CATALYST

DAVID

"Her name was Joleen Park, and she was damn near perfect.

      "Thank you very much for dinner," she said as I pulled up in front of her house. "I had a great time tonight, as usual,"

      Beautiful. Sweet. Intelligent. Twenty-six years old.  Supermodel figure, with a degree in Fashion Design. Established her own Brand in Women's Fashion.  Loved to travel. Volunteered for a non-profit Organization supporting abandoned children. Physically fit, ran marathons.

      "Me too." I put the Range Rover in park. "Let me walk you to the door. Stay right there."

      We'd been on six dates—one coffee, two lunches, and three dinners—and I'd enjoyed every one of them. She was exactly the kind of woman I'd envisioned for myself in a relationship, nothing about her turned me off..... but... The problem? Nothing about her turned me on, either.

"She unbuckled her seatbelt and waited for me to walk around and open the passenger door before getting out. I offered her a hand and she took it. "Thank you."

      You're not trying hard enough.

      Keeping her slender hand in mine, I shut the car door and escorted her up the front walk. The June night air was warm and balmy and smelled like orange blossoms. Everything about the evening whispered romance.

      "Such a gentleman," Joleen teased. "It's good to know that chivalry isn't dead."

      "Not at all." I can say being a gentleman is second nature to me. I was raised and mold as one being the eldest Son and a CEO of a Multimillion company. Behind the respectable image lies the desperate urge of a man seeking fulfillment.

      We stepped onto her front porch and she turned to face me. "Would you like to come in for a drink?" Her eyes glittered in the dark as her body swayed closer to mine. "And maybe stop being such a gentleman?" She ran her hands up my chest.

      I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her against me, lowering my mouth to hers, praying to feel something. Anything.

      But I felt nothing. No quickening pulse, no rush of heat, no stirring in my blood. (Or my pants.) Nothing.

"Shyly, she slipped her tongue between my lips, and I met it with mine, opening wider to deepen the kiss.

      Nothing.

      Frustrated, I clutched the material of her shirt in one fist and grabbed a handful of her hair with the other, hoping some aggression and resistance was what I needed to get turned on. For me, sex was best when it was a little antagonistic. A little combative. A power play. And it had been so long...

      "Ouch!" Joleen cried.

      Immediately I let go of her and stepped back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

      "Yes. I'm fine." She rubbed the back of her head and laughed nervously. "Don't be sorry. I'm the one who said the thing about not being a gentleman. It just surprised me." She softened her voice. "Could we maybe try again? Go a little easier this time?"

      What's the fucking point?

      "I'm sorry, Joleen. I'm a little out of it tonight. Another time?"

      "Oh, okay. Sure." She sounded let down, her eyes dropping to our feet. Then she looked up again. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

      "Of course."

"She beamed, clearly relieved. "Great. I'll bring dessert. I'm excited to meet your friends."

      "They're excited to meet you."

      Her smile widened. "Night."

      "Night." Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watched her go in and shut the front door."

Fuck.

      What the hell was my problem?

    
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