No More Terrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “Yeah, like you could save the world by singing karaoke,” I scoff.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” His eyes are sparkling as he looks at me. “Whatever the reason, it would have to be something super important to get me up there on that stage. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to sit back and enjoy the entertainment, Alex,” Sophie says.

  “Let me guess, Soph. In another life, you’d be a pop princess,” Alex says with a chuckle.

  Sophie grins. “How did you know? We all would, right, girls?”

  “I’d go back in time and join ABBA,” Erin pronounces.

  “Yeah, me too,” I agree.

  Alex crinkles his brow. “How would it work with the naming thing? Aren’t the ‘As’ and the ‘Bs’ in the name the band members’ first initials?”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you always this pedantic?”

  Erin is clearly impressed. “Look at you, knowing that level of ABBA trivia. What do you think, Darce? Should we let Alex join our band tonight?”

  I open my mouth to say, “Heck no,” when Alex beats me to it. “I think ABBA’s probably more your thing than mine, Erin.”

  Taking his comment as the insult I’m certain it’s intended to be, I cross my arms and glare at him. “Is ABBA’s music not highbrow enough for you, Alex? I suppose you’re into cool alternative music that makes you think deeply about the human condition.”

  His face breaks into one of his irritating smirks. “I’m not sure the Jonas Brothers would consider themselves commentators on the human condition, would you?”

  “The Jonas Brothers?” I scoff. Alex “I’m-too-cool-for-school” Walsh is into boy bands? ABBA may be unabashed pop, just like the Jonas Brothers, but at least they’re vintage, which lends them a certain edge, in my opinion. “That’s not what I was expecting from you.”

  His eyes are so intense, they feel as though they’re boring into me when he replies, “I’m full of surprises, Darcy.”

  “Is that so?”

  He gives a slow nod, his eyes not leaving mine, his smirk stretching across his face. “I guess you could say I’m multi layered.”

  “Like an onion, right?”

  “Sure,” he shrugs, falling right into my trap.

  “So, you’re telling me that like an onion, you smell bad, you’re overpowering, and you make people cry?”

  I’m more than a little proud of my retort.

  He leans closer to me, his laugh low. “Would you like to find out if that’s true?” he asks so quietly only I can hear.

  I blink at him as his words seep into my brain. Is he flirting with me? The guy I hate—and for very good reason, I might add—thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to sit in my favorite karaoke bar and flirt with me over a discussion about fresh produce? The gall of the man!

  Despite my outrage, my tummy does a weird little zingy thing, and I shift my butt to the very back of my seat. “I have absolutely no interest in finding out anything of the sort, thank you very much,” I reply, trying to sound haughty and mildly shocked at his suggestive tone.

  “I bet you that’s not true.”

  Discomfited, I swallow, my throat tight. “It is, actually.” I turn away from his gaze, pick up my glass and take a swig of my drink, and then another.

  “You know, I do remember you and Erin singing an ABBA song a while back at the Cozy Cottage Open Mic Night. You were pretty good, from what I recall,” he says. “You had the moves and everything.”

  I arch an eyebrow as I shoot him another glare. “We were better than just ‘pretty good.’ The audience loved us.”

  “I remember.” Alex’s eyes flash to mine.

  I look away immediately. I’m not going to risk anything else that might bring on a return of that zingy feeling in my tummy. The last thing I’m going to do is reignite long-dead feelings for Alex Walsh, that’s for sure.

  He leans back in his seat. “You’re super modest about your singing prowess, clearly.”

  “Clearly,” I echo.

  “Darce,” Erin says, providing me with a much needed out from this disconcertingly flirtatious interaction with Alex.

  I mean, what’s up with that?

  “Do you want to go upbeat with Does Your Mother Know or more laid back?”

  “Fernando?” I suggest.

  She beams at me. “Fernando.”

  “I forgot to ask,” Alex says to me. “How was your date with that guy at the café this week?”

