Page 53 of The Goal

“Girl, I think you can get locked up for those thoughts,” he warns.

Hope continues to giggle uncontrollably for another minute before gaining enough composure to reach over and squeeze my arm. “This’ll be good for you.”

“If it crashes and burns, do I get to say I told you so?”

“I’ll write it across my forehead in black marker for you,” she vows.

As my friends head for Hope’s car, I gather all the courage I can find and text Tucker before I talk myself out of it.

Me: If I say yes, it doesn’t mean anything.

His answer is immediate.

Him: It means yes.

Me: But I’m not committing to anything beyond this one date.

Him: Kinda presumptuous, no? I only asked for one date.

I stare at my phone. Had I read this whole thing incorrectly? The guy talked about love at first sight, wanting to be married and have kids, and he only wants to see me one more time and fuck me?

Him: Kidding, darlin. I’m holding back the marriage proposaluntil the 3rd date. When?

Me: I’m bringing my friend Carin and you need to bring the hottest guy you know.

Him: I’m the hottest guy I know. Will look for 2nd hottest guy on campus. She have any preferences?

Me: Someone who knows how to use his tongue.

Him: Again, that’d be me. Not sure how I’ll find out how good the other guys are with their equipment. Not a topic that comes up a lot.

Me: That’s the price of my time.

Him: On it.

There’s a short delay, and then another message pops up.

Him: You won’t regret this.

I havethe perfect date idea, Carin texts an hour later. It’s eleven and I’m getting ready for bed because I have to be up at four to sort mail. The text is followed up with a slightly blurry pic. I pinch and zoom until I manage to make out a few words.

Me: Paint night out? I have no artistic skills. Even my stick figures look terrible. You know this. You mocked my hangman once.

Her: That was NOT a hangman. That was…I mean, the arms should come out from the side of the body, not the neck. Anyway this is easy. It’s like a paint by numbers thing. We drink/paint/enjoy ourselves. If the date is crappy then you and I can drink ourselves into oblivion.

Me: Fine. When is it? I’m only available Sundays and Thursdays.

Her: I know. It’s why I picked this, dummy. It’s every other Sunday, as in tomorrow night.

Howwould I know? The picture she sent is small and blurry and could say it’s a church group meeting on Saturday morning.

Me: I’ll see if T is available.

Her: Bet you he is.

I’m not taking that bet. Instead, I text Tucker.

Me: You in for some paint by numbers?

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