Page 142 of Puck Prince

Kennedy tosses a celery stick onto the table. “But I’m going to hate every second of it.”

“That’s the spirit,” I drone. “You should lead with that on the date.”

“See, this place looks fun. Admit it.” I nudge Kennedy as we walk into Room With a View. It’s a rooftop cocktail bar with a view overlooking downtown Houston.

String lights hang from the trees and a live band is playing in the corner. When Lance said he’d “take care of everything,” I kind of expected him to reserve us a time slot at a laser tag arcade. But this is swanky.

“I hate it,” Kennedy says flatly.

Her arm is looped through mine as we walk ahead of the guys. I know for a fact she’s swaying her hips more than usual because she bumps me off balance with every step. All the better to show off the red backless dress and stiletto heels she chose for what she’s affectionately calling, “theSawmovie of dates.”

I went with a flowy blue number I bought for the wedding of a friend of a cousin. It’s lacking the va-va-voom of Kennedy’s outfit, but considering my options were this dress or a pair of Owen’s old sweatpants, everyone should just be happy I showed up.

“No, you don’t. There’s alcohol and an appetizer menu with a cheese board.”

Hope sparkles in her eyes. “There is?”

“Yes. And you’d know that if you stopped trying to prove how miserable this night is going to be and enjoyed yourself, instead.”

She huffs, but doesn’t argue. Still, when we get to our table, she sits next to me, leaving a wide, awkward chasm between us and our dates.

“That’s alright,” Owen smiles at me across the table. “This way, I can see you. You look stunning in that dress, by the way.”

Whether it’s all for show or not, the compliment melts me.

I don’t feel stunning. I feel matronly. And kind of sick. I’m praying it’s just nerves, because upchucking on this painful double date really would turn it into aSawmovie. And speaking of awkward…

“I’m surprised you picked this place, Lance.” Kennedy snags the cocktail menu. “It’s not cheap.”

I knock her knee with mine under the table, but Lance just smiles, unfolding his cloth napkin and laying it across his lap.

“I enjoy a decent cocktail and a lovely view. If you stopped talking about yourself once in a while, maybe you’d know that.”

Oh god. Here we go.

I so wish I could have a drink right now. A martini, a Cosmo. Heck, I’d settle for a stale beer if it meant softening the edges of this double-date-turned-hang-out-turned-double-date.

“I mean, I guess the sunset over the skyline does look beautiful.” Kennedy glances out the windows before handing me thecocktail menu. I pass it to Lance along with the world’s most apologetic look.

“That isn’t the view I was talking about,” he says softly.

As soon as the waitress arrives, Kennedy waves her down. “I want the best cocktail you have.”

“We have a gin and tonic with muddled berries, fresh juniper berries and house gin. Garnished with mint and?—”

“I’ll take that, but top shelf gin, please.”

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

She never orders anything top-shelf. I know she’s only doing it to rack up the tab, but Lance doesn’t react.

Kennedy just smiles. “Enjoying myself.”

Both men order an old fashioned, and I use the shuffling of the drink menus to quietly order a ginger ale.

But Kennedy hears me. “Really? You’re going to come to a cocktail lounge and not get a drink? What happened to enjoying ourselves?”

“Are you having a good time?” Lance asks, latching onto the hint of praise.

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