Every man should have a secret dish he can cook to knock a woman’s panties off. Imagine this. Tonight’s the BIG date at your place. Date #3. The money date. The date where you and your date either screw your brains out, or move on to someone new. A lot of pressure, a lot of performance anxiety. Any little mistake could spell disaster. All of your charms (and ab work) would have been for naught. That said, there’s a few hard and fast rules that need to be followed.
- Clean up your place. If you’re too lazy to do it, call in a cleaning service. Generally speaking, chicks hate to use a bathroom with piss stains on the toilet seat. Light some candles. If you’re a man, not living with Mom, there’s at least a 79.3% chance your place smells like beer, farts, and cigar smoke.
- Change the sheets. Ever see a chick’s bed? Twenty-five pillows, shams (whatever the fuck that is), and a comforter cover from Anthropologie. Case closed.
- Rub one out. You have to clean the pipes before the big night. Trust me on this one, you’ll actually have an interesting conversation without thinking about having sex every 15 to 30 seconds.
- You’ll have a couple options. I like Miles Davis, Sketches of Spain. It sets the mood without trying too hard. Remember, if she sees the trap, she’ll bolt, so play it smooth. Be that cool guy, cooking dinner and hanging out. Better yet, give her your phone and ask HER to put on some music. It’s a subliminal way to show her you have nothing to hide, also, that way she gets to see your eclectic taste. (Remember to download various genre) AND she might just tip her hand. If she puts on Kenny G, you know it’s going to be a difficult road. But, if she puts on Otis Reading!!!! Bow chicky bow bow. It’s on.
- Cook linguini and white clam sauce. Let me preface, it’s best to lay the groundwork for her future destruction on the first date. Mention cooking linguini and white clam sauce. If she says, “clams make my throat swell closed,” make something else. But usually they’ll say, “I love clam sauce.” That’s when you give your most flirtatious smile and reply, “perhaps someday I’ll cook for you.”
- 2 dozen little neck clams
- 1 head of roasted garlic
- 1 cup good quality dry white wine
- 1/2 pound cold butter, cubed
- chopped parsley
- chopped parsley
- Red pepper flakes
Before she arrives:
Cook pasta until slightly harder than al dente. Rinse with cold water and put aside.
Steam clams in white wine, separate out the liquid through a cheese cloth. (Don’t skip this step, nothing kills romance like sandy sauce). Set it aside.
Roast Garlic: cut the top off of the head of garlic. Drizzle with olive oil and salt. Wrap on aluminum foil and roast at 400 degrees for 45 minutes or until tender. The cloves should pop out easily.
When she arrives:
Pour her a glass of wine. Casually mention you’re just finishing up dinner. Trust me, she’s watching you cook, and she’s getting wet.
Sauté the roasted garlic and a pinch of red pepper flakes in a healthy dose of olive oil. Add the wine and bring to a boil. Toss in the butter, and pasta. Cook on high until the sauce thickens, and the pasta is cooked perfectly al dente. Add the clams, chopped parsley. Salt and pepper.
Feed her a little taste of the pasta, and a kiss on the lips, then say, “Let’s eat.”
According to the law of attraction, women and men can’t be friends.
Contrary to this myth, my friendship with Coriander Phillips does not rest on unrequited love or un-actualized lust. We’ve been inseparable since the day I pulled one of her pigtails and she punched me in the gut.
She’s hilarious, fun to hang out with. Together, we’re like peanut butter and jelly, spaghetti and meatballs, wings and beer. A match made in heaven.
She’s the bomb.
Did I mention she’s smokin’ hot? I’ve checked her out…maybe once or twice. Hey, I’m a guy.
Seriously, no awkwardness, no secret yearning for our relationship to escalate beyond the purely platonic. I’m the boy friend—the loyal shoulder she cries on, the dispenser of coffee, sympathy, hugs, advice, and affection with no expectations.
Until the invisible line between friends and lovers became blurry.
Now I want more. I want her.
All I have to do is convince her we can be more than friends.
If only it were that easy.
Romance Contemporary [On Sale: April 23, 2017, e-Book, Kindle only ]
About Mika Jolie
Mika Jolie lives in New Jersey with her Happy Chaos—her husband and their energizer bunnies. A sports fanatic and a wine aficionado, she’s determined to balance it all and still write about life experiences and matters of the heart. Let’s face it, people are complicated and love can be messy. When she’s not weaving life and romance into evocative tales, you can find her on a hiking adventure, apple picking, or whatever her three men can conjure up.