Page 37 of The Dating Game

Now to figure out who to bring. It can’t be Luke. Not only is he completely wrapped up in Hannah, but he won’t approve of the request. No, it will have to be someone who won’t mind doing me a little favor. I drum my fingers along my steering wheel, thinking. I’ve got just the man, actually. The two of us even talked about hanging out this weekend, so I’m guessing he’s free. Better yet, he owes me a favor. Time to cash in.

Chapter 13

Brooke

SinceitwasSydney’sidea that I plan our third date I don’t actually have a good date idea, but I couldn’t fess up to that after I’d already lost enough face with the whole Sydney playing Cyarno on my phone thing. She just couldn’t let it rest when I said I hadn’t heard from Will. Not to mention, she was all up in arms when I told her I didn’t think there was much actual chemistry between us. She actually had the gall to tell me I wasn’t trying hard enough!

Please. I put up with the man honking at me to come outside, biking like we were being chased, and critiquing my golf swing like he was flipping Scottie Sheffler or something. (Admittedly, he is impressively good at golf, but that is not relevant. Or sexy.)

Anyway, she just didn’t want me getting away with almost a whole week of dating him without actually having to see him.

Stinker.

I pull up to Twist and Shout and fix one of the clips holding my bun in place. I have to teach classes until six tonight, but I decided it would be easier to get ready here then to go home and have Will show up at my place and honk at me again. He can’t honk at me here. He has to come in and get me.

I’m actually pretty pleased with myself for outsmarting him on that front.

Of course I only have about four hours to come up with a good date idea, but my four pm tap class always has the best ideas for things. It was 8-year-old Reagan Leigh who suggested we do an all dance classes Christmas party in the bar downstairs, and it was super fun. We did karaoke and everything. And when the girls wanted dance sweatshirts but not everyone could afford them, it was 9-year-old Paisley Doliver’s idea to use the bar for a dance-a-thon to raise funds. Gosh, that was fun too.

Yeah, these girls will definitely be able to help me out with a date idea. Not that I’ll phrase it that way. I don’t discuss my dating life with the girls. But they’ll have an idea for a fun night out, right?

Oh goodness. What am I doing counting on a bunch of third graders to plan my social calendar?

They’ll probably suggest I go to the trampoline park or bowling.

Trampoline parks are terrifying. All of those kids doing flips and running into each other and bouncing higher in the air than any human should. I shudder.

And I do not like bowling. The ball never goes where it’s supposed to. Grant used to want to go all the time and somehow I never got better.

The real problem is that my ideal date would be staying here at Twist and Shout and having dinner. Then maybe performing a couple of songs together. Gosh. Grant was right. I am so predictably boring.

I’ll have to think of something else that might hold the interest of the man who skydives for a living. Well, or at least skydives on the side.

The consensus from my tap dancers is that I should have myself a pizza and movie night or paint my nails then eat pizza.

They are no longer my idea class.

Although pizza is starting to sound good. Sure, pizza is a very run of the mill Friday night food, but can it really be classified as boring when it’s so delicious?

There’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to use my emergency date, the one I reserve for guys I really like.

It’s a shame, but I refuse to end up at a bowling alley tonight.

Even if they do have surprisingly good pizza.

I’m at the hostess stand dressed and ready to go at five minutes to seven. Sydney said she firmly instructed Will not to be late this time, and though I could give him the opportunity to wait for me (see prior monologue on the anticipation of a woman’s appearance for a date), frankly I’m already using my best date on him. I’m not going to give him a big reveal moment too.

Meredith is working again tonight and she immediately starts peppering me with questions about Will or, as she’s calling him, Shortie (an ode to his short shorts, I presume, since he is not even a little short).

“Where are you guys going? What kind of car does Shortie drive? Do you love him? Has he kissed you? Is his hair as soft as it looks? Good hair is so important in a guy, don’t you think?”

The nice thing about Meredith is that she doesn’t typically require any answers to her myriad of questions. Her style of conversation often reminds me of Anne of Green Gables: one-sided, rambling, but somehow endearing all the same.

She’s moved onto musing about what kind of shampoo Shortie uses when the front door swings open and the man himself walks inside.

I straighten, forcefully ignoring the way my heart picked up speed at the sight of him in his faded jeans and button-down shirt. As established, Will is annoying. Sure he has his good moments—like when he sweetly held me after what happened with that Johnnyguy, but they're grossly overshadowed by all of his other moments. And, in the same way that I refuse to end up at a bowling alley tonight, I refuse to be a woman driven only by her physical attraction to a man.

I get that enough in the reverse: guys only interested in me because they think I have a pretty face.

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