by Violet Paige
Nina handed her a tissue and stroked her blond hair. “Candace, we don’t think that at all. We love you and we know you’re here for us if we need you.”
I walked to my room to search for my phone. If I texted Beau now, I could still catch him before he made it to the bar.
It had been well before Christmas since the three of us had a night together at the house alone. Candace might be feeling like crap now, but Nina and I could get her through this. She and Pearce hadn’t been together long enough for her to be so wrapped up in him. A girls’ night would put everything back in perspective.
I walked to the living room. “Why don’t we make sundaes or brownies?” I stopped. Standing in our living room was a towering muscled athlete with his arms around my tear-stained roommate. Nina was planted on the couch, looking as dumbfounded as I felt.
“Hi, Pearce.”
“Sup, London?” He didn’t make eye contact with me. He was focused on Candace. He brushed her tears away with his thumb.
Before I could ask what in the hell was going on, she took him by the hand and lead him down the hall to the bedroom that hadn’t been slept in, in several weeks.
I shrugged my shoulders in defeat at Nina. Candace had been sucked back into the portal that was Pearce Hudson. We probably wouldn’t see her again for another month or until the next time Pearce broke up with her.
“Can you believe that shit?” Nina fumed.
“There’s nothing we can do about it. She’s crazy about him.”
“Yeah, psycho crazy. Does he have some kind of mind control over her? I’m going to go down there and tell him what I think.”
“Hold on, Nina. You don’t want to go in there. Just think what they’re doing.” I blushed a little knowing Pearce and Candace were in makeup sex heaven.
“You’re right, but I’m done with this. Next time he breaks up with her, I’m not fetching tissues or chocolate.” She crossed her eyes and cast an evil eye down the hall toward Candace’s door. “You better go. You’re late to meet Beau.”
“Shit. I am. Ok. I’ll be home later. Not too late.”
“You should stay out all night. See what happens on one of those Love Match dates.” My persistent roommate giggled.
“You’re not going to give this up, are you?” I hugged her and left for my first fake date.
Date One: Paint the Town Blue
Beau was already at the bar, where they kept wine on tap. I showed my ID at the door to the bouncer, and walked up to my non-date for the evening. Tapping him on the shoulder, I waited for him to turn around.
He had forgone his usual T-shirt attire for a light blue, long-sleeve, button-up shirt. The sleeves were a little tight on his arms. It even looked like he had run some kind of gel through his hair. It was styled and I smelled a hint of aftershave.
“London. You made it. I was getting ready to text you. Thought you stood me up on our first date.” He smiled.
“It’s not a real date.” I didn’t mean to say it like that. I kicked myself and checked my inner bitchy meter.
Unfazed, he continued. “I know. It’s a fake date. Here. I got a glass of wine for you.” He reached across the bar and handed me a glass of something red.
“Thanks.”
“Let’s go up on the roof.” He started walking toward the iron staircase.
“But, it’s January. It’s freezing.”
“You’ll be fine. There are heaters up there. Plus, when do they ever have a date on Love Match when they aren’t on a rooftop?”
“Good point.” I grudgingly followed my partner up the spiral stairs.
Beau opened the door for me to walk out into the cold Chapel Hill night. I caught my breath. The rooftop was empty. Sparkly lights draped the perimeter and a few scattered heat lamps dotted the patio.
“How about over here?” Beau pointed to a table.
I gently placed my wine glass down and sat directly under the heat lamp. The warmth from the glowing tower was enough to keep me from shivering.
“I’ve never been up here.” I looked up. The sky was crystal clear and the stars glimmered overhead. I glanced over the edge of the brick wall to see the street sprawl out in front of us. A couple walked just below us holding hands.
“It’s pretty cool.” Beau shifted in his seat and took a sip of the wine.
“Did you do the reading yet for this week? I couldn’t believe it was on how reality TV romances gear subject matter to appeal to the female demographic. It’s the perfect article to use for the project.”
“Do you always talk about class?”
“What do you mean?”
“London, look around. We’re the only people on top of the wine bar. That down there is Franklin Street—one of the most famous college streets in the country. We’re seniors. Just take it in.” He swirled the wine around in the bowl-like glass.
Beau caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting a lecture on seizing the moment. “Wait. Is this one of the things on your list?”
He leaned into the table and smiled. “No. But what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. You’re right. It’s a beautiful night.” I took another sip of my wine and felt it warm me down to my toes.
“Something bothering you? You’ve seemed a little off since you got here.”
Being a little off was becoming a trend whenever I was around Beau. I wasn’t sure if the wine had already gone to my head, but I told him why I was late arriving to our non-date.
“It’s one of my roommates. She’s dating a football player and they broke up for about five minutes. I thought she would figure out he’s just using her, but she took him back. It’s depressing seeing someone you care about be treated that way.”
“That sucks. Who is she dating?”
“Pearce Hudson.”
“Whoa. You know Pearce Hudson?”
“Try not to sound so excited. He’s really a dick and I hate how he treats my friend.” My mood was souring the rooftop atmosphere.
