by Cindi Madsen
“Yes. Now, which one are you most interested in?”
“The programmer. Alex.” A dreamy sigh escaped as she pointed at the guy with horn-rim glasses. I could totally see the two of them together. “We’ve been chatting, and even meeting online to play League of Legends here and there, and he asked if I wanted to do something on Sunday. He mentioned he’s not a big drinker, though, and neither am I, so I don’t think meeting up for a drink would work very well. Plus, what would I talk about? Maybe it’s better if we just keep talking online for a while.”
“You’ve got to get out there sometime. Tell him you’d love to meet up. We’ll come up with a game plan, and by Sunday, you’ll be ready.” My mind spun, going through date-type scenarios to find the best option to help Abigail deal with her social anxiety. “Most of the time I advise against first dates at movies, because it doesn’t give you much time to talk and really get to know the other person, but I want you to suggest a movie.”
I clicked on his profile and scanned down his interests. “We’ll use this and your conversations to find a movie you think he’d want to see—sci-fi or comic book flicks look like safe picks. Then you’ll only have to come up with a bit of small talk—if it’s a bit rough, that’s okay. Totally normal on a first date. Most of the time you’ll be in the theater where talking will actually get you shushed. The dark setting means you don’t have to think about every gesture, and afterward, you have the movie to talk about. It’ll immediately give you something in common, even if you don’t feel the same way about it.”
Abigail’s eyes had widened to the point that white surrounded her blue irises. Deer-in-headlights expression aside, I marveled at how nicely her new hairstyle complemented her features, and she’d done such a great job styling it herself. Once in a while my clients slipped into their old styles or didn’t quite pair their new clothing options right, but Abigail took all of my advice and put it into practice. I just needed to get her back to that confident place she’d been in right after her makeover, which I preferred to call revamp, because it was less change everything and more work with what’s already there and awesome.
It also fed into Step Six, which was one of the things I most wanted to accomplish with Abigail.
Step Six : Learn to love yourself. When you learn to love yourself, it’s easier for other people to see the real you and love that person, too.
“Abigail, you got this,” I said. “I’m here to get you ready, and we’ll go through as many practice sessions as you need.” I handed her coffee cup to her and she took a few generous gulps. She refocused and nodded, proof that sometimes all you needed to get through the day was more caffeine.
A message popped up onscreen, not from either of the guys Abigail had been chatting with, but a rugged-looking guy with a great head of dark hair who called her cute and said it looked like they had a lot in common. “You just got a new message. Do you want to check it out, or should we keep our focus on Alex?”
She waved her hands. “I don’t think I can handle anything more right now.”
Careful not to open it so it wouldn’t be marked as read, I minimized the message and skimmed through her conversations with Alex. She’d followed my advice there, too. Kept it light. Asked about him a lot, made no mention of her pets or exes.
“I’m so proud of the progress you’ve made,” I said. “You’re making my job easy.”
Abigail grinned, and it lit up her whole face. She just needed to be comfortable enough with a guy to flash him a smile like that, and he’d be hooked, I was sure of it.
More than anything, I wanted to help her find a good guy who’d see how awesome she was. From what I’d observed, she shut down when she grew nervous—or she spilled pizza and dropped bowling balls on toes and then closed down even more. The guys didn’t realize that she’d merely frozen, like an overloaded videogame. I just needed to find that right combination of buttons to push that’d get her to that next level with her dating.
Honestly, I loved the challenge of it. One of the things that made my job so fun was how different my clients were. I got to see how they ticked and then I got to show them how to use that to find a person who understood and ticked along with them. Because one of the few universal things in this world was the need to be loved, and everyone deserved to have that in their lives.
I swiveled Abigail’s laptop back to her. “Time to accept Alex’s offer to meet up.”
Abigail’s fingers slowly moved over the keyboard, and considering how quickly she usually typed, I could tell she was stalling.
I scooted to the edge of my seat. “Like I said, we’ll do some practice runs beforehand. I’ll help pick outfits, do hair and makeup—whatever you want. But it does you no good to hire me, get all these nice guys chatting with you, and then do nothing about it.”
She bit her lip, but her fingers remained in place, as if they’d been glued to the keyboard.
Time to put on the motivational speaker hat and pull out a quote that Linc would scrunch his eyebrows at. “It’s okay to be scared. Being scared means you’re about to be really, really brave.”
Determination flickered through Abigail’s features and her fingers flew over the keyboard. She hit enter in a big dramatic fashion that made a loud tap, and then her face paled. “I did it. I asked him if he wanted to catch a movie.”
“Rock on!” I held up a hand, and Abigail laughed before smacking it.
She sucked in a deep breath and let out a shaky exhale. “Now what?”
“We wait. One step at a time, and before you know it, you’ll be on a date.”
It only took a couple of minutes for Alex to reply that he’d love to go to a movie, which was epically quick in guy land. It took another ten for me to calm Abigail down—pushing coffee on her might’ve been a mistake.
After several minutes discussing wardrobe options and good small talk topics, though, I’d managed to settle her down, and by the end of our meeting, she’d built up at least as much excitement over the date as anxiety.
