Page 84 of The Play

“Okay,” I decide. “I’m meeting Roy tonight.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hunter raises his hand.

We high-five, and then I nervously type out a response to Roy. We make arrangements to meet at Malone’s in an hour. Hunter offers to drive me.

Next, I message TJ.

ME: I need a rain check on dinner. I have a……DATE. Gasp! Can you believe it? How’s tomorrow night?

I see him typing, but it takes almost a full minute before the message arrives.

TJ: No prob. Tomorrow works.

ME: Okay perfect. You da best.

TJ: xoxo

There’s an army of butterflies wreaking havoc on my stomach. “Oh God,” I tell Hunter. “I’m so nervous! And I only have an hour to take a shower and figure out what to wear.”

“Go take the shower. I’ll pick an outfit for you.” Hunter’s already striding toward my closet.

“Clothes,” I warn, wagging my finger at him. “Please pickrealclothes, Hunter.”

He’s cackling as I close the bathroom door.

By the time we arrive at Malone’s, my palms are sweaty and my heart is beating dangerously fast. Am I actually doing this? Suddenly I don’t feel so ready.

Hunter parks the Land Rover in the tiny lot behind the bar. He cuts the engine and turns to appraise me. “I do good work,” the jackass says with a pleased nod.

I’ll allow him the outfit—he picked a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a soft gray sweater that hangs over one shoulder and shows some skin, and black suede boots with short heels. It’s a cute outfit and I look cute in it.

But the accessories? He doesn’t get any credit for those. “I hate these earrings,” I gripe, carefully arranging the big hoops so that they don’t catch in my hair. “Youknowthis. And yet you still peer-pressured me into wearing them.”

“Because you look hot in them,” he protests. “Trust me, they up the outfit’s hotness factor from a nine to an eleven. Just quit complaining and wear them for tonight. One night.”

“Ugh. Fine.” As I slide out of the SUV, I’m surprised to see Hunter do the same. “You’re coming in with me?”

He gives a nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll sit at the bar. I’ll stick around until I’m sure he won’t murder you. Just pretend I’m not there.”

I’m genuinely touched. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”

We round the side of the building toward the entrance. I can’t believe I’m going on a date. A Tinder date, to boot. That’s pretty much code for “maybe I’ll have sex with you tonight.”

Wait, tonight? I can’t have sex with anyone tonight. I just realized I forgot to shave my legs.

Dammit, why didn’t I shave my legs?

It’s fine, it’s only a drink, I reassure my panicky self.

We enter the bar and I conduct a quick scan of the main room. It’s busier than I expected for a Monday night, but college studentsgo out drinking any night of the week, I guess. My pulse accelerates when I notice a tall, muscular guy pushing away from the bar.

His eyes widen appreciatively when he spots me. “Demi?” he calls out.

“Roy?”

“That’s me.” He smiles, flashing a pair of dimples. Oh no, he has dimples. I’m in trouble. “There’s a free table over there,” Roy says warmly. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Ugh, that wassodorky. I’m bad at this.

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