Page 6 of Sparks Like Ours

Elle shook her head in wonder, not quite sure whether to thankHolly or slug her. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Holly said, and clinked her glassto Elle’s. “Two hot chicks like us, out on the town.”

“I don’t want to be called a hot chick.”

“Yes, you do.”

She grinned at her friend and took a sip of rosé. “Maybe alittle.”

* * *

Three days later and Elle had changed her outfit at least fourdifferent times. What was one supposed to wear on a date with a banker? Herdark pink flirty dress would make her look too frivolous, and her black pleatedcocktail number seemed severe when she tried it on. Even her middle-of-the-roadsundresses made Elle second-guess ever agreeing to this date in the firstplace. Indecision was so unlike her! In the end, she’d gone with her peachsleeveless dress with the thin beige belt. Simple meant classic, and thatworked. If Christopher, or whatever his name was, hated it, well, that was onhim. She sighed at herself in the mirror one last time.

When she arrived at Holly’s house, a cute little one-story not farfrom Elle’s place along Hermosa Beach, she didn’t bother knocking. Theirrelationship was beyond knocks and doorbells. She found Holly standing behindher couch, remote control in hand and a giant version of Elle laughing on thetelevision.

“Talk-show-you is so upbeat.”

“Talk-show-me has to be.”

Holly turned to her. “True. She’s like regular-you turned up threenotches. It works, though. I mean, look at your endorsement deals. You smileand show your abs and stuff sells. People like you.”

“If it helps pay my tournament entry fees, I’m more than willingto add some pep to my step. I’m nervous.” It all came out like one run-onsentence.

Holly took a moment to unravel the words. “You’re nervousChristopher won’t like you? That’s insane. He’s going to think you’re asadorable and hot as the rest of the world does.”

“No,” Elle said simply. “I’m nervous we’re not going to click, andyou’ll be disappointed in me, and think I didn’t try and that I suck at dating,and I don’t like to suck at anything. I’m type A. Get it now?”

Holly looked confused and continued to proverbially scratch herhead as she rounded the couch to take a seat. “Humor me.”

“Okay.”

“Here’s what I don’t understand. Whenever there’s any sort ofevent covered by the media, you have a guy on your arm, and you look likeyou’re having the time of your life. But it never goes anywhere.”

“Yeah, but those aren’tdates. Those are friends or acquaintances who have agreed to go withme.”

“You click with them?”

“I don’t know if click is the word, but we have a great time. It’sdifferent. I don’t know.” She thought on it, looking for a way to betterexplain herself. “Those arrangements come with a much smaller commitment. Oneevening and some nice conversation versus working toward…more.”

“And you don’t have sex with any of them?”

Elle laughed. “Honestly, who has time for sex these days?”

“Riddle me this, Batman.”

She was nervous about where this was going. “Okay.”

“Do you want more? Level with me. If the answer is no, I’ll stoptrying to set you up.”

“I do want more. Yeah.” A pause. “I mean, probably.” There wasjust never a person she’d wanted that “more” with. That was the core issue.Maybe not everyone was wired for an ongoing relationship, and while that madeher sad on one hand, she also took pride in her self-awareness on the other.Maybe she was destined to focus on her career goals and leave the white picketfence and Facebook official relationship statuses to everyone else.

Maybe.

Or maybe she just hadn’t met therightperson yet. Maybe she would meet him tonight and put thiswhole issue to rest. That would be nice, right? To finally feel like afunctioning person, like everyone else.

Twenty minutes later, she smiled into warm, dark eyes. The guyHolly had set her up with really was a looker. She had to give her credit.“Elle, meet Christopher VanCamp. He’s a good friend of Dash’s.”

“Hi. Elle Britton,” she said and extended her hand.

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