…
When I called Andrew after the book signing yesterday, I apologized for taking so long to get back to him and asked him to meet me for dinner. Honestly, I’d been thinking too much about Linc, and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.
Then I’d immediately scolded myself for thinking of Andrew as a desperate measure.
He was predictable, and predictable guys were stable. This restaurant was close to his job, another reminder of his desirable traits. He pulled out my chair for me, and when the waiter came by, he didn’t order for me. Yes, he still seemed a bit nervous, but after a few minutes of small talk, I managed to put him at ease. Not enough that he didn’t overthink every move—I could see it on his face.
Our dinner wrapped up quickly, and due to the popularity of the restaurant, I knew lingering would be met with passive-aggressive nudges from the wait staff. I also knew that Andrew would most likely ask if I wanted to go to a nearby bar for another drink, because he wanted to keep the date going but wasn’t feeling bold enough to ask me back to his place quite yet.
Which was nice. I wasn’t ready to go there, anyway, and it showed he wasn’t the kind of guy who constantly took women home. The well-mannered kind of guy I was looking for. Mama and Aunt Velma would love him, too.
Maybe I should take Jackson’s advice and bring Andrew to my parents’ anniversary party. Who cares if it’s against my twelve-step program to cross that line too quickly if it gets the Nosy Nellys off my back?
Guilt filled me at that thought, though. Not following my own program meant I wasn’t fully giving it my all. Time to put more effort into this, no more half-assing it.
In a move that’d give my aunt and mama twin heart attacks, I reached for the check as soon as the waiter plunked it on the table. Despite the older generation’s belief the man should always pay, these days an offer to pick up—or at least split—the tab was a dating do. Guys my age tended to like it, even if they didn’t take y
ou up on it.
“I’ll get it this time,” I said. “I’m the one who asked you to dinner.”
“No, no. I insist.” Andrew put a hand over the folder, keeping me from opening it, and I gave him points for making one strong, self-assured gesture.
On the way outside, he even put a hand on the small of my back—if I were coaching him, I’d say way to go! But then I realized my skin didn’t hum the way it did with Linc. The two opposing trains of thought crashed in the middle of the track and formed a jumbled mess in my brain.
Andrew hesitated in the middle of the sidewalk. “There’s a nice bar a couple blocks down. Would you like to grab a drink and sit for a while?”
“Sure.” Part of me hated I’d been right, while another part of me liked it—it was my job to read these things, after all. Another tinier, I-liked-to-deny-it part of me craved something more unpredictable.
Here’s the thing about unpredictable guys and the reason so many women find themselves illogically drawn to them. Being unsure adds a whole new level to the chase. Unpredictable rewards produce more dopamine and that means higher highs.
It also means lower lows.
As an evolved person, I knew better than to want that. Yet that part of me I sometimes had to fight experienced a tingle of excitement over not knowing where Linc was taking me tomorrow night. While I hated he was so bossy, what I hated more was that I didn’t hate his bossiness and refusal to tell me what he had planned.
Earlier this afternoon while I’d been putting away groceries, I’d called him, planning on bailing on our mystery outing. I worried our friendship was getting too complicated, and I hoped some space would help me figure out a better balance with him, one where I didn’t feel crazy or jealous half the time.
But somewhere between putting away the milk and the fruit, he’d made me laugh, my worries had melted away, and I’d ended up chickening out and prying him for details instead. Not that he’d give me any, besides that he’d pick me up at four and to dress casual.
As I’d reached up to retrieve the phone from between my ear and shoulder so I could end the call, he’d said, “Wait.”
I froze, one hand on the phone and the other gripping a four-pack of yogurt.
“I can’t figure out fifty-two down. It says ‘Parisian gal pal.’”
“Hooker,” I said, and his low laughter filled my ear and sent warmth swirling through me.
“Surprisingly, no. But apparently you need to introduce me to your Parisian gal pals.”
I closed my fridge door and leaned against it, the cool metal refreshing after the heat of the day. “I didn’t know you dated hookers.”
“I didn’t realize you were so naïve. You don’t really date hookers. You see, what happens is—”
“Good-bye, Lincoln.”
“I like it when you use my full name.” A shiver ran through me at the husky, intimate way the words came over the line, and I closed my eyes and pushed myself flatter against the fridge, glad no one was there to witness my total failure to remain unaffected by a guy possessing so many red flags.
“Savannah?”
I forced myself out of my head and into the present moment, where Andrew was holding a door open for me. Damn it, how’d I let myself get so carried away?
Shoving all thoughts of Lincoln to the farthest corners of my mind, I shot Andrew a smile and thanked him before making my way inside
Crane Bar was fairly deserted, which made it easier to actually talk. I’d been out so often lately that when the bartender came by, I opted for a Sprite and cranberry instead of alcohol. After we settled in a bit, I asked Andrew about his goals. One, it was a good thing to ask someone you were considering a relationship with, and two, I hoped to find we had a few mutual goals. Or that his ambition would awaken more interest on my part.
“Well, I hope to move up at my job until I’m over the entire loan department. Of course a house is in the future, but not for a while. Loan rates are much better when you have a large down payment—you wouldn’t believe how much compound interest adds over the life of a mortgage.”
