Page 3 of Not My Coach

“You are so much prettier in person than your photos,” he says confidently, as if he just spoke magic words to her, without even realizing that he insulted whatever photos he’s referencing by trying to compliment her.

There is no way that I am ever going to start dating again if I have to worry about meeting the female version of Chad over here. Although it’s not like I really did much dating before I was married. I met my ex-wife in college in one of our shared classes. We hit it off and continued to get to know each other, dating shortly after. It only felt like the next natural step was to get engaged around the time we graduated. We got along well and had some sexual chemistry. But we never experienced, even in the beginning, that passion that makes you want to shred the clothes off of one another. Maybe it’s time I find out what that feels like.

I’m not saying it’s going to happen tonight—or with the dark brunette behind me. But I think it would be fun to have a passionate night with someone, then go our separate ways.

Getting out of my own head, I tune back into Tweedledum. Oh God, somehow, it’s even worse than before.

“Yeah, so I’m undecided for a major. I hate the idea of being tied down to one course of study right now when I don’t even know what’s out there. Besides, I’m focusing a lot on my football team and fraternity,” he says, and I hear her clear her throat.

She’s seemingly interested, although I don’t know how much of that is genuine or just a way to keep him talking so she doesn’t have to. “Oh, you play football? That’s exciting. What position do you pl?—”

“Tight end.” He beams, proudly cutting her off. “You should come to our next game. That’d be sick. I can probably get you a discount on the ticket or something. But if not, they’re only, like, ten bucks, and it’d be cool if you supported us.”

Jesus Christ.

I wonder what’s going through her mind right now. It’s very clearly a first date. Is she happy with the outcome so far? Maybe she’s a super-shallow individual and immature. She is clearly much younger than me. If I had to guess, I would say twenty-five probably, give or take. Maybe frat-boy Chad over here is exactly who she’s looking for.

That is, until I hear her response to his offer of her buying her own to for the game.

“Yeah … maybe. I don’t love being outside much …” She trails off.

I chuckle perhaps louder than I should have. But with the stunning tan of her skin, I can tell she gets some sun, so that was just an excuse.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s totally fair,” he says, obviously hurt that she didn’t jump on his shitty offer. “I’m going to run to the restroom. Order what you’d like, babe, my treat. Just try to keep it under like twenty-dollars.”

He stands up and walks past me, then turns around and says, “Hey, can you order me a Bud Light when the waitress comes?”

I don’t hear her say anything, but he responds with, “Thanks.”

I imagine she nodded at his question.

A laugh vibrates my lips. I can’t help myself.

“Something funny?” Her voice drifts into my ears like audible ecstasy.

Turning to face her, I worry that maybe I upset her. But her eyes are daring, and her lips are kicked up to one side. She is enjoying this just as much as I am.

The waitress comes by her table and is about to walk by without stopping when the goddess herself says, “Excuse me, can I please have a double vodka cranberry?”

The waitress smiles and says, “Absolutely. Anything else?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. That’ll be all. Thank you.”

She didn’t order his beer. I’m thinking that was intentional, and for some ungodly reason, I find it sexy as hell.

When her eyes flash back to mine, they are hungry, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly she is craving.

Did you know that male Japanese pufferfish make masterpieces in the sand to attract females, yet my date expects to get in my pants because he’s offering to pay for my dinner as long as I keep it under twenty-dollars? It’s impossible to order anything at Donatello’s that’s cheaper than twenty-bucks. He should have taken me somewhere else if this was the case, especially since he said this date was all on him tonight in our texts

Why in the world is it so goddamn hard to find someone worth going on a second date with? Or perhaps even a third? I am so sick of shitty dates that don’t go anywhere.

Honestly, right now, I’ll take a good night over a good date. I just want to have a good time, and Brad here is not doing it for me. But this night might be salvageable after all.

I don’t usually have much of a type, but I’ve never been on a date with a man in a suit, and maybe that’s been my problem all along. My drink is in my hand not a minute and a half after ordering, and I chug, like, half of it immediately.

The sexy guy at the bar has practically been on this date as long as I have even if he doesn’t know it. In fact, he is more in touch with the reality of it than the guy who’s actually my date. I’ve caught him smiling a few times at the stupid things Brad has said, and he’s even laughed twice. He’s bold, and his confidence is fucking hot.

Setting my glass down, I look up at the bar a few feet away and lock eyes with the man who can’t seem to keep his nose out of my bad night.

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