“He’s only the best wide receiver to ever play at Carolina.” I shot him a be-careful stare. “But sorry to hear he’s such an asshole to your roommate.”
I laughed. “Thanks. That actually makes me feel better. Now, if only we could get Candace to see it.”
“Well, do you want some unsolicited advice?”
I looked at him cautiously, although I was dying to know his male perspective on this problem. “Sure. What should I do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s your helpful advice?”
“If he really is a jerk, she will eventually figure it out and then she’s going to need you to help her do whatever girls do to get over asshole boyfriends. Drink wine. Eat chocolate or something. The point is, if you interfere now, you won’t get to be that person for her when she really needs you.”
I was surprised. It was exactly the advice Nina and I needed but couldn’t hear through all of the Pearce drama. “That’s really—sweet, I guess.”
“I have my moments.” He winked. “What about you? Are you dating the quarterback?”
I almost spit my wine out. “No, I’m not dating a football player.” I wished I had said I wasn’t dating anyone. Suddenly, I wanted Beau to know I was single. Although, it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know my personal love life status. I abandoned clarifying my relationship situation and focused on my wine drinking. He had chosen an excellent merlot.
He raised his glass. “Since we’re supposed to be mimicking Love Match. Let’s make a toast.”
Every date on that show had no less than three toasts. They were always toasting to true love, finding forever, or dreaming big.
“Do you have something in mind?”
“How about to making it count?”
“Isn’t that a quote from Titanic?” I would be surprised if he had seen the epically tragic movie.
“I don’t know. It sounds like something they would say on the show.”
I inhaled the
icy January air and raised my glass until it tapped Beau’s.
“To making it count.” I smiled at him over the rim of my glass. His eyes were locked on mine. A little chill rippled through my chest and it wasn’t from the air. I was completely caught off guard.
“You sure you’re ok, London?”
I nodded vigorously, trying to convince myself more than Beau.
“All right. We’ve got two parts to this not-date. Ready to go paint some pottery?”
“Um. Yes. Let’s do that.”
Beau was standing next to the table with a hand extended. I hesitated, for a second, but placed my hand in his.
“Ok. Pottery Paints. Here we come.”
During last week’s episode, Victoria took five of her suitors to a pottery shop where the men painted various figures in an effort to capture the eye of the bachelorette. By the end of the date, the guy with the best piece of art received a rose and some special one-on-one time. Beau and I laughed at the guys’ attempts to make a bisque model car or frog look like anything other than an elementary school project.
Pottery Paints, the studio on Franklin Street, was brightly lit. Across one wall was an assortment of plain, untouched clay molds. On the opposite wall were the finished products of the customers who had spent time in Pottery Paints.
I selected a canister with a lid that had a small bird perched on top. I watched Beau as he scanned the choices. He reached for a plate.
“What are you going to paint on there?” I asked.
“I thought I’d go ahead and make the commemorative championship plate.” He started sorting through the various shades of blue on display.
“What kind of championship?”
For a second, I thought there was something on my face. His shocked expression had me brushing my cheeks.
“What kind of championship? Girl, you’re at the mecca for college basketball. I’m talking about our championship.”
“Oh. Ok. Cool.” I sat on the bench next to him.
“Well, I learned something about you tonight.” His voice was playful.
“What’s that?”
“You are definitely not a sports fan.”
“I guess it’s that obvious.” Part of me wished I had been more observant growing up around so many sports fans, but I was always more interested in reading or watching a Lauren Bacall movie.
“Uh-huh.” He was penciling in a victory slogan on the plate. “Should I quiz you on the difference between off sides versus a false start?”
“No, no, no. I admit, I know nothing. I kind of burned out on all the sports frenzy as a kid.”
“So what do you do for fun?”
I thought that maybe he already knew. “I’m an actress. Maybe you’ve seen some of my shows on campus.”
“Doubt it.”
I laughed. “You haven’t been to any plays on campus? None?”
“I had to go to a few my freshman year as a lab requirement for Drama 15, but since then I haven’t been to any. Are you any good?”
I noticed the bird on top of my canister was the same blue he was using for the lettering on his plate. I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “Why don’t you come to one of the shows and see for yourself?”
“Really?” He stopped painting and looked up.
“Yes. We can do something after. Maybe one of the Love Match dates. We’ll blog about it.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed. Did I say the wrong thing?
“Our new play, Spoiled Hearts, opens in two weeks. I’ll email you the showtimes.”
“Wait. Isn’t that Valentine’s Day weekend?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. “I guess so. Do you have other plans? We can do it another time.”
“No. Between marking things off my list, going to class, writing my blog, and fake dating you, I don’t have Valentine’s plans.”
His answer made me unexpectedly giddy. I had never bothered to ask him if he had a girlfriend—it shouldn’t matter in a pretend relationship. However, all of a sudden, I was satisfied knowing he had an open calendar.
“Do you think they’ll want to sell this awesome plate?” He held up his masterpiece, littered with number ones and Carolina blue paint.
