The Dating Game

by Kiley Roache

  I look back up, and in a split second we both make the same decision.

  We crash into each other. His lips find mine as his hands travel up my body and weave through my hair. He pulls me even tighter against him, and I can’t tell if we’re so close that I can feel his heartbeat, or if mine is just beating that fast. There is a sort of hunger behind this kiss, and the rest of the world becomes a blur. There is just me and him, and the release of this tension that has been building for months first as anger, and now maybe as something else.

  And then there’s the sound of the door swinging open behind us.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Roberto

  With my hand on the door, I stand, frozen. Through the glass, I watch as she laughs and dances and jumps, and my heart is full. I’m full of happiness, not just for what happened upstairs, but to see her this happy.

  And then I see them fall together. He wraps his arms around her, and then, as if in slow motion, they kiss.

  It feels like my heart is falling out of my body. I want to look away, but I can’t.

  She leans back and looks at him, smiling the way she does in my dreams.

  I won’t say I’m watching my life shatter to pieces, although it feels a bit like that at the moment. I know my life is more than this girl.

  She might have a laugh that sounds like summer. And maybe it’s true that an epic night of partying would pale in comparison to a night spent coding on the couch next to her. That she is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the one I think of when I look at the stars at night.

  But there is more than that to my life. I was all right before I met her, and I will be all right again, soon enough.

  It’s not that I think I need her, or whatever bullshit people say. It’s just... For a while, I thought we might have been onto something great. I’d started to think of all the places we could go together—I’d hear about a new restaurant opening, or a cool campsite a few hours away that was supposed to be beautiful, and I’d think that, one day, we might go there. She could wear that new dress she was excited about, and we could try foods I didn’t know existed before. We could hike until we were exhausted and then cuddle by a campfire. And she would be my best friend, and maybe more.

  And maybe, one day, there would be mornings I would wake up next to her, and even though I had coffee to make and classes to get to, I would have five minutes of paradise as I held her and watched her sleep, her head resting on my shoulder.

  I know there are ways that I can have a great life without her. I just thought it would be nice to share a life with her, at least for a little while. And although I might not be sad forever that we aren’t together, I might be missing out on an unparalleled sort of happiness, one I couldn’t even fully feel or even understand, without her.

  I push the door open, and they step apart. Sara adjusts her blouse and turns, smiling at me. It’s different than before though.

  “Hey, Robbie,” she says. “Ready to go?” I can’t shake the feeling that it sounds like she is talking to her little brother.

  Before I can answer, her gaze flickers back to him. She blushes and bites her lip as she turns away.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I think I might walk home though. Clear my head.”

  “Is everything okay?” She is really looking at me now. Giving me her full attention.

  “Yeah.” I wave a hand, brushing off her concern. I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb. Back toward the building and the meeting a few minutes earlier. “That was just wow.” I force a smile and try to add some cheer to my voice, to make it seem like the drowning look in my eyes is just a sign of being overwhelmed and unable to process how well our careers are going, and not because my heart is tearing apart.

  Part Three

  Game Changer

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sara

  “And then he just...kissed me.”

  “Ahhhh!” Yaz squeals and claps her hands. “I love it.” She pretends to faint, falling backward onto my couch. “This is so dreamy.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, it was...” I try to think, but I can’t get this smile off my face, and it makes it hard to produce any sounds that aren’t giggles. “It was pretty cool.”

  “Pretty cool?” She sits back up. “Are you kidding me? You’re dating a billionaire.”

  “He’s not a billionaire.”

  “Yeah.” She raises her eyebrows. “But his dad is.”

  “That.” I wave a hand dismissively. “That stuff doesn’t matter.” I also want to say that Yaz’s parents are probably getting close to that B word, given that they started the second most popular social media app in Brazil. But I learned that from Google, not from her, so I don’t wanna bring it up.

  “Of course, of course.” She nods. “That’s not the only reason you like him, but it’s a pretty damn nice perk.”

  “Dude!”

  “Hey, all I’m saying is that in a world full of guys asking you to come over and smoke before watching an illegally downloaded movie in a dorm room, I’d die to go on some dates out of The Bachelor.”

  I roll my eyes. “Speaking of, aren’t we supposed to be watching that?” I reach for the remote. Our usual Friday night reality TV catch-up and wine-drinking sesh has been completely derailed by Yaz demanding all the details on Braden-gate.

  “Yeah, whatever—this is more interesting anyway.”

  I shake my head as I scroll through the DVR. “It’s not even like that, okay?”

  “All right.” She uncrosses her sweatpanted and fuzzy-socked legs and stands up. “Then tell me what it is like.” She walks in front of me, and I lean around her to see the screen. “But let me get the wine first.”

  “Okay.” Yaz situates herself on the couch, handing me one of the plastic wineglasses. She unscrews the top of the eight-dollar wine bottle—and pours some into my glass.

  “But what about that other guy?” she asks.