  “It was fine, thank you. We didn’t gel though, and there’s not a lot you can do about that.” There’s no freaking way he needs to know that we didn’t gel on a gender-based level.

  “We’ll have to find someone else for you, babe,” Erin says. “Pass me your phone.”

  “Do I have to?” I ask.

  “You do,” Sophie confirms as Erin says, “Come on, hand it over.”

  With more than a touch of reluctance, I pull my phone out of my purse and pass it to Sophie. Who knows? Maybe she’ll have better luck finding a guy on there than me. My recent dating track record doesn’t inspire any degree of confidence in my man-selection abilities.

  Erin’s eyes light up. “Oooh, are we going to ‘cruise for men’ on the Internet?” She shifts closer to Sophie, and they begin to scroll through my dating app.

  “You make it all sound so tawdry,” I complain. “And don’t go swiping right on anyone. Just give me your top three recommendations, and I’ll review them myself.”

  Sophie looks up at me. “So you’ll do what? Reject them all?”

  I cross my arms. “No,” I say, sounding totally unconvincing.

  “You three,” Erin says as she points at Alex, Jason, and me, “talk amongst yourselves. Soph and I are on a mission here.”

  With my two girlfriends occupied with fixing my love life, I refill my glass with sparkling wine and ask Jason what it’s like to be a full-fledged doctor these days.

  “Seriously, the only thing that’s really changed is Soph no longer gets to correct me when I call myself Doctor Christie.”

  “Which you do all the time, I bet,” I say with a rueful smile.

  “If I were a doctor, I’d claim bragging rights, too,” Alex says.

  Jason smiles at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Doctor Christie.”

  I roll my eyes. Guys sticking together is so typical.

  “I’m gonna go to the bar to order some fries. Does anyone want anything?” Jason asks us.

  I shake my head as Alex replies, “No, I’m good, thanks.”

  “All right. BRB.” Jason gets up from the table and heads to the bar.

  With Erin and Sophie focused on trolling through potential dates on my phone, that leaves Alex and me sitting at the table in awkward silence.

  Alex shifts his position in his chair, his eyes focused on something across the room. After a moment, he says, “It’s a shame it didn’t work out with that guy.” He turns to look at me. “The one you were drinking Americanos with at the café this week.”

  “As I said, we didn’t gel, that’s all.”

  “No gel, huh?”

  “You either do or you don’t.” I shoot him a “what are you gonna do?” look and turn my attention to a nearby table where a group of older women is having a great time laughing and talking.

  “So, you don’t think it had anything to do with the fact the guy was gay?”

  I whip my head back to gawk at him. “What? No!” My voice is more than a little pitchy. I readjust it and ask, “What makes you say that? Because he was so good looking? Or the fact that he dressed well? Because, you know, Alex, I would have thought a man like you would have been confident enough not to feel threatened by a guy like Devan.”

  Ha! That’ll show him.

  “Threatened?” He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t that. I’d say it was more the fact he asked me out.”

  I blink at him in disbelief. Well, not total disbelief. Devan did an
nounce he was gay and ask if Alex was single, and Alex looks, well, the way he does (non-ugly, remember?), so it’s not exactly out of the realms of possibility. But really, it’s pretty on the nose. “He did?” A surprised giggle tries to burst out.

  “After you left, he came back into the café. Told me I was hot and just his type. I’ve gotta say, it was quite the compliment. You know, from a good-looking guy who dresses well and all.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to stop from laughing and shake my head at Devan’s brazen behavior. “He doesn’t hang around, does he?”

  “Nope. One minute he’s outside on the street kissing you, and next, he’s hitting on me.”

  My throat tightens. Not only is it deeply embarrassing that kissing me confirmed Devan’s suspicions, but also, according to point four on the No More Bad Dates Pact Rules of Engagement, physical contact at an Initial Meeting is strongly discouraged.

  And I should know, I wrote the rules.

  I twist my wine glass by the stem. “You saw that?”

  “Darcy, I see everything that goes on at the café. I guess you could say it’s one of my onion layers.” He shoots me a smile.