Math equals smart, I reminded myself as he told me how hard he fought to get a low APR on his car loan and exactly how much it’d end up saving him. Good at finance, and he obviously cares about staying out of debt. All good qualities.
Regardless, my brain had a panic switch reserved just for math, and if he spouted off any more numbers, I’d go into shut down and numbly nod mode.
Andrew glanced at his watch, remarking that we ordered our drinks more than ten minutes ago, and since they hadn’t arrived yet, he walked over to the bar to check on them.
I wanted to want him, simply because he was a good guy. Kind. Generous. People trusted him with their money, which proved he was also trustworthy, and most likely honest.
He hits a lot of list items, and while he made one joke at the bar the night we met, he doesn’t exactly have the total sense-of-humor package that I look for. Mason never fully checked that off, either, the only flaw in a long list of getting it right. Well, that and moving states without me. But I’d been willing to forgo sense of humor because he was generous, loyal, and super ambitious. He laughed at the jokes I made, too, so he hit some humor points, even if he didn’t make me laugh.
Linc makes me laugh. Crossword clues had somehow turned into a running joke between us, and at the art show I laughed more than I had in a long time. I just need to find a guy with Mason’s and Linc’s traits combined. All the good from two guys smooshed together to form one perfect guy.
Andrew sat down and took my hand in his, jerking my attention back to him. And the fact that his palm was a bit damp. “They apologized our drinks are taking so long and assured me they’ll bring them over in just a few minutes.”
“Oh. Good.” I couldn’t think of much more to add.
“Am I doing okay?” he asked. “Better than the other night, right? I was so nervous. And I still am, but…not as nervous?”
“You don’t need to be nervous around me. Like I said the other night, I swear I’m not grading you on your dating performance.”
“But if you were… Tell me I’d at least get a C.”
Crap. We were back to him wanting me to help him. I almost told him I charged by the hour. Then I thought of Linc’s hooker joke and smiled.
Andrew grinned, obviously thinking the smile was for him. I wanted it to be, too. While I didn’t think that chemistry should overrule everything else, I did think there should be some, and Andrew and I…well, I didn’t feel so much as half a spark. The almost flutter from our first night hadn’t grown, it’d diminished.
I realized that trying to make things work with Andrew, even though it clearly wasn’t, made me the desperate one.
Crap. Now I’m going to have to end it as nicely as possible. I didn’t want to wreck his confidence, but I also didn’t want to lead him on. “Andrew, you’re a great guy, and while you’d get an A in the dating department, I just don’t think we have enough in common to sustain a relationship.”
He dropped my hand and started nodding—like before, once he got to it, one nod led to another.
“Thank you so much for dinner.” I almost added a lame comment about being better as friends, but no one ever wanted to hear that. I tossed a couple of bills onto the table and stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
Still lame, but it popped out. I thought he’d say something, and I braced for it, unsure which way it’d go—anger or acceptance.
He didn’t say anything, though, just stared up at me with a bewildered expression. Then I thought that a mean retort would be much better than having to leave him like that.
Chapter Fourteen
“I should’ve known,” I said as Linc turned into the parking lot for Turner Field. The Braves game started just after five, so the early time made sense now, as did the casual dress code.
When he’d picked me up, he’d given me a supposed hint about our location, saying not only would it help me with my w
ork, it’d help with his. Now I wondered if he was merely attempting to throw me off the scent.
“How does attending a game help with bartending? Do you compare regular drunks to drunks of the baseball fan variety?”
He pulled his car into an open space and killed the engine. “It’s not for bartending.”
“So the baseball camp?”
“Maybe in a roundabout way. But it’s more for a future job I hope to have.”
The way he talked in clues, leaving missing blanks for me to try to fill in myself, made him one big walking, talking crossword puzzle. Just as frustrating as the paper version, too. “I thought you weren’t going to play baseball anymore.”
“It doesn’t involve playing. Now, a game’s supposed to be fun.” He threw open his door. “Stop asking so many questions, so we can grab food and get settled before the first pitch is thrown.”
I wanted to push but figured it’d be useless. Besides, that spike of dopamine from the evening’s unpredictability factor worked its way through my brain, distracting me with its happy vibes. I’d crack the mystery eventually, though, even if I had to resort to playing dirty.
Linc and I headed into the stadium and made a quick stop at the concessions stand. Arms loaded with nachos, hot dogs, and soda, we walked down the miniscule concrete steps. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t made them a bit bigger and less steep—it was like they wanted people to tumble down them, food and limbs flying until they reached the bottom in a bloody, nacho-cheese-covered heap.
The image was enough to make me hug my food tighter and add an extra beat of caution to each step. If my feet felt too big for them, I wondered how Linc managed with his.
The seats he led me to were amazing, close to the action and right behind the plate. He definitely had the hook ups.
I set my drink in the cup holder and balanced my food on my lap. Then I scanned the crowd that’d come out for today’s game. “I’m sure there are a ton of single guys here, but how do you meet them?”
“Well, you smile a lot and flip your hair…”
