by Laura Burton
“Why not? Guys love gaming!” I insist. I know, because I often spend nights talking to guys online while I’m playing RPG’s. But Leila and Chessy look at me with matching expressions of horror. “Trust us. Be yourself… But not too much all at once. Right now, you have to charm him enough to ask you out on another date. Got it?”
I puff my cheeks out. “Fine.”
“...and that’s when I decided to move to New York and build a life there.”
Wyatt shifts in his seat, and his gaze flickers to meet mine before it settles on the menu sitting in front of him again. He’s just spent the last ten minutes telling me, at mammoth speed, all about Snowdrop Valley, the small town he grew up in. While he lived there, everyone was in his business and nobody could understand his ambitious dreams to live in the city and have a high flying career. Meanwhile, my head is filled with echoes of my sisters’ advice.
Keep eye contact––yet, that’s something Wyatt seems to struggle with. He can’t hold my gaze for longer than five seconds before he breaks away.
How do you maintain eye contact with someone who looks around the room like he’s Jason Bourne keeping tabs on all the exits?
I pick up a section of my hair and twirl it around my finger, giving him a sheepish giggle. “Your hometown sounds cute,” I remark, my voice distinctively too high to sound like my own. “Do you go back to see your folks very often?”
Wyatt nods, tugging on his navy tie. “Sure. For the holidays. My mom would like to have me home more, but work never stops in the city.”
I scratch my arm and study this man thoughtfully, his shirt is poker straight, there’s not a single crease to be seen, and his hair is styled to perfection. I get the impression he’s a banker, or maybe works on the stock market. But when I asked him about his work at the beginning of the date, he didn’t give me exact details other than vague statements like, “This and that...”, so now I feel awkward asking him again.
The server returns to the table and asks us what we’re drinking. It’s my first gut-clenching moment as I order a club soda and brace myself for the inevitable eye-rolling. “Just sparkling water for me, thank you,” Wyatt says after I order my drink.
I try to hide my shock but he must be able to read it all over my face, because when the server leaves to get our drinks, he gives me an apologetic look. “I’m tee-total.”
My hand flies to my collarbone, and it’s the most dramatic reaction I’ve made all year. But this is the biggest revelation I’ve heard all year. “So am I.”
It’s funny how rare it is to find someone else who doesn’t touch alcohol. Even my sisters think I’m weird.
“What’s the story?” Wyatt asks, giving me a knowing look.
Of course, there’s a story. There’s always a story that stops us from going along with the social norm and having a stiff drink to soothe the nerves. Especially on a first date in a fancy restaurant.
I suck in the air and steal myself some courage. My sisters warned me not to open up too much on the first date. Is talking about my parents so soon going to ruin everything?
I’m not a dishonest person, and on the spot, I can’t think of anything else to say other than the plain and simple truth.
“My dad was killed by a drunk driver. And I’ve just never felt comfortable with the idea of drinking.”
Wyatt rolls his lips inward and I imagine he’s biting down. I hold my breath, watching him digest this new information.
“I’m so sorry.”
I swipe a hand in the air, as though the motion might blow away the heaviness that has now settled in between us. “It was a long time ago. I was just a kid.”
The server returns with our drinks and I grab my glass like I’ve not seen water for three days. I don’t know if the air is just really dry or I’m super nervous, but the back of my lips keep sticking to my teeth. “So, what about you? What’s your story?” I ask, then I take several long sips of my drink.
Wyatt drums his fingers on the rim of his glass for several moments and his eyes glaze over in thought. I wonder where he is right now? Because judging by the look on his face, he’s definitely not sitting in this Italian restaurant with me anymore.
“My dad is a recovering alcoholic. So was his dad. I guess I just saw what it did to my mom and figured that if it runs in the family, it’s best I stay off the stuff.”
“Wise choice,” I say, nodding.
There’s an awkward silence where we avoid eye contact and take polite sips of our drinks. Chessy told me to be playful and fun. Leila gave me strict instructions to keep the conversation light and flowing. But Wyatt hasn’t said anything remotely funny for me to fake laugh at, and we’ve just shared some pretty heavy emotional baggage with each other, leading the conversation to a dead end.
