“Business dinner? Right, boss?” I mock her. She doesn’t respond, but the way she crosses her arms and stares out of the window lets me know she doesn’t appreciate my categorization. She’s quiet for another few minutes, refusing to look at me. It’s obnoxious as fuck. This isn’t awkward silence anymore.

This is intentional. I’m getting the silent treatment.

Being ignored by this woman has got to be one of the top ten most annoying things in the world. When someone decides they aren’t interested, I decide I don’t need them. I’ve made an art form out of not giving a shit when people blow me off.

Something is different with Elizabeth.

I want her attention, even when she’s being a brat. I’ll take her sarcastic mouth and snide comments over this silence.

“You weren’t kidding about your lack of conversation skills.” I push, trying to get her to engage with me. Her eyes finally meet mine, but instead of getting a rise out of her, she seems to retreat back into herself, slouching in her seat and wrapping her arms around her stomach. Mocking her isn’t the best way to get her to open up. A twinge of guilt twists my stomach for being a dick.

“All right, I’ve got an idea. How about we add first date etiquette to that sex-abus of yours?” She shuffles in her seat and side-eyes me without answering. “Pretend this is our first date. Forget everything else. We’re just two people trying to get to know each other.” It’s cheesy, but I’m okay with faking it through one dinner if it means we aren’t sitting here staring at each other the whole time.

“I guess we could do that.” Her voice is hesitant, but she seems a bit excited by the idea.

“It’s nice to meet you, Elizabeth. So, where are you from originally?” I plaster a giant fake smile on my face and launch right into small talk mode.

“Nice to meet you, Austin.” The shy smile on her lips matches the embarrassed tone of her voice. “I grew up in Atherton.”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s up north. Couple hours’ drive, maybe.”

“How was it growing up there?”

“Nice. I guess. Quiet.” I watch her, waiting for her to tell me more. She doesn’t. I can’t tell if she doesn’t want to talk about where she’s from or she simply doesn’t know what to say.

“Small town?” I ask. Guess I’m going to have to carry most of this conversation.

“Decent size, I guess.” She again doesn’t elaborate, not seeming comfortable with talking about her past.

“Is that why…” I gesture to her, but she doesn’t catch my insinuation. “The lack of experience. Not enough options at the stud buffet for you?” I ask with an eyebrow raise.

“Oh.” She flinches as she catches my meaning. “No! I mean, maybe. The guys I’ve dated before aren’t…” She gestures at me and I catch her insinuation. They aren’t like me.

Is that a good thing?