Page 7 of The Amazing Date

My phone buzzes, and I smirk at the name. “Mr. Wentworth loved it, didn’t he?”

“You were lucky this time.” Will believes he is coming across as threatening, but when it comes to opinions on artwork, his is near the bottom of the list of respected sources. “Next time when one of these country club clients commission a family portrait, you give them just that—a boring, stick-up-the-ass, hide-this-behind-glass portrait. We make a shit ton of money on these no-brainer art pieces; don’t you jeopardize that again.”

I twist in my seat and catch the eye of a blonde co-ed at the end of the bar. She smiles and waves in my direction. “I didn’t hear you list the client’s satisfaction in your list of deliverables.” I press his buttons because I can. During my interview with Mr. Wentworth, he spoke about his granddaughter and her love of unicorns. He loved horses growing up but was destined to run the family business. He gave up the wide-open range for an office building filled with cubicles, insurance minions building his family fortune one policy at a time. Now retired and near seventy-five, his wife convinced him to have a portrait painted.

Before starting, I sat with him, just as I always do at the start of an assignment. We sat on his back deck and chatted for three hours, and I discovered his true passions, his true joys, how he wanted to be seen. And that is what I delivered. A spectacular, colorful, vibrant portrait of him standing proud, hands on hips, staring out to a pasture filled with untamed horses and unicorns.

I busted my ass, spending nights and weekends to get it exactly right, painting at my home studio to avoid office distractions. No one saw the work in progress or the final product until it was delivered ready for installation.

“I’ve filled your calendar for next month,” Will continues, pivoting back to the only thing he truly cares about: commissions and money. “Mr. Wentworth has convinced his sister and two brothers to have portraits done. I’ve adjusted your schedule. He’s requested you personally.”

“Of course he did.” I take a long swallow as the blonde takes a gingerly step in my direction. I jerk my head toward the empty stool next to me, and she approaches. “Will, I have to go. Supply run. I’ll be working out of my home studio the next few days—need the privacy to conduct the client interviews. I want to get a jump on those pieces while the inspiration is still fresh.”

“Wait, don’t you…”

I disconnect the line and slip the phone into my rear pocket. A manicured hand lands softly on my knee, a soft tap, baby pink polish a near match to her skin tone. There’s a playful smile on her face as she slips onto the seat next to me. “Hi, I’m Caitlin. You here for the competition?”

“Roberto, nice meeting you.” I nod and wave over the bartender. “I guess I am. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.” I don’t expect her to understand, yet she nods.

Caitlin is white, early twenties. Her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, face fresh with vivid green eyes. “Yeah, it can be a little intense. Who are you racing with? Are they here?” Her eyes shift around the bar, slowly assessing everyone in the room.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” I toy with her. She’s wearing a gold top that clings to her chest and comfortable brown slacks. “What are you drinking?”

She spots my beer and nods. “The same.” I tap the bottle and gesture toward the bartender. Her gaze returns to me, and she boldly allows it to roam from the top of my head down to my toes. “Let’s see, a man like you would demand a strong partner.” Her green eyes light up with excitement. “I got it. Him.” She points to a football-sized man-child who is standing mid-room, staring at the lone TV on the wall. SportsCenter is streaming, and the guy stuffs his face with a handful of french fries.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I begin, “but does he seem like my type?”

A snicker escapes her lips. “Okay, let me try again.” She twists her back to the bar, elbows on the ledge, and smiles.

This is more like it. Laid-back, no tension, no smart retorts, no hurtful past. Maybe I can convince Caitlin to switch partners with me. Her face lights up, her smile growing brighter than a comet. I turn to see who could elicit that response so I can take pointers. A matching blonde is gliding across the bar, working around the patrons, the corners of her lips tipped up in joy.

I hold my tongue as Caitlin smothers her doppelgänger in a hug that has me wishing I had positioned myself between them. Their hugs turn into giggles and pecks on the cheek before they turn in my direction.

“Roberto. This is my best friend, Kelly. Kelly, Roberto. He’s in the competition too.”

I extend my hand toward her, but she ignores it and wraps me in a quick hug. “Goody. I can’t wait to meet everyone. Where are you from? How long have you and your partner been training?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, twisting back to Caitlin, their hands slipping into one another. “Have you met his partner? Which one is he?”

Kelly mirrors Caitlin’s movement from earlier, back pressed to the bar, eyes out toward the crowd. They’re not twins but damn near to it. Kelly wears a matching gold top. Her blonde hair is shorter, her eyes blue.

“I never said it was a guy,” I interject. Two sets of blonde hair fly in my direction, similar hairstyles, matching scents. “Don’t tell me you’re running the race with your wife.” Kelly glances down at my bare hand. “Or worse yet, a fiancée or girlfriend.”

I push off the bar, leaving my beer on the tabletop. “Isn’t that the purpose of the competition? To challenge and strengthen a relationship—why not a romantic one?”

“Did you not do any research?” Caitlin challenges as Kelly whips out her phone.

“It Takes Two has been around for fifteen years, operates only twice a year. That’s thirty competitions. That first one, and the one they advertise the most, was a couple who won and then went on to get married. They are the poster children for the competition. However, if you look at the statistics, most of the winners are same-sex teams, primarily best friends, like me and Caitlin.” Kelly spews information I would know if I cared enough to look into the insanity of this competition. Her finger swipes across her phone screen. “Less drama, easier communication, and better teamwork. Did you not spend time in the chat rooms and follow the threads of the prior contestants?”

I shake my head. I have no reference—prior to yesterday, I had never heard of the It Takes Two competition.

Caitlin taps my elbow. “Over seventy-five percent of the dating couples break up within a few months of the competition. Including engagements. Hell, over half the married couples wind up in divorce.”

I scoff. “I think that’s the going rate for divorce in this country anyway.”

“Not within three months of committing a significant amount of money and pledging to work on their relationship. Back in 2015, one lady filed for divorce during the competition. Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

I shake my head. What have I gotten myself into? Movement across the room catches my eye—Gabby hopping on her good leg with the cane. I take a step in her direction.

“Don’t tell me that’s your partner.” Kelly snickers behind my back.

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