  “An onion layer, huh?”

  “So someone once told me. Apparently, like an onion, I don’t smell good, I can be overpowering, and I make people cry a lot.”

  I let out a laugh despite myself. “So, Onion Man, are you going to go on a date with him?” I ask.

  “Heck yeah. He looks like Aquaman.” His gaze locks with mine, and we share an amused smile.

  “You’d make a cute couple.”

  He creases up his face. “Thank you?” We sit in silence for a moment, before he says, “So, this exhibition.”

  “You know you don’t have to do it, even though you agreed to it. Seriously, there’s no pressure.”

  “I got the impression your boss likes my work, what with all those air kisses and telling me how incredibly amazing I am.”

  “Are you going to tell me someone as beautiful and famous as Larissa Monroe fawning over you doesn’t make you feel good?”

  He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s nice to get a compliment on your work, but the fame thing I couldn’t care less about.”

  “Larissa will be very distressed to hear that.”

  “I’m sure she would,” he replies with a laugh. “You know what? It’ll be good for me to get back into exhibiting. Why don’t you come over to my place and you can see what I’ve got?”

  “Are you asking me to come up, and you’ll ‘show me your etchings,’ Alex?”

  He chortles. “Take it however you like, Darcy. But I do have a bunch of boxes of my photos at my place.”

  “Right.” I twist my mouth and reiterate, “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure we can find another photographer.”

  He narrows his gaze. “Are you trying to talk me out of this, Darcy?”

  “No, don’t be silly,” I lie.

  Of course I’m trying to talk him out of this! Without Larissa here to keep happy, this is my chance to avoid having to work with the guy.

  “Good, because I’m excited about it. I emailed Larissa some ideas this afternoon.”

  It’s not the response I’m looking for. “So, your mind is set?”

  “My mind is set.”

  “Great,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  So that’s it. There’s no way out. I’m working with Alex. I drain my glass, and we fall into silence, me churning with trepidation, and Alex? I steal a glance at him. Well, by the looks of him, he’s more than happy with his decision.

  Typical.

  A woman dressed in a veil and a T-shirt that reads “Almost legal” wobbles up onto the stage.

  “This should be interesting,” he comments.

  “Ten bucks says she sings Like a Virgin.”

  “I’m going for Hopelessly Devoted to You. She looks like the romantic type.”

  I examine the woman on the stage. She’s swaying from side to side, her makeup is smudged, and a big, goofy grin is plastered across her face. “She looks less like the romantic type and more like the drunk type to me.”

  “You’ll see,” Alex replies smugly.

  As the opening bars of Hopelessly Devoted to You kick in, I reach into my purse and begrudgingly pull out ten dollars. Alex wins again, just like he did back in high school. No surprises there. “Okay. How’d you know?”

  He takes the money from me and pockets it. “I told you, she looks the romantic type. And Hopelessly Devoted to You is a sappy, romantic, frankly ridiculous song.”

  “Well, at least that’s something we can agree on.”

  “Oh, my God.” Erin shakes my arm, and I turn back to look at my friends. In my exchange with Alex, I’d almost forgotten they have been sitting at the table all this time, searching for a guy for me to date. “We have totally found the guy for you, girl! Look.” She spins the phone around, and I’m met with an image of a very good-looking man staring back at me.

  I take the phone from her and examine the image more closely. Dark cropped hair, much shorter than I usually go for in a guy, with kind eyes and a small, sexy grin. “He’s got potential.”

  “Potential?” Erin replies. “He’s totally hot!”

  “Plus, he’s smart. He’s a dentist,” Sophie adds.

  Alex’s eyebrows ping up. “So, he spends all his time poking around in other people’s mouths? I’ve never got why anyone would want to do that. No offense to dentists, of course.”

  Sophie shakes her head. “Not all his time. He’s got a list of hobbies, too. His name is Seth Heikkinen. I think that’s how you pronounce it.”

  I screw up my nose. “He sounds like a beer.”