I cringed. “I think they’ll probably let you keep that one.”
We dropped off our painted pieces with the girl at the counter. She told us it would be a week before they would be glazed and fired. We could pick them up then.
Beau opened the door for me as we exited the pottery studio. I pulled my coat around me tightly and rubbed my arms.
“Do you need a ride or something?” Of course, he wasn’t wearing a coat, but I thought I saw him shiver.
“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”
“What kind of bachelor would I be if I let you walk home? It’s late. I’ll take you.”
“Ok. Where are you parked?”
“Right here.”
He pointed to a black and chrome motorcycle wedged between two giant SUVs. He handed me a helmet as he climbed on the bike. With a flick of the wrist, the bike roared to life.
“Coming?” He patted the seat behind his back.
I had never been on a motorcycle before. They were noisy and scary. I was sure my mom would have a heart attack if she saw me climbing on the bike right now. I slid one leg over the side until my body aligned with Beau’s. I tried to sit up straight, so I wasn’t pressed so close to him.
“Hold on tight.”
He grabbed my hands and locked them around his chest. The muscles under his shirt felt as hard as I imagined. Wait, I hadn’t imagined what they would felt like, had I?
He walked us backward and then revved the bike forward, leaving the wine bar and Pottery Paints behind us. Funny, I was freezing, but I loved the bike. I felt free, even wrapped around Beau.
Within minutes, he pulled into my gravel driveway. Not sure how long I should keep my hands on his chest, I dropped the embrace as soon as he took off his helmet.
“Thanks, Beau. I had fun tonight.” I hesitated before handing him the helmet. I didn’t know how fake dates were supposed to end. Nina’s nagging voice echoed in the back of my head. She would want me to invite him in. Instead, I spun on my heels and walked toward the front door. “See you in class.”
“Night, London.” He revved the engine a few times and spun out of the driveway.
What was it I called Beau only a few hours ago? Regular? After our fake date tonight, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true. I watched his taillights round the corner. I needed to get inside, start working on the blog, and stop thinking about Beau Anderson.
5
Beau didn’t strike me as the type of overachieving student that I had always been. He seemed too cool and calm, as if nothing ever worked him up. When he texted me the morning after our wine and pottery date, I did a double take.
Finished my blog. Check it out.
His work was finished before mine. Nervously, I logged into the site he had created for us on Blog Hits and read his rendition of our fake date.
First Date: Re-creation of Victoria and Bachelors painting pottery and private wine bar party
Show Myth to Debunk: Mandatory fun and alcohol consumption create bonding moments, bringing couples closer together
This is my first blog chronicling the Love Match dates I’m going on each week with my Comm 224 partner, London James. For those of you who have read my other blogs, you know I don’t hold back—I’m honest and to the point. Expect nothing less from my accounts during this project.
London and I met at the wine bar. My date was late. I guess it wasn’t too far off from a real date. When is a girl ever ready on time? After we ordered a glass of wine, we sat on the upper terrace. We had the entire rooftop to ourselves. This is the part of the show when the bachelors usually reveal something private and revealing about themselves. And this sudden revelation of true deep dark secrets is supposed to bring the couple closer together. That didn�
�t happen with us.
Hmm. I nervously read the last line. I didn’t share much with Beau on the rooftop, but talking to him about Candace and Pearce did make me feel a little closer to him. Maybe I was only divulging the troubles in my roommates’ lives, but it felt like opening the door to something. Like I could tell him more—tell him about my parents or about the problems with the play, or just talk about anything and he would listen. I reread the words and wondered if he was trying to protect Candace’s privacy or if the exchange just didn’t have the same effect on him.
Next up, we walked over to Pottery Paints. To do what? You guessed it: paint some pottery. I made an awesome championship plate. Pics to be posted soon. I discovered my date isn’t a sports fan. I know there are a lot of girls out there who don’t like sports, so guys, this can happen to anyone. Once I knew that, it was hard to come up with other things to talk about. Little bonding commenced over painting.
After the first date re-creation, I can say with confidence that after date one, we are sticking to our hypothesis: the show is a complete fake. Until next week’s dating report—B.A.
What? I didn’t know what I expected him to write, but reading those words made the whole date seem like a terrible evening. It wasn’t terrible. I liked the rooftop, and his funny plate drawing, and he left out the part where I rode behind him on the motorcycle with my hands planted on his firm chest. Ok, maybe he didn’t need to add that part.
My phone buzzed.
Have you read it yet?
I wanted to be cool and casual like Beau. Technically, there wasn’t anything wrong with what he had written. It was all true. Why was I even debating the merits of his blog? I should be relieved I had found a partner who was as committed to the project as I was. We would certainly win over Professor Garcia with our dating accounts. That was all I needed—an A for graduation.
He eagerly texted me again.
I nailed the theory for this week. What do you think? Should I change it?
He did make sure to bring in the theory we were focused on debunking. It didn’t make sense to argue with him or make a big deal out of nothing.
It’s great. Loading my post now.
