Page 36 of Side Hustle
“Hey,” Rip said next to me, leaning in.
“Shh!” I gave him the evil eye Yedda had perfected over the years and passed down to me.
He winced and switched to a whisper. “Sorry. Um. I just wanted to know if you’d come over for dinner tomorrow at my place. I’ll cook.”
My heart stopped and so did my swaying. The corners of my lips turned up and I couldn’t stop them. “Are you asking me out on a date, Rip Bennett?”
I could have been mistaken given the darkness that surrounded us, but Rip’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. His gaze flickered around before coming back to hold mine, like he’d decided right then and there.
“I guess I am, Hazel Redding.”
The thirty condoms in my bag stood up and danced.
14
Rip
Rip:How long does French bread go in the oven?
Bain:How the fuck should I know?
Titus:Hold up. Why are you making French bread?
Charlie:the gluten isn’t good for you, man. I have a recipe for a gluten-free, nonfat, dairy-free bread you’d love.
Rip:I think I scraped your bread off my tires last night, Charlie. Thanks, but no, thanks. Hazel is coming over and bread you break a tooth on isn’t on the menu.
Titus:Hazel and Rip, sitting in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Rip:Real mature, asshat.
Charlie:you need more fiber in your life. You sound constipated.
Titus:Dude, you never made French bread for me when I lived there.
Bain:You’re missing some parts he really likes, T.
Titus:I’m just saying the turnaround is a bit abrupt. I mean, just a few months ago he was staring at the wall and contemplating what to do with his life. Now he’s fucking Betty Crocker.
Jayden:Pretty sure he wants to be fucking Hazel…
Rip:Enough, assholes! And just so you know, thirty minutes on broil is too long. Titus, do you know if I have a fire extinguisher in the house somewhere?
Titus:Under the sink…I’ll swing by the store to get another loaf and leave it on your back doorstep. Can’t have Hazel pissed off there’s no bread. Women love bread. You can’t have dinner without bread if you want in her pants.
Bain:Life wisdom from Titus Jackson…
I shut my phone off and waved my brand-new pot holders through the thick smoke making its way to my smoke detector. Those clowns I called friends were good for nothing when it came to dating women. They’d all fallen into the perfect relationship with people just right for them and their unique brand of ineptitude. I’d never had a woman over for dinner in my own home and you’d think they could help me out. I was like a fish out of water with a hook still caught in my jaw. Despite my best attempts, Hazel had reeled me in back in high school and never let me go.
Sure, I’d dated other women over the years, but it had been shallow and stilted at best, a cold and meaningless exchange in the dark at worst. I wanted to pull out all the stops for Hazel. Treat her far better than she treated herself. I owed her at least that much for standing by me with all this stuff with my father.
And yeah. I really fucking enjoyed kissing her.
I hoped that happened tonight too.
If I’d purposely not bought condoms in preparation for tonight, I wasn’t going to analyze why. I was a gentleman, dammit. Gentlemen don’t assume sex in exchange for a good meal, or in my case a meal. Nothing good about burnt French bread. There was just something special about Hazel that prompted me to be over-gentlemanly.
The doorbell rang and I threw down the potholders. The charred remains of the French bread smoldered in the sink. Hopefully she couldn’t smell anything, though that was probably wishful thinking. I detoured to the little speaker I had plugged into the outlet in the living room and turned it up. The playlist I’d found for a romantic first date came through the speakers.
