I look over at Jude, who is looking longingly past me at the door. I’m about to go over to him when the door flies open and Bree comes rushing back in. I don’t have my headset in so I don’t hear what she says, but she bends over the table for a moment, throws what looks like a piece of paper at him, and then leaves for good.

Jude smiles at her retreating form and then saunters over to me, lipstick smeared all over the lower half of his face and a sexed-up haze in his eyes. His hair was already too artfully mussed up for Bree’s pawing to make a difference.

“You were right. She’s amazing,” he says to me, still drunk on pheromones.

“What happened?” I ask. “Why did she leave?”

“Her friend had an emergency,” he replies.

Huh. “A friend with an emergency” is usually code for someone who was on standby to interrupt the date at a preset signal. But from everything I saw—and heard—it sure didn’t look like Bree wanted to be interrupted.

“That’s odd,” I say.

Jude shrugs. “I thought maybe she might’ve been bailing on me, but then she kept saying how sorry she was. And slipped me this before she left.”

He hands over a cheddar-colored napkin with a kiss stain on it. If I squint, I can make out what looks like an “IOU more of this” in something that looks like chalky grease marks.

“What did she use to write this?” I ask.

“Ricotta mousse,” he says, grinning. “She’s insanely sexy, no?”

“Yes,” I admit. Because she is. In every way. She’s got looks, personality, and—apparently—a healthy disregard for inhibition. Good for Jude.

Bastard.

“I’m going to text her,” Jude says, taking out his phone.

“What? No!” I say, knocking it down from in front of his face. “It’s too soon.”

“Really?” Jude asks, puzzled. “I mean, she was just sitting on my lap and, uh, I’m not sure Little Jude was in on the plan to play hard to get. Just, you know, hard.” His eyes twinkle, as if he’s delighted with his clever pun.

“Right. I get it,” I respond curtly. “Even so. Let’s give her a little time to think about you. Keep some of the mystery going.”

“O-kay,” Jude says slowly. “You sure? Seems a bit like playing games just for the sake of playing games.”

“Trust me,” I say firmly. “There has to be just a smidge of game-playing, at least in the beginning. We’ll keep it short. You can text her tomorrow.” His face lights up. “Night,” I amend.

“If you say so,” he says, but he looks disappointed as he puts his phone away.