  “Hmmm?” I pick up my wine to take a sip.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.” She stares me down. “I’ve proofread too many of your texts to Robbie to think no feelings are there.”

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “Anything there is definitely one-sided.” I swirl my pink wine, watching tiny bubbles form and thinking about what a fool I made of myself when I got high. About Robbie’s clear disinterest. “I can’t spend my whole life in unrequited love. Waiting for the perfect boy. I have to give a chance to the one who actually wants me.”

  “I guess so.” She rests her head on the couch. “I just like Robbie. He seems really sweet from the screenshots you’ve sent me.”

  He is. But that also doesn’t matter. His texts are kind and funny. But they are friendly. And nothing more.

  I frown. “Can we focus on what’s real for once?” I ask.

  “Sure.” She sips her wine.

  “Where do I start?” Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I don’t know how to girl-talk about anything but boy band fan fic.

  “What happened after the kiss?” she asks.

  “Well...” I take a sip of wine to stall. “I was kind of nervous and awkward—I wanted to kiss him again but didn’t want to invite him upstairs, because I wasn’t sure if that was, like, bad to do...”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “So I kind of just came back here. And I guess he went back to his dorm.”

  “Dude.” Yaz shakes her head before taking a long sip of her wine. “Tell me you at least kissed him goodbye.”

  “Yes.” I look down at my glass. “On the cheek.”

  “Oh no.” She shakes her head. “You ruined it, didn’t you? Had a chance with a future Bachelor contestant, and you ruined it.”

  “I did not ruin it,” I say. “And he would never go on The Bachelor, c’mon.”

  “True.” Sh
e considers this. “Probably Millionaire Matchmaker.”

  “How many of these shows do you watch?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you watching without me?”

  “We’re not talking about that.” She brushes me off. “We’re talking about how you ruined everything.”

  I roll my eyes. “I didn’t ruin it. That night, he texted me. Even sent a kiss emoji.”

  “Oooooh.” She holds her glass close to her chest. “Things are heating up.”

  I ignore her mocking tone. “And then on Tuesday we went on a coffee date.”

  “Oh, very nice.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “It was nice.” I smile. “Like, we’ve gotten coffee before, as coworkers, and friends and stuff. But this felt different, you know? There was a sort of flirty vibe throughout.”

  She nods. “Plus you probably didn’t make out after the other times you went for coffee.”

  “Well...we didn’t technically make out this time either.”

  “Sara.”

  I hold up my hands innocently. “What? It was the middle of the day, okay? What was I supposed to do?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, tell him your roommate is in class and invite him over. Or for God’s sake, just be one of those annoying couples who kiss in the middle of the quad, I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I just, I don’t know. I don’t have much experience in this area. I didn’t know what to do.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t believe, you, of all people, run Perfect10.”

  I ignore this comment. Unsurprisingly, she’s been doing quite well recently, just .4 away from Platinum. I offered to bump her up the last bit, but she said she wants to earn it.

  “So,” she continues. “What happened the next time y’all hung out?”

  “That was kind of it,” I say. “We’re between launches for the app, so I haven’t really seen him. He came late to class Thursday, and I always sit in front, so it’s not like I coulda talked to him then.”

  “Huh,” she says. I can tell she’s trying to keep her expression neutral but is thinking that our relationship—or flirtation, or whatever it is—is dead in the water.

  “But we’ve been texting, like, all the time.” I set my glass on the table and reach for my phone. “And really flirty stuff too. Look.”

  I hand her the phone. I can’t believe she’s managed to get me invested in this conversation.

  “I’ve been glued to my phone, and we’ve stayed up until like two every night talking.”

  “Congrats, Sara, you’re in a middle school relationship.” She laughs. “Let me know if he chats you on AIM, will you? Maybe even puts you in his Myspace top eight.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “Oh shut up,” I say. “I’m happy—isn’t that what matters?”

  “Yeah.” She hands back the phone. “And those texts are quite cute, I have to say.”

  “Thank you.” I stare at my open conversation with Braden for a second. I was the last person to respond, writing lol that’s amazing in response to a Buzzfeed article he’d sent me. There technically wasn’t a need for him to respond, but I’m kind of hoping he will. Every time my phone buzzes with his name, it sets off butterflies in my stomach.

  And we’ve been texting so often that I am almost disappointed when I look at my phone and there is no alert from him. Which is insane, because a week ago I was perfectly happy without him.

  I exhale and click the lock button on my phone. “Bachelor?” I ask her.

  She nods excitedly and reaches for the remote. We’ve caught up on the most recent seasons, so have gone back to old ones we haven’t seen. I click on an old first episode, where they introduce the “contestants” searching for love.

  We make our way through skinny blonde woman after skinny blonde woman, hearing about their loves of raising ducks, tattooing elderly people or baking erotic cakes.

  “People on this show have the weirdest jobs,” she says, refilling her glass of wine as a woman with Duck Enthusiast listed as her occupation talks about how hard it may be to choose between love and, well, her love of poultry.

