Page 13 of The Dating Game

“I knew,” she says with a shrug, “because I know you.”

“And I’m just so predictable?” I snap.

“When it comes to men, yes.” Her expressions softens. “Are you okay, Brooke? Did your breakup with Grant actually upset you?”

“What? No,” I say quickly. This half-lie is close enough to the truth that she’ll buy it. After all, it’s not thebreakup I’m upset about. It’s the unsettling words he spoke over me. But just like I never told Sydney what truly happened with Van, I won’t ever be telling her anything Grant said. I don’t need her requisite words of comfort. “I’m just thinking about whether or not I actually want to take this bet with you.” I grimace.

“Of course you do!” she cries. “Either way you have to go out with this guy, so you might as well try to get something out of it. Something besides falling in looovee,” she adds in an obnoxious sing-song.

She’s right, though. Either way I’m going to have to go out with this mystery man of hers. It’s just a question of the duration of our relationship.

And if I fail to keep the guy for three months, well, at least I’ll be able to tell Sydney she was wrong about thinking she could pick a better guy for me than I can pick for myself.

Anyway, maybe I do need this little shakeup in my dating life. Maybe taking this risk will expand to me taking other risks in my life and turning into a more exciting person.

I picture Hannah crying over the loss of Luke and feel a strange mix of trepidation and longing. I want to protect my heart…but I also want to find love one day. I really do.

Maybe venturing out of my dating comfort zone is a good first step. Maybe not every guy out there is a Van or a Grant.

“Fine,” I hear myself agree. “I accept your bet.”

“Great.” Sydney looks as happy as if I just gifted her a million dollars. “Shake on it.” She offers me her hand and I shake it, then we both pull our hands back and snap our fingers simultaneously before pointing a finger gun at each other and making a clicking sound paired with a wink. Juvenile? Maybe. But it’s been our special handshake for as long as I can remember. We used to spit on our hands first, but we stopped that for obvious reasons.

“So who’s the guy?” I ask when we’ve finished being awesome.

“Oh, well like I said when you were off in lalaland, you know him already.”

“I do?” I scan through all of the single men I know. Gosh, how awkward would it be if she was trying to set me up with Corbin Parker— the same guy I had picked out for her.

“Well, sort of. You’re at least on a first name basis and you sort of invited him to a party once.” She laughs, and that sixth sense called dread settles over me. I know before she says the name who she’s picked out for me. But I can’t date him. Not after, well…everything. I vomited on the man! But, of course, Sydney doesn’t know that. I told no one that story. For reasons even more obvious than the no-more-spitting-into-our-hands thing.

Still, I’m wishing I had told her now. If she knew maybe she wouldn’t be telling me to date him.

No, scratch that. She still would. She’d say it was such a cute story that showcases his gallantry. Or some nonsense like that.

“It’s Will!” she trills. “The karaoke guy! AKA the worship director at Grace Canyon. AKA the guy who I’ll formally introduce you to when you conveniently stop by the school tomorrow to visit me!” She claps her hands. “How jazzed are you right now? I told you I’d picked out a good one!” She carries on rambling excitedly about how perfect Will is for me, but I’m barely listening.

How am I going to ask Will out? Talk about a dumpster fire situation. I wish hedidhave an identical twin so I could ask that guy out.

No, you don’t,a small voice inside me whispers,not really. You like him. You think he’s cute and funny. And his singing voice makesyou want to attach your face to his face.

Stupid small voice. Why do you always have to be right? And why is it more terrifying to go after a date with a man I like than to keep dating lackluster men just to fill my time?

There’s a question I’m not comfortable trying to answer.

“So come to the school at lunch tomorrow,” Sydney concludes her monologue. I should tell her I have already formally met Will, but then I’ll have all sorts of explaining to do, and knowing Sydney she’ll get all worked up and start spewing about how this is fate.

No, I’ll just show up for her silly little meet-cute scenario then take control of the dialogue taking place. Control the narrative, that’s what Jill is always saying.

And yes, she’s typically referring to political narratives, but I think it applies to this situation as well.

I can totally do this. Sure, I may be boring, but at least I’m a confident bore.

Chapter 4

Will

“Whatdoyoumeanwe don’t have enough chaperones?” I gape at Luke.

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