Page 51 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Hi," I reply, momentarily forgetting every smooth line I've ever used. "You look nice."

"Thanks." She tugs at the sleeve of her sweater. "Is this okay for whatever mysterious activity you've planned?"

"Perfect." I open the passenger door for her. "Your chariot."

"If you say 'm'lady' again, I'm walking back inside."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I assure her, closing the door once she's in.

As I walk around to the driver's side, I take a deep breath. This is it. A real date—sorry, extended social interaction—with Hannah. No accidents, no closets, no misunderstandings. Just us, hanging out. She hadn’t mentioned my brother in her dorm the other day. Progress.

I slide into the driver's seat, feeling her eyes on me.

"What?" I ask, starting the engine.

"Nothing," she says. "Just trying to figure out what kind of date a hockey player considers perfect."

"Who said anything about perfect?" I pull out of the parking lot. "I'm aiming for memorable."

"That's either reassuring or terrifying."

I glance over at her. "Trust me?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Against my better judgment, yes."

"Good." I reach for the radio. "Now, let's see if I can find some '90s alternative rock…"

"You remembered that?" she asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I listen when you talk, Hannah." I find a station playing Pearl Jam. "Especially about the things that matter to you."

She doesn't respond, but I catch her small smile from the corner of my eye. It feels like a win.

Twenty minutes later, we're pulling into the empty parking lot of the old drive-in theater on the edge of town. It's been closed for years, but tonight, the massive screen is lit up with the test pattern, and there's a single car parked near the projection booth.

"A drive-in?" she asks, peering through the windshield. "I thought this place was shut down."

"It is, officially. But the owners are friends with Peterson's dad. They're renovating it to reopen next summer." I park in what would have been the center row, the prime viewing spot. "They agreed to run a private showing tonight."

"You arranged a private movie screening?" She turns to me, clearly impressed despite herself. "What are we watching?"

"That depends." I reach behind the seat and pull out a bag. "Option one:The Princess Bride. Option two:Die Hard. I wasn't sure if you were a romantic comedy or action girl."

"Those are my only choices?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I also broughtJurassic Parkas a wildcard option."

Her face lights up. "Jurassic Park. Definitely."

"Dinosaurs over romance or Bruce Willis? Interesting choice."

"Jurassic Park is a classic," she says defensively. "Plus, there's a little romance, a little action, and a lot of people getting eaten. It has everything."

I laugh. "Jurassic Park it is." I pull out my phone and text Peterson, who's handling the projection booth tonight.

"How did you even set this up?" she asks as we wait for the movie to start.

"I'm a man of many talents and connections," I say mysteriously.

---