  “Hey, at least they’re passionate about something.” I shrug. “It’s kind of refreshing to see people care that unironically.”

  “But about ducks?”

  “To each their own.” I take a sip of my wine as the next girl comes on screen.

  Although a lot of these girls look incredibly similar—there are only so many ways a real live human can resemble a Barbie doll—this girl looks just like a contestant we saw two before the Duck Enthusiast.

  “Is that the girl from earlier?” Yaz asks.

  “I don’t—”

  I am interrupted by Brandy, who informs us in a voice-over that she is actually the twin of the girl we met earlier. As the screen cuts from B roll of her emerging from a limo to her being interviewed, an info bar appears at the bottom of the screen. It informs us that her name is actually spelled B-r-a-n-d-i, and that her hometown is Los Angeles, California. But it’s the final line of her bio that’s most interesting.

  Occupation: Twin.

  “No!” Yaz falls back onto the couch, cackling.

  “Oh, c’mon.” I shake my head. “That’s what they’re listing as her occupation?”

  On screen, Brandi flips her hair and continues her monologue. “Yeah, although I haven’t met him, I really think Joe could be the one. And at twenty-three, I’m really ready to take that next step in life, you know? I think he’ll really like me.” She smiles for a beat before adding, “I think I can win this thing.”

  I roll my eyes and take a sip of wine.

  My phone vibrates against the wood coffee table. I set down my glass and pick it up.

  I can’t help but smile when I see the alert, a text from Braden Hart.

  “Your boy?” Yaz asks.

  I slide open the text. My eyes go wide as I read the message.

  “What? What did he say?” She stands up so quickly that some of her wine splashes out of the glass. “Oh, sorry,” she says, looking down at the mess.

  “Whatever.” I wave a hand. “It’s dorm furniture.” I am barely focused on my words as I reread the text.

  “You don’t care about a mess?” she asks. “What the hell does that message say?”

  I look up and smile. “He just texted me to put on a fancy dress and heels—we’re going on a date.”

  “Yay!” She squeals. “That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “If that’s okay with you—it is supposed to be girls’ night.”

  “Are you kidding?” she says. “We hang out every week—this is huge.”

  “It’s not huge.” I roll my eyes as I stand and walk toward my room. Although I’m not sure my words are believable, considering I’m blushing and smiling so big that I’m practically giggling.

  I pull open my closet door and put my hair up in the ponytail holder that was on my wrist, so that I can concentrate better. I examine my wardrobe.

  “Dude!” Yaz yells from the other room. “He sent you another text.”

  “What does it say?” I lean through the doorway.

  Instead of reading it, she walks toward me with the phone in one hand and my wineglass in another.

  “Can I have the rest of your wine?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say, taking the phone from her. “I don’t have a password. You could’ve just opened it—” I freeze, reading the rest of what he’s said to me.

  Braden: Don’t bother to do your hair though, chopper will mess it up in seconds

  “What?” Yaz asks.

  I look up at her, speechless. I shove the phone in her general direction.

  “Oh my god, a helicopter, dude this is just like Season 7 with Grace and Chad omigod omigod!” She paces up and down my room and rambles on about how much this resembles The Bachelor and
her favorite rom-com and every glamorous romance she’s ever read or watched.

  I nod along and head back to my closet to see if I have anything that even vaguely resembles what you’re supposed to wear on a date with the heir to a multibillion-dollar fortune. I flip through my dresses from H&M and Forever 21, and start to think there’s nothing of that particular description in my closet.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Braden

  Fuck, I think I really like this girl.

  I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. All it does is make me realize how shaky I am, my exhale rattling. I look at the flowers I got. Lilies, per the hipster shopkeeper’s recommendations.

  Stupid, so stupid. Should’ve gone with roses. Long-stem red roses would have been perfect. Nothing beats classic elegance.

  I could’ve gotten the Paris of flowers, and what did I get her? The San Francisco of flowers? The Austin of flowers? Hipster BS. What was I doing?

  I check my watch. It’s ten to eight. Too late to go back for a different bouquet. All I can do is hope for the best and knock.

  I raise my hand to do so, but the door swings open before I can make contact. A striking brunette with wide eyes almost runs into me.

  “Oh!” she says, breaking into a big smile. “Hi, I’m Yazmine.” She extends her hand, staring me down. “You must be Braden.”

  She steps back to allow me in, seemingly forgetting she was about to leave. “So, tell me about yourself,” she says, closing the door behind me.

  “Yaz!” Sara’s voice emerges from the other room. She stumbles into the doorway, hopping on one heeled foot as she attempts to slide her other one into the matching shoe. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Yaz shakes her head as she slinks off toward the door, her nosy-friend opportunity spoiled for today.

  Sara looks at me, and her eyes soften. “Lilies!” She lights up. “My favorite.” She finally gets the shoe on and crosses the room in two graceful seconds, taking the flowers and pulling me into an embrace. “They’re amazing.”