Page 5 of If You Need Me

Shilpa sends me another message, independent of the group chat.

Shilps

If this date doesn’t go the way you want it to, the offer to take my cousinstill stands.

Hemi

I love you, and the offer, but I love occasionally being your date to family events when Ash is away more than I want a date. Plus, Manreet is secretly in love with Sonali, trust me. Going in. Fingers crossed he looks like his profile pic.

Shilps

I’ll call you in twenty-five in case you need rescuing.

Shilpa Palaniappa, often referred to as Shilps, is my best friend and also the Terror’s team lawyer. She’s a strong badass, but she has this lovely soft side I wish I could emulate more. Maybe I struggle because I’m the youngest with two older brothers. The only way to be heard in my house was to be the loudest. As a kid, people told me I was intimidating, and sometimes unapproachable. It also made me a target for Dallas and his friends.

I scan the coffee shop before going inside. I chose this location because I don’t frequent it regularly. I’m ten minutes early, so I’m pleasantly surprised when I spot Charles sitting in the corner, at a small table by the fireplace. I’m also relieved that he looks exactly like his profile photo. We’re off to a good start.

His gaze lifts at the tinkle of the door. I hold my breath for a moment, waiting for his reaction as his eyes move over me on an assessing sweep. I don’t fudge information on my profile. I know better than to take ten pounds off my weight, or inches off my height, or use a filtered picture that makes me look like I’m twenty-two instead of twenty-seven. He smiles, pushes back his chair, and stands as I cross the café.

His picture was accurate, but the height was not. I know this because I’m nearly five eleven when I’m wearing flats. Which I’m not. It’s fine. So he wasn’t perfectly honest about how tall he is. It’s not a big deal.

He surreptitiously wipes his hands on his pants and extends one. “Hey! Hi! I’m Charles. You must be Wilhelmina.”

“Hi, that’s right. It’s great to meet you.” I slide my fingers into his palm. It’s soft, and a little clammy. But he does work in advertising, so I shouldn’t expect him to have callouses like the guys on the team. Their entire job revolves around being physically active. When they’re not on the ice, they’re in the gym.

“It’s great to meet you too.” Charles pumps my hand. “You look like your picture.”

“I like to keep things real.”

“Sometimes people use filters that make them look more attractive than they are.” Charles’s cheeks flush, and he rushes to backtrack. “Not that your picture was more attractive than the real you.”

We’re not off to the best start if this is his opener. I don’t want him to give me a crappy rating on the dating site, though, so instead of telling him to fuck off, I motion to the barista. “Should we grab something to drink?”

“Yes. Absolutely!” He seems relieved.

He orders an oat milk latte with 750,000 modifications and an oat bar. I order iced coffee with a dash of sweet cream. We each pay for our own drinks and return to the table. I’m grateful for the takeout cup, because I have the feeling this date will be short and a little unpleasant.

“So you said you work in PR. How long have you been doing that?” Charles slurps his coffee.

I try not to be judgmental since he did order it extra hot.

“I’ve been working for the Terror for three years. Mostly, it’s an amazing job.” Except when I’m dealing with Dallas and his anxiety boners.Do not think about Dallas’s boner while you’re on a date.

“I don’t really watch hockey. I’m more of a football guy.” He takes a giant bite of his oat bar. Crumbs land on the table and likely in his lap.

“Did you ever play?” I ask.

“No, but my older brother did. He went to college on a scholarship. All the girls loved him.” He rolls his eyes. “But now he’s a used car salesman, and I run an entire department for my advertising firm.”

“Nothing like a little sibling rivalry to motivate you to do better.” This guy sounds like he needs a therapist, not a date. “What kind of advertising do you do?”

Charles launches into a fifteen-minute monologue about his job and how stressful it is to be the hardest-working guy in the office. Then he tells me he was passed over for a promotion last month that he totally deserved. This all seems like a red flag, and I’m just waiting for him to take a breath so I can escape.

But before that can happen, the conversation takes a swift dive into point-of-no-return territory. “How many children do you want?” he asks suddenly.

“I’m not sure.” Do I want kids? I think so. I’m adopted, and I don’t have information on my birth family. I’ve had genetic screening, but I’d want to have that discussion with my partner. If I were to have a family, I’d also like to adopt at least one child. But twenty minutes into my coffee date with Charles the Slurper is not the time to discuss that.

“I want five kids,” he states emphatically.

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