Page 47 of Miss Matched

“Just have to make them see it.” I wink, and her shoulders finally relax. “So, the Seahawks?”

Jasmine’s face lights up with the opportunity to talk about work, and I can’t remember the last time I cared enough about what my company was doing to have that kind of reaction.

We ping-pong the conversation back and forth over dinner. I discuss infrastructure concepts for the new development, and she launches into a spirited discussion on sales and production strategy. We don’t hold our tongues and give our honest opinions. Jasmine surprises me with her candidness.

Conversation comes as easily as the wine. But by the end of our meal, that’s all it is: business. No flirting, no spark. I might be at this table, but my mind is somewhere else.

I say goodnight to Jasmine with a hug on the curb outside the restaurant. She doesn’t lean in for a kiss or ask to continue the evening. Either she’s being polite, or she feels the same way I do.

When I get in the car, I know I should be texting Jasmine that I had a wonderful time, that I can’t wait to do it again. Instead, I hit dial on another number and try not to crawl out of my skin waiting as it rings.

“This is Kennedy, leave a message.”

I hang up. She’s either avoiding me or too busy to take my call. Given the time of night, I tell myself she’s irritated just to avoid the thought of her on a date with another man.

She might not be mine, but for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want anyone else to have her.

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