Page 51 of The Dating Coach
"Then we'll figure it out together," he said simply. "Starting with dinner. Real dinner, not leftover pizza or Frank's experimental cooking."
“Like a date?” I asked quickly. “Not a real one, obviously—more like a practice run. To work on your dating skills."
"Exactly like a practice date. I definitely need more practice." He grabbed his jacket, then paused. "Unless you need to review physics first? I'd hate to interfere with your very urgent academic preparation."
I threw a pillow at him.
An hour later, we sat in Bellissimo, the kind of restaurant that required reservations and didn't have prices on the menu. I'd protested the expense, but Liam had insisted, saying something about "proper practice" and "realistic dating scenarios."
"This is too much," I said for the third time, gesturing at the elegant table settings and soft lighting.
"Nothing is too much for proper dating education," he countered, then grinned. "Besides, I've been saving my tutoring money. Oh wait, you never paid me."
"Ipaidin dating lessons," I reminded him.
"Which I'm apparently still failing," he said, eyes twinkling. "Maybe we should review. How's my eye contact?"
He stared at me with exaggerated intensity until I burst out laughing.
"Ridiculous," I declared. "Your eye contact is ridiculous. Real dates don't involve staring contests."
“How about active listening?” He leaned in like a caricature of attentiveness. “Tell me about your day. I promise to nod thoughtfully and say things like ‘Mmm, interesting.’”
But the funny thing was—he actually listened. I found myself actually telling him – about my morning swim practice, the lab report that had taken hours, Mia's excitement about her meeting with the admissions counselor. He listened with genuine interest, asking questions, remembering details from previous conversations.
"See?" he said when I finished. "Excellent active listening skills. What's my grade, Professor Spears?"
"B+," I decided. "Points deducted for that smug smile. Real dates shouldn't feel like performances."
"Harsh but fair." He reached across the table, taking my hand. "How about physical affection? Appropriate levels of PDA for a first date?"
"In public?" I glanced around the restaurant, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt. "That's very advanced dating behavior. Most first dates don't involve hand-holding."
"I'm an advanced student," he said, thumb stroking over my knuckles in a way that made me shiver.
We managed to stay focused on the lesson through dinner – mostly. There may have been some inappropriate footsie during dessert when he claimed he was "testing boundaries," and his hand may have wandered higher than strictly necessary on my thigh when he asked about "appropriate restaurant contact," but overall we maintained the pretense of education.
The walk back to campus was where things shifted. The night was cold but clear, stars visible despite the light pollution. Liam walked beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, and I pulled my jacket tighter against the chill.
"I have a confession," I said as we passed the library where so many of our study sessions had taken place.
"Should I be worried?"
"I've been creating study materials for a class I'm not taking," I admitted. "Physics flashcards. Color-coded and everything."
He stopped walking. "You made flashcards for our fake tutoring sessions?"
"I panicked!" I defended. "I needed a legitimate reason to keep seeing you, and my brain defaults to academic preparation when stressed."
Liam shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Gemma, you don’t need an excuse. We’re friends. Spending time together is what friends do."
"Friends," I repeated, the word feeling both safe and somehow insufficient. "That's so... normal."
"Is normal bad?"
"No," I said quickly. "Normal is terrifying. Crisis I can handle. Emergency mode is my comfort zone. But this? Just hanging out and being happy? I keep waiting for something to go wrong."
"Hey." He stopped walking, turning to face me. "Nothing has to go wrong. Sometimes good things just happen and we get to keep them."
