Page 45 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
At one point, Bek takes my hand under the table and just holds it. She can see what’s going on in my head.
As my shame builds, I consider making an excuse and leaving, but the thought of doing that angers me. Why should I have to hide? I’ve done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. And even if I had, it isn’t anyone’s place to judge my behavior. Why am I the one being judged? Why am I heating with embarrassment? Wanting to hide? This is wrong.
Bek must sense something because she leans forward to get a look at my face. “Are youokay?”
Ava leans forward too. And Dylan arches a brow.
“No, I’m not.” My anger bubbles like a potion in a cauldron. “I am absolutely not okay.” I sit tall and look around. There are at least four boys staring dreamily at me as I scan the room, and that makes me even more mad.
I slam my hand on the table, making utensils rattle, getting the attention of many of the people in the room. I rise slowly out of my chair, feeling like lava boiling up out of a crater.
“Kirk,” I shout to a boy on the far side of the room. We dated a couple times during the school year. “What’s my favorite color?”
He reels backward like I slapped him.
“I don’t know.”
I shift my attention to another table. “Luke, what’s my favorite Mexican dish?”
“Uh,” Luke shakes his head. “Enchiladas?”
I roll my eyes. During our date, we had a full conversation about it being the complimentary chips and salsa you get at the beginning of your visit.
I turn and scan faces. Guys are starting to shift so they are hidden behind others. “Kenny, you’ll know this.”
Kenny’s terrified expression turns into a knowing smirk. “Shoot.”
“What’s my favorite sport?”
I see panic flash in his eyes, but then he nods. “Football.”
I snarl. He thinks that because he plays football. “Wrong.” We played horseshoes at the park on our date, and I told him that was my favorite sport. We argued if it was a sport or not.
“See what’s happening here?” I scan the room to make sure people are still listening. Especially the guys. “I’m sitting in this chair feeling like crap because I’m somehow getting the reputation for being easy. And guys are starting to think the term “easy” applies to me saying yes to more than going out with them.”
There are murmurs in the room, and I don’t even care if they are with me or against me because I am so worked up, I couldn’t stop talking if my friends dragged me from the room. And based on the confused expressions on the boys’ faces throughout the room, things definitely need to be cleared up.
“But am I easy?” Wide eyes stare back at me. “Am I?” I shout.
When no one answers, I take a different tactic. “Raise your hand if you have gone on a date with me.” Maybe twenty hands go up. “Keep your hands in the air if you’ve gone on two dates with me.”
More than half the hands go down. The responding whispers are a little louder now.
“Now, keep your hand in the air if we have kissed.”
Nothing happens at first. I’m guessing because there are a lot of embellished stories out there that guys are about to be caught in. I arch a brow and finally, the hands start to fall. In the end, only one is still in the air. “Yes, Spencer. You were a gentleman. You walked me to the door at the end of both dates and then gave me a goodnight kiss on the second date. But in the end, we both knew there wasn’t any chemistry, didn’t we?”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I look around the room and it feels like I’m shooting lasers from my eyeballs at all the liars. “So, I will thank you all very much for correcting any stories you’ve circulated about what it’s like to date Samantha Jones.”
I dig my wallet out of my purse, take out a few bills, and throw them on the table. “Bek, you ready?”
She hops out of her seat. Ava and Dylan stand too, with Dylan taking point so he clears a path through the crowded restaurant. Ava and Bek flank me, and I make sure to hold my head high as I march out of the room.
I stumble when I find myself passing a shockedBrent who stands at the entrance of the room. From the expression on his face, I know he heard at least most of my performance.
Good. Let him stew in it.
