Page 6 of Loaded

Which was insane. I barely knew her.

But when, a few moments later, he suggested that someone who spent all day in a board room instead of physically training for action movies would have no chance of beating him in an arm wrestle. . .I’m not sure what happened. I mean, looking back on it,obviouslymy hours of sitting at a desk hadn’t prepared me to beat him.

I worked out.

Apparently not nearly enough.

I put up a decent fight, straining, heaving, puffing, and then he winked at me—winked—and slammed my hand down so hard it sent a bowl of popcorn, a whole bunch of water bottles, and a stack of papers flying off the table to scatter on the ground.

It was loud.

It was humiliating.

And while I fumed, that cretin slung his stupidly muscular arm around Bea and waltzed out of the party. To make everything even worse, he winked at me again as he strolled out.

With Bea.

In my entire life, I have never done something so shamefully embarrassing. But I did find someone online to show me how to arm wrestle after that, and I never skipped shoulders again.

Not that any of that matters.

After that infuriating and humiliating interchange, I spent the weeks leading up to Emerson and Elizabeth’s wedding preparing to meet Bea again. I asked Elizabeth about her, but my sister was worse than useless. She giggled, she made jokes, and then she threatened to tell Emerson I had asked.

It was almost worse than the arm wrestling.

At the wedding, that horrible Jake Priest never left her side, not for a moment for the entire wedding. I swear, maybe it’s because I know they’re foster siblings, and not real siblings, but he acts like she’s his girlfriend. No matter how many times I ducked around corners when I saw her head around one, Jake was already waiting there like a shield.

He didn’t wink again, but it was almost worse than if he had.

And now, as if theonlytime I can possibly meet her is when I’m at my worst, I bump into her here, at her job, with the most plastic, ridiculous date I could ever imagine. The contrast between Bea’s shining, natural beauty and this woman’s purchased and polished face is appalling, frankly.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to somehow make any inroads with her tonight, while I’m on a date, but if I have to come back here every night for a month, I will.

I decide to start by telling her that I’m excited to be here. “I’ve spent the last few years chained to my desk at the office, but had I known you worked here, I’d have been here sooner. I’ve heard their pork chop is to die for.”

“I don’t think that’s the right choice for you,” she says with a shy smile. “Once you answer the questions, I’ll pick something better.”

“Allergies?” Chaliesah asks. “Wasn’t that the first one?”

Bea nods politely.

Before I can say anything, Chaliesah continues. “Hmm, well. Citrus, sesame, and gluten, though I guess gluten’s not really an allergy, but I can’t eat it, or my face bloats. This face is worth a lot of money, so I can’t have it bloating.” She giggles.

I’m going to kill Mrs. Yaltzinger.Thisirritating woman is who their matchmaker came up with? They didn’t even tell me her name before our date—they just said my match has over a million followers on social and is an up-and-coming influencer for women’s cosmetics, like that matters more than her lack of a personality.

In spite of the fact that my last ten plus years were devoted almost entirely to either school or work, I’m not willing to marry anyone they point me at. I wonder what they’d say about Bea. For some reason, I doubt she even has social media. Although, who knows? Maybe she has a piano or music account. She looks exactly like a starving artist should, and not just because she’s thin. She just has this air of, “I won’t change who I am for you or anyone else, no matter what.” I had no idea how attractive that was until they set me up with this chameleon who desperately wants me to like her.

I’m wishing I’d spent more time with my new brother-in-law Emerson right about now. Maybe I’d already have run into Bea under better circumstances.

“And you?” When Bea turns toward me, her bright eyes locked on mine, my churning brain goes blank.

Just like the first time we met. I swallow.

“No allergies?”

The only thing I’m allergic to is bee stings, but saying a tiny bug can do me in doesn’t sound very manly, so I don’t mention it. It’s not like it impacts what I eat.

“Question two is, what was the best meal of your life?” She lifts her eyebrows. “Like, tell me what it was, how old you were when you ate it, and where you consumed it.”

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