Way to go Lucy. There’s no way he’s asking you out again.
I swallow against the lump in my throat and try to think of something fun and cute to say, but I keep drawing a blank.
Then something bumps my foot. I move it away, and then it gets bumped again. I glance down, then look at Wyatt who’s smiling at me in a strange way.
Suddenly, an idea pops into my head.
“Are you playing footsie with me?” I ask, trying to sound flirtatious but the tone of my voice makes it sound more like an accusation. Wyatt’s smile drops and his forehead reddens.
“Absolutely not.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this is a small table and I have large feet.”
“Hey, don’t apologize! You know what they say about men who have large feet!” I blurt, Chessy’s voice coming out of my mouth. My cheeks burn as the words hang in the air and dance around, taunting me. Wyatt’s entire face is crimson now. “What?”
“Large… shoes,” I say in the smallest voice ever. He looks at me, startled.
Determined to keep eye contact, I give him an apologetic smile and refuse to blink. Then, his face breaks into a wide beaming grin and he doubles over in laughter.
“That’s funny!”
He says it like this comes as a surprise. But he’s laughing and I mirror his grin, my stomach unknotting itself. That wasn’t a joke. But he thought it was funny anyway. “You have a sense of humor, I see.”
Wyatt flashes his teeth at me. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your opinion of sarcasm?” I ask, testing him.
He rubs his thumb along his jaw and his eyes twinkle at me as he thinks on it. “That it’s the lowest form of wit.”
My smile falters, then he adds, “But arguably the highest form of comedy.”
It takes a beat, but I realize that’s witty. I throw my head back and force a harder laugh than comes naturally. To me, it sounds totally contrived and unconvincing. But Wyatt’s appreciative smile tells me he buys it.
We end up having a perfectly pleasant dinner. The date is like a round of tennis. He bats the ball in my court by asking me what I like to do in my spare time, I bat it back by telling him something sexy and alluring like, having a girl’s night and doing yoga. (I stop myself short of adding in my underwear, because the last thing I want this guy to do is picture me practicing yoga moves wearing next to nothing.)
I ask him if he likes to travel, and he tells me all about the tropical countries he’s visited and his future plans to go to New Zealand. I hum along, pretending to be interested as we walk to my apartment. But then he says something that takes me totally by surprise. “I want to see where they shot the Lord of the Rings movies.”
My inner nerd wakes up like an excitable puppy. “You’re a fan of Lord of the Rings?”
“Sure. I read the books as a kid. J.R.R. Tolkien taught me about war and love.”
My heart almost bursts in its ribcage. “Aragorn and Arwen’s story is the most epic tale of true love, ever,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Well, this is a surprise. My mystery businessman and I have something in common. I hover near the door to my apartment and fiddle with my keys. It’s the end of the
date. Have I done enough to win him over for a second one?
“Well, I’ve had a nice time,” I say.
“Me too.” Wyatt drags a hand through his luscious locks and his eyes glint in the streetlight. His gaze moves all over my face, as though he’s memorizing my features. And it’s the first time tonight I remember that I’m still dolled up, looking nothing like my ordinary self.
Leila picked out the tightest dress that I could only fit into after squeezing into a full bodysuit. Chessy put hair extensions in and swept my long brown hair back, so I resemble a human pony with the bushiest tail on the back of my head.
Seconds pass like minutes as we stand across from each other, playing a game of chicken.
Is he going to try to kiss me? Should I shake his hand instead?
Leila told me not to go inside until I secure that second date. But then Chessy disagreed, suggesting I act cool and make him sweat a little, wait for him to call me up and ask me out again later. So now I have no idea what to do next.
Then, Wyatt moves in and my hand takes on a life of its own, lifting to rest itself on his firm shoulder. His muscles bulge and tense under his cotton shirt and his woody cologne washes over me in a wave of comfort and deliciousness. I could soak up his scent all night long. Just as he moves to kiss my cheek, I turn my head and catch his lips with my mouth. My teeth bump against his in the most jarring way. Wyatt tenses and I rip away from him, dropping my hand like I’ve been zapped.
“Sorry!” I say, with an awkward laugh. “I thought