Page 2 of The Hookup Mix-up

Whitney lives in a sorority house. When I knock, one of her friends answers and lets me in. Whit is upstairs, getting ready, and the four women in the room downstairs are all quiet and looking at me funny.

“Do I have something on my face? In my teeth?” I ask, trying to get a laugh. “I know my shirt’s not on backward since I wore the annoying collared one.” I hate collars. And polos. I only wear them because she likes them.

“You’re so silly, Theo,” Cindy tells me. “You’re always good for a laugh.”

I mean, it’s not a bad compliment. I like to be funny, but I also hope I have a little more going for me than just that.

Before I have the chance to say anything else, Whitney comes downstairs. She’s beautiful, with long, blonde hair, a little button nose, and a sinful mouth. I have to admit there’s a little jump in my pulse at seeing her, and not just because of her looks. Whit and I used to have fun together, and I’d like to figure out how to get back there.

“Hey. I missed you.” I walk over and give her a hug. She returns it and takes the flowers.

“Thanks, Theo.”

She hands them to Cindy, and I feel a small stab of disappointment, unsure if I have the right to feel it or not. What does it matter if she is the one to put them in a vase or if her friend does it for her? I’m being ridiculous.

I take her hand as we head for the door, trying to be sweet and attentive, but she just gives me one squeeze and pulls away.

Okay, no hand-holding tonight. Got it.

I open the door for her because I’m a fucking gentleman, and then do the same with my shitty car. The door squeaks and I wince, not that it should matter. I’m broke, and that’s just the way it is.

“Tell me about your summer,” I say as I start driving to the restaurant. We spoke, of course, but I want to hear it all from her in person.

Whitney begins talking about all the fun things she did and the trips she took and all her friends back home. Even Cindy went to see her, though they don’t live in the same state.

I wonder why she didn’t ask me to do that with her. It would have been tough to make it happen due to lack of funds, but I would have tried. Maybe if we’d gotten some quality time together this summer, things wouldn’t feel as strained between us right now.

She talks the whole way to the Italian restaurant, which is her favorite. I wait for her to mention it, but she doesn’t. Am I supposed to want her to acknowledge where I brought her? I don’t fucking know. Two years in, and dating is still hard.

Whitney waits for me to go around and open the door for her. She’s all about girl power but also likes when I do things like that for her.

I try to take her hand again, but she doesn’t let me, which makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I try to ignore it. Things are fine. We just have to adjust to being together again after summer break.

“Reservation for Theo Bassett,” I tell the hostess, and she leads us to a table in the corner. I pull the chair out for her because I’m chivalrous as fuck, smiling proudly at myself. Goddamn, I’m a good boyfriend.

“I missed you,” I tell her again. And I did. That’s not just a line. Sure, things are awkward, but she’s my girl.

“You’re so cute, Theo.” She grins.

“So I’ve heard.” I wink, being playful.

We order our food, and Whit tells me all her plans for the year, talks to me about her sorority sisters, and on and on. She can really talk when she wants to, and I try to be a good listener, but occasionally, my eyes start to feel heavy.

“Oh my God. You’re falling asleep while I’m talking!” Whitney snaps, and I jerk my head up.

“No I’m not.” I definitely was. Damn it.

“Whatever, Theo.”

“I’m sorry.” This isn’t going as planned, but luckily, the waiter comes over with our food, so the subject changes.

I do my best to be attentive as we eat, asking her tons of questions and listening to all her answers. After I pay, we walk to an ice cream parlor, where I buy us each a cone while trying not to stress about money.

When we pull up at Whitney’s house, I turn off the car and unclick my seat belt.

Whitney puts her hand on mine. “We need to talk, Theo.”

My stomach twists. Was there one example, ever, in the history of the world, where a good sentence began with the words we need to talk? I might not be a stats kinda guy, but my money is on no.

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