

He sniffs, reflectively I think. Not critically. “That’s why you’re doing this? You don’t want
entanglements?”

“That’s right. What about you?”



“Very similar. My last long-term relationship was a bit of a nightmare. Just now, I prefer to keep things
very easy-going. No strings.”

He pauses; sips his wine. “You didn’t do yourself justice you know, on your profile. Very few women
describe themselves as ‘Not pretty’.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Is this where you tell me you think I am pretty?”

So…. Are you a liar? A flatterer?

“No, I don’t think so. You’re right. You’re not conventionally pretty. Your features are quite strong, and
your nose is a bit big for a woman….”

I burst out laughing. “You’re a silver-tongued charmer aren’t you.…”

His brow furrows. “Have I offended you? I didn’t….”

“No, not at all. I was expecting you to come out with some typical bit of patronising, male blarney, and
you said exactly the opposite.”

He sits back in his chair, holding my eyes, rubbing his chin.

“Just because I don’t think you’re pretty, doesn’t mean I don’t find you attractive. Quite the contrary.
You’re just…. unusual, in more ways than one I think…. Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.”

“Is Debbie really your name?”

“No, of course not. On a dating site like that, do you think I’m going to hand out my details to anyone
before I’ve had a chance to meet up and eyeball them?”



“Very sensible. It’s quite dangerous doing what you’re doing, especially for a woman.”

“I’m careful. I follow the rules. No name. No address. Meet in a public place….”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Have you encountered any…?” He hesitates.

“Freaks? Looneys? Yes, a few. Most of them I manage to weed out at the e-mail and messaging stage.
Only one got past my first defences so that so that I actually met him….”

He looks intrigued. “Really? And….”

“We’d talked on the phone a couple of times before we agreed on a date. He had a beautiful speaking
voice, all honey and cream. Y’know, a Richard Burton, or Morgan Freeman, or Alan Rickman kind of
voice. But when I met him, I knew instantly that there was something wrong….”

He cocks his head. “Instantly? How?”

“It’s hard to describe. Something in his body language. I made a point of sitting on the opposite side of
the table from him, but he moved across, all but pinned me into my seat. He kept coming too close,
invading my space…. And there was something about the way he looked at me. Too.… oh, I don’t
know…. Too eager…. He made my flesh crawl.”

“What did you do?”

“I sat with him for a polite hour; had a polite couple of non-alcoholic drinks, said graciously that it had
been nice…. which it hadn’t… and we must do this again sometime…. which I was lying about…. Then
I got in my car and drove off, determined never to see him again.”

“So, you never found out if he was really a screwball, or if it was just your imagination?”



“Oh, I found out. He was completely unzipped. Although he didn’t have my real name or where I lived,
he did have my mobile number. The messages started coming in within five minutes of me leaving.
They were polite enough at first, but when I said that it didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to see him
again, they got first nasty, then strange….”

“In what way, strange?”

“Um, he started sending me very graphic descriptions of what he wanted to do with me. And some of
them were…. odd; revolting actually. I’m pretty broadminded, but I wasn’t interested in going the places
his mind roamed. I don’t know if he imagined it was some kind of seduction technique, but it felt like
stalking… I changed my phone number in the end.… Um, do you mind if we change the subject….”

“Of course. Not at all. But after an experience like that, you still do this?”

I shrug it off. “Not everyone’s like him. And I’m not afraid of men in general. I just exercise a bit of
judgement.”

“You trust your own judgement for this? How do you know that a man you meet like this isn’t a psycho
in disguise? Me, for example?”

“How do any of us know that? How do you know that the woman you meet in the theatre, or the library
didn’t just walk out of ‘Play Misty for Me’ or ‘Fatal Attraction’? Me for example?”

He grins, nodding. “Point taken. I exercise my judgement…. So….”

“So….?”

“So, if you and I hooked up, this would be strictly a casual thing. You’re not husband-hunting? Looking
for a partner or long-term relationship?”



“Nope. Not me. I don’t want to be tied at the hip. I like a bit of fun a couple of times a week, and then
my own life back.”

“So, no dreams of white horses then?”

“White horses?”

“Bearing princes in shining armour, come to carry you off for happily-ever-afters in some far away
kingdom?”

I laugh. “Not me.”

He nods. “And would this be, um…. exclusive?” he asks.

“Your profile says you just want to pass by every few weeks… and you want exclusive?”

“I didn’t say I wanted it. I’m just trying to establish the guidelines; what you would expect of me.” His
eyes are dark, thoughtful.

And he’s asking all the right questions.

He really is amazingly good looking.

My imagination is going into overdrive….

Ryan…. his weight on top of me…. my legs wrapped around his hips…. he, sliding down my body, his
lips grazing my belly as he moves to go down on me.…

His tongue over my clit….

….in my pussy….



I’m drawn back outside my head. He’s still talking.

“…. I’m trying to choose my words carefully, because…. well…. even though we’ve met in the way we
have, through a sex-chat site…. I’m very conscious that I’m a stranger to you and I’m trying to, er, get
to the core of things without scaring you off or weirding you out.”

I suck my cheeks in against a smile. “You think you might weird me out? Ryan, believe me, you’re not
in the running for that.”

“I’m not? I wasn’t sure. I’ve never done anything quite like this before…. Do you do this a lot?”

“I do it all the time.”

“You have other…” He struggles for the word.

“Fuck-buddies? Friends with benefits? Yes, I do.”

“Friends with benefits? Friends, plural? More than one?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“They come and go. Right now, there are two others.”

I see him digesting that, then, “Let’s cut to the chase.” he says. “Are you interested? If you want to say
No, that’s fine. We’ll enjoy the rest of the meal together and be friends without benefits at the end of
it….”

I chuckle. “Oh, no… No need for that…. I’m interested.”



“Ah… good.” His expression changes completely, from politely attentive to.… what…? I can’t quite read
him. “That, er… that puts a different light on the evening.…”

He sucks his bottom lip, apparently deep in thought.

You can suck me too….

He eyes me speculatively. “Without wishing to seem pushy, did you have any plans for later this
evening?”

“Not at all. I wanted to see how this worked out.”

A smile plays over his lips. “Rather well so far as I can see…. Can I offer you…. coffee…. back at my
hotel?”

*****


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