Page 21 of Head Over Heels

There’s a photo attached, a selfie of her and Katie sitting at the local pizzeria, grinning from ear to ear. Katie’s hair is in two curly pigtails and looks stinkin’ adorable. The photo has managed to catch Liv at the worst possible angle—or, actually, the best. Right into the lush curves of her cleavage.

My mouth goes dry.

The next photo is them eating ice cream, each of them clutching a cone.

I get this instant, hot flash of an image: Liv’s tongue sweeping out to lick the drips of the ice cream at the seam where cream meets crunch.

C’mon, man.

It’s because I’m overdue, right? Which is why I’m out on this date, because no man is an island, and even dads have to get laid from time to timeor they start having unwanted fantasies about their nannies/best friends.

The last text saysReading with Katie. Next up: Chick flick on the couch.The photo is the two of them propped together on Katie’s pillows withTheAraboolies of LibertyStreetin their laps. They are really cute sitting side by side like that. And Katie looks—

She looks so freakinghappy.

“Can I help you?” a gruff voice breaks into my musings.

I’ve reached the front of the concession line, and I stow my phone so I can place my drink order and carry the beers. For good measure, I buy my perfect date a hot pretzel and a bag of M&M’s. A girl who appreciates a ballpark hot dog and a box of Cracker Jacks is obviously all about the best things in life.

I carry the beers and snacks back to our seats, where the bottom of the seventh is nearly over, thanks to the hapless A’s, and she rewards my efforts with a big smile. “IloooveM&M’s!” she says.

I sit next to her and she offers me some M&M’s.

Oh, wait. I never replied to Liv’s text. I reach for my phone—

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. One of my top ten rules of dating—actually, one of my top ten rules for being a decent human being—When you’re hanging out with someone, you give that person your undivided attention. You don’t futz with your email or answer texts or check in to make sure you haven’t missed breaking news or your boss’s latest whim.

Or, you know, think about your best friend’s tongue in totally illicit ways.

I let my hand drop back to my side, but it’s like an itch, those texts. I want to text back,What, you’ll slum it and eat pizza for Katie, but not for me?Or something equally dorky. Just some dumb joke to let Liv know I’m thinking of her—

Everyone around me soars to their feet—something epic has happened and I wasn’t paying any attention. Two-run homer. While everyone’s riveted by the action on the field, I find myself sliding the phone a little ways out of my pocket, then jamming it back in, like I’m a junkie and it’s my fix. I read this study somewhere that having your phone in front of you facedown on the table while you’re trying to accomplish a task is more distracting than listening to music. Irritated with my weakness, I vow to give Ava my undivided attention for the rest of the game.

The Mariners win it.

I follow Ava out of the stadium, the two of us swept along on the wave of the exiting crowd.

On the way back to the car, with the baseball game no longer holding our attention, we fall back on small talk. She asks me to tell her about Mike’s Outdoor Store, and once I’ve done that, I ask her to tell me about her big family—five girls!—which turns into a funny but meandering analysis of her relationship with each of her sisters.

She’s smart. And witty. And—did I mention cute? If we were having this conversation at a cocktail party, I’d probably be trying to figure out how to get her to leave the party with me.

But when I pull up in front of her apartment and she says, “Hey. You want to come in for a drink or something?” I already know I’m not going to sayI’d love that.

“Thanks,” I say. “I had a really good time. But, um—”

Honestly? I don’t even know how the sentence ends.

She looks at me with confusion all over her face, which is totally fair. She is a beautiful woman with a terrific body, and I don’t imagine there are many guys who have ever hesitated this long over the question of whether they want to be alone with her in her apartment.

“Thanks, but I should get home. Early morning tomorrow.”

Her smile falls.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, um—call me?”

I’m about to say I will. But then something stops me. Instead I say, “You know, I had a really good time, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Oh,” she says. Sadly. So sadly I want to tell her I’m making a mistake—

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