“Have fun with Steve, and be sure to take Taylor out for frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity when you’re done.”

“Her? How about someone taking me out for enduring an open house?”

We say goodbye, and I head in the direction of The Dollhouse. When I looked up the description online, I immediately thought, Aha, it’s perfect for her.

On the way downtown, I check my reflection in the subway window. When I exit in Tribeca and carve a path through the trendy streets, I peer into shop windows to make sure my glasses aren’t sliding down my nose. Jennica was right to note my distractedness—I am nervous, and that’s unusual, especially considering I don’t break a sweat when I deliver a keynote speech, negotiate with business partners, or go out on dates.

But this date feels different. It’s like we’ve done things entirely backward. Like we’re assembling a jigsaw puzzle from the middle out. But we both seem to like it this way. She likes the intrigue as much as I do, and that makes me want to know her even more, learn what makes her tick, what excites her. But more than that, I want her to keep wanting to see me, the guy she called Duke, not the dude everyone wants a piece of.

Then I’d know if it was real. Then I’d know it was about me, and not about anything else I might bring to the table. I almost wish I could keep up the ruse.

Because it’s not merely that I’m tired of the random women, the catfishers, the gold-diggers, and the money-hunters. I can handle a woman hitting on me at a conference, a bar, or the gym because she’s figured out I could be a meal ticket. I can shake that off and move on. Other things are harder to let go. I know what it’s like to give my heart to someone thinking she wants it, but then learn she only wants all the zeros attached to my name.

That was Annie.

She was a math nerd too, and we went to college together. I had the biggest crush on Annie, with her big blue eyes and equally blue hair, and her badass coder attitude. She didn’t give me the time of day romantically, but friend-wise, absolutely. I was the guy she leaned on, the one she told her man woes to. Yeah, I was that guy, and then I finally found the guts to ask her out.

But her answer was clear—I was friend-zoned forever. “But we’re so much better off as friends, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” I’d said because some of her was better than nothing.

We stayed buddies, keeping in touch even though we moved to separate coasts after graduation. A few years ago, she returned to New York and asked, ever-so-sweetly, if she could have a do-over on the “let’s just be friends” bit.

Hell to the yes. I hadn’t forgotten why I’d liked Annie. She was cool and smart.