Page 14 of Second Down Scrooge

Except, clearly, I’m not.

“Oh! There you are, next Friday night for two.” She glances up at us, and we look at the rather long line of people waiting to be seated.

“There must be some mistake,” Max begins.

“So sorry, but you’re down for next week, Mr. Cockshot. If you want, you can find a spot in the bar. They serve food in there, too.”

He glances at me, and I nod. I just need her to stop saying Cockshot.

We head toward the bar, which is packed full of people, but Max seems to eagle-eye spot a seat opening by the bar, and he swoops in gracefully to snag it for me. It’s just one stool, so we can’t sit together. I order a Tito’s with soda, and he orders a glass of red wine as he stands behind me. It’s not a real conducive setup for chatting, so I try to half-turn in my seat so we can talk.

“So, you’re the office manager, and you don’t bake. What else do you do at the bakery?” he asks.

“Manage the books, manage the phones, keep the schedule. All sorts of things. But what I really love is—”

We’re interrupted when Max looks away from me and up at the bartender, who drops off some menus for us as our drinks are prepared.

I was going to talk about my hobby of making wreaths that my best friend was able to incorporate into my job as I make decorations for the bakery, but the moment is interrupted as Max grabs a menu and flips it open to study it carefully.

I study mine, too. I actually study ithardto find something that I can eatfast. Maybe I can just Uber it home early. It feels like this date is tanking fast, and I don’t care quite enough to save it.

The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and I order a club sandwich. I don’t pay much attention to what he orders.

I grab my drink just to have something to keep my hands and mouth busy, and even as I think it, I think of Austin telling me he has something that would keep my mouth and hands busy…but why the hell am I thinking about Austin when I’m on a date with Max? Max Cockshot.

Mr. Cockshot reaches for his glass of wine just as someone bumps into his arm, and…yep, you guessed it.

The red wine goes flying. It spills all over the bar and drips down onto me…all over my favorite pale pink dress.

I close my eyes with a heavy sigh as he grabs a napkin and starts rubbing the stain in even worse toward the bottom of my dress.

It’s too late to save it. Red wine isn’t coming out of this fabric. This dress is as good as done.

Either this is the start of a hilarious story we’ll share with the future Cockshot kids one day, or there won’t be a second date.

I’m guessing it’s the latter.

At least it’s a hilarious story I can share with Austin when I get back home.

Chapter 8: Kelly Kaplan

Dealbreaker

Three Weeks Until Christmas

He was sweet enough to walk me to my door, but then he tried for a kiss, as if I gave him any indication whatsoever that I was interested inkissinghim after we barely even got to know a single thing about each other.

I pretended I didn’t see him move in as I turned to unlock my front door, and I bid him goodnight before he could ask to have one more drink as a way to try to get into my pants—I mean into myhouse.

Yeah…no. Not happening, Cockshot.

I lean against the front door after I close it, and I draw in a deep breath.

The television is blaring a commercial in the next room, but I need a second to brush off that date.

If that’s what’s out there, I’m definitely not ready to move on. Whatever message I was trying to send to Austin doesn’t matter. We definitely have some sort of situationship, and the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about him when I was out with Max tells me I never should’ve agreed to a date in the first place.

In fact…I think it might’ve done the opposite.

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