  Sophie ignores me. “He lists his hobbies as being into yachting, which is very cool, as well as horses and show jumping.”

  “Horses and show jumping? Huh.” I’ve always liked horses. When I was a kid, I pleaded with my parents to get me a pony. When I ended up with a My Little Pony that birthday, and the next, and the next, it eventually dawned on me it would never happen. Although I loved my horse toys, they could never replace the real thing.

  “You love horses, Darce,” Erin says unnecessarily. “This guy could be so great for you.”

  “And show jumping is super fancy,” Sophie says. “The British royals are into show jumping. There’s that big event every year. Full to the brim of classy, rich, horsey people.”

  “I can see you two riding off into the sunset together, your matching tiaras on top of your heads,” Jason says with a smarmy grin.

  I bite my lip as I stare at the screen. Sure, he looks fantastic, but after my last date, I’m a little nervous about putting myself out there again.

  Erin clearly detects my reluctance. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

  Before I change my mind, I swipe the app. A little ripple of excitement rolls through my belly. Maybe, just maybe this guy might be one of the good guys. “Okay, done.” I place my phone on the table in front of me just as the bride-to-be finishes butchering Olivia Newton-John’s seventies hit to loud applause and cheers from her friends at a neighboring table.

  “We’re up, girl,” Erin says, standing up beside me. “Time to get your ABBA on.”

  I bounce out of my chair and head to the stage with my fellow ABBA-devotee. As the opening chords to Fernando play, I can’t help but smile to myself. I’ve got myself a potential new guy.

  Maybe things are finally beginning to look up for me?

  Chapter 5

  There are a few things I know about myself, things that I’ve known for a long, long time, things I can rely on. Such as (in no particular order):

  I like singing ABBA songs at karaoke, probably a little too much (and lately, I’ve begun to wonder whether singing at Jojo’s every Saturday night with my girlfriends may be contributing to me still being single).

  Even though I’d never admit it to Larissa, I find the color blue totally boring and would much prefer it if we could wear
pink every now and then. Barbie pink, to be specific. Ironically, of course.

  I do not like Alex Walsh.

  People may not think so if they knew about the whole Barbie pink thing, but I am a sane, normal person who doesn’t have any masochistic tendencies. None whatsoever, unless you count Hot Yoga (holding body-contorting poses in three-thousand-degree heat is pretty borderline, I’ve got to admit). So, as I sit at my desk, researching photographers, I know I need to find someone spectacular to persuade Larissa to drop Alex like a wet, diseased rat. And yes, I am enjoying that image right now.

  All I’ve got to do is find another photographer whose work “speaks” to Larissa to divert her attention away from Alex, and I’ll be rid of him forever. I call it my New Shiny Toy Plan, which works with toddlers and celebrities alike. Well, with Larissa, anyway.

  And yes, I know, Alex said he wants to do it, and he said he’d already sent some ideas to Larissa. But this is my last chance to be rid of him, and I’m throwing everything at it.

  I pull up another website from my search results and begin to scroll through. Some of the photographs on the site are really quite beautiful, and I take some screenshots of the best and send them to the printer. With a small smile, I note the name of the photographer and his contact details in my Labrador puppy notebook.

  My eyes flick to my list. After all my trawling of the Internet, I’ve only come up with three options to replace Alex, but I’m hopeful one of these will do the trick. Then it’ll officially be bye-bye, Alex, and hello, happiness.

  I collect the screenshots from the printer, grab a (blue) dress I picked up from the cleaners on my way into the office today, and knock on Larissa’s door. “It’s almost time to go, Larissa,” I say.

  “Come in, Darcy,” comes a small, muffled voice.

  I push open the door and walk in to find Larissa on the floor in an advanced yoga pose that makes her look like her limbs are made of rubber bands. Despite punishing myself in Hot Yoga, I can only dream of being able to bend myself into that kind of pose. A croissant-meets-a-human-suitcase kind of thing. My body hurts just looking at her.