Page 34 of Kyle

“It would make me really happy if you came to church with me on Sunday so you can meet my family.”

I choke on my wine and end up in a coughing fit.

The server returns to take our orders, saving me from having to answer. I get a steak, and she orders the salmon.

“Thank you, sir. Ma’am.” Gary takes our menus and retreats.

Zora immediately leans forward. “You really shouldn’t eat red meat. It’s bad for you.”

“Is it?” I ask, not that I care for or want her opinion. Judging by the way her chin lifts and her eyes narrow, I think she gets the message. “So, tell me about yourself.” Even as I ask, I know I don’t have any genuine interest in her answer. I’m already done with this girl, but I’m stuck for the next hour.

“I’m an influencer. West Coast Style with Zora. Ever heard of it?”

“Can’t say I’m on social media much.”

“Oh.” She looks at me like I’m a freak. “Well, I just passed a million followers.”

“Impressive,” I say. “I own a food truck. It’s called Kyle’s.”

“A food truck?” Her lip curls. “Like one of those gross taco trucks?”

“Well, I sell other food. Maybe you could give it a try—tell your followers if you like the food.”

“Yeah, that’s not really the kind of thing my followers care about. They’re much more upscale.” She tilts her head. “You are cute, though. I’m sure I could use you in some of my posts. You’d be a big hit.”

“Doing what?”

She shrugs. “Whatever I decide we’re going to do for the day. Whatever’s trending.”

“I see.” I take a sip of wine and glance around the room.

“I guess we should get this out of the way. If we’re going to date, there are a few things you need to do,” she says.

She’s lost her mind. I can’t wait to hear what she has to say. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Then she ticks them off on her fingers. “One. From now on, you’ll need to dress in the clothing I pick out for you. But don’t worry. I have excellent taste.”

I’m speechless. Never in my life has a woman been so upfront and demanding. Is this really how dating is done these days? You show up with a plan and negotiate a list of demands and must-haves?

“Two. Remove any piercings if you have any I can’t see.” She gives a shudder. “They gross me out.”

“What else,darlin’?” I play along.

“Three. I realize you have some tattoos. But I’m going to insist you don’t get any more.”

I nod. “No more tattoos. Check.”

“Four. I’ll need you to do several daily media posts with me for my business. You’re really cute, and my followers will love you.”

“Gee, that’s one point for me, I suppose.”

She finally picks up on my sarcasm. “If you can’t do that, I’m afraid it’s a deal-breaker.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. You’re going to have to sell your food truck. They’re tacky, and I can’t be associated with someone who slings burgers and sells tacos out of a truck. Yuck.”

“Tacky. Right.” This is a joke—an elaborate joke the club set up. A tv host will jump out any minute and tell me I’m on a prank show. That doesn’t seem to happen, though. People near us overhear our conversation and crane their necks, trying to geta look at me and see what’s so awful that my date has just given me a list of things about myself I need to fix.

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