Page 57 of A Lucky Shot

Don’t make me block you

What’s your kink?

You’ll tell me eventually

Date 10

If this guy was a spice, he would be flour Gluten-free

Are you still on the date?

Unfortunately yes

What has less flavour than vanilla?

Noted, you want spice, I’ll change my strategy

I am suddenly very, very nervous

So I make you nervous?

omg

“Ten down, twenty to go.” Libby shook her newly fire-engine red hair away from her mouth as she wrapped an extension cord. “Any winners?”

“No, but that’s not the point of this. I’m trying to get over someone, not land a new someone, remember?”

The happy sounds of muffled eating and buzz saws filled the crowded set. Libby and Cass stood at the craft services tent for a long overdue lunch, watching Josh and Brynne arguing, as usual. As long as Josh wasn’t yelling at anyone besides Brynne, no one worried. Brynne gave as good as she got.

And the sourdough was worth listening to the yelling.

Cass munched on her sandwich, watching them out of the corner of her eye. Josh stood with his arms crossed tight over his chest, biceps straining at the sleeves of the worn black tee shirt. He leaned in, stabbing his finger in the direction of something out of Cass’s sightline. Brynne flipped her perfectly blown out chestnut waves over her shoulder to follow where he was pointing and turned back with a knowing smile.

That wasn’t a flirty smile, was it? Brynne wasn’t a flirty person. Probably just leaning in because it was loud on set.

Cass shivered, searching for something polite to say about the five most recent snooze fests that were supposedly dates she’d gone on in the last two weeks. “Nice guys, but kind of flat.”

“Like they were actually nice guys, or the ‘I’m a Nice Guy and the chicks who aren’t into me are crazy bitches’ kind of nice guys?” she asked, making scare quotes to emphasize her point.

“The former. Not incels or anything,”

“So, no love for Team Vanilla?”

“Do I look like I want to be barefoot with an apron on?”

Of the two of them, Libby was the one with her biological clock hammering away. Nothing wrong with dads-in-training, just not for her. The thought of being locked behind a white picket fence with two-point-four kids made Cass die inside.

“Maybe if the apron was the only thing you’re wearing, with cut-outs for your tits and the strings tied around your wrists?”

“You’re not wrong,” Cass muttered. “ But I don’t think any of those guys would have been into that.”

Each date had been … nice. The actuary had a name, she was sure, but she had to look at his coffee cup where the barista had written his name on it four times, and it still hadn’t sunk in. She’d gotten wrapped up in Pokémon Go as much as the next person a few years back, but not enough to dedicate her precious days off to it, like date number eight had. Two of the men had been so dull that she wondered if she had fallen asleep with her eyes open. Her high school history teacher—which was the only thing she could ever see him as, even if they’d hit it off—had baby fever so hot she half expected him to whip out a thermometer to check if she was ovulating.

“Mr. Schmidt, I mean Derek—god, that was weird—I swear he was thinking birthing hips when he checked out my butt instead of I want to hit that from behind. Not that I would with him because all I could think of was how I always fell asleep in his class. I felt like a breeding heifer.”

It had been the least sexy date she’d ever been on. Including the tropical fish fiasco.

Libby snickered, then asked, “Have you heard from him again?”

---