Page 116 of If Our Hearts Collide

A deep voice comes on the mic, alerting participants to get a scorecard and pencil. The rules are explained and table assignments are done, with the women staying seated in one spot, while the men move through the lineup.

I take my seat at my assigned table, crossing my feet at my ankles beneath the surface. Wiggling my butt into the hard wood of the chair, I try to get comfortable. But I can’t. My fingers twist a cocktail napkin into a deformed corkscrew, and then resort to fixing my hair neurotically behind my ears on repeat.

The once intimate space now feels claustrophobic. The tables are too small, and the thought of having to converse with someone I don’t gel well with causes me anxiety—even if it’s just for a few minutes.

My fingers curl and uncurl the edges of my scorecard, softening the cardboard from the sweat forming over my skin. Taking a sip of my sangria, I watch as other nervous patrons offer weak smiles and nods in greeting. I know I’m not alone, but I feel isolated, nonetheless. Maybe I’m just making this whole event bigger in my head than it needs to be.

Relax, Penny.

And as my therapist always asked, what’s the worst thing that can happen? Sometimes facing some fears mentally head-on is the way to cope with the things holding me back.

It’s what Margo has been telling me as well.

Sure, I could be seated across from a narcissistic jerk who only wants to talk about how awesome he is or some nerdy dude with an alphabetized stamp collection. So be it. I can just circle no, wait out the allotted time to elapse, and then hope the next person in the rotation is better than the last.

When I put it like that in my head, I think I’m ready to embark on this self-discovering journey.

I pull back my shoulders, take another sip from my liquid courage, and watch as the first guy—number five—takes his place opposite me.

“Hi,” he says, reaching out his hand.

I relax my spine, take a deep breath, and offer up a smile. “Hi.”

“How did everything go?” Rex asks, bumping me gently with his arm.

I laugh. “Better than expected. After we had our session, things started to pick up.” So did the intake of my alcohol, but at events like this, I imagine some level of intoxication is expected.Granted, I’m just slightly tipsy. It’s just enough to feel warm inside and a bit carefree.

Luke joins us, putting an arm around my shoulders to complete the man sandwich. “I just hope the fifteen hotties I circled yes for are matches.”

“Fifteen seems like a lot,” I comment, eyeing him for any sign of humor.

He shrugs. “It’s all about increasing my odds.”

Rex laughs. “Then why not just circle them all for yes?”

“Ew, I’m not a slut. Plus, I’m out of practice with this whole dating thing. I’m so used to showing my goods and then getting offers. This all seems backward.”

I feel like this is the perfect opportunity for Luke to explain his line of work to Rex, but who am I to judge? I am living for these jaw-drop moments.

I make a face at my roommate. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Well, how many did you circle?”

“Nine.”

Luke and Rex each step back to look at me and wiggle their eyebrows, making it awkward. I shake my head at them and then excuse myself to the ladies’ room.

When I return, there’s an energy moving through the venue.

“I got matched with six people,” Rex says with excitement.

I know one of those people is not me. I’m just hoping that a handful of my circled men reciprocated their liking for me. I know of at least two guys who made it obvious that I was a yes by showing me their cards as they scored them.

Talk about an ego boost.

One of the male participants even slipped me a postcard looking thing and made me swear not to look at it until I’m home.

Who doesn’t enjoy a little mystery and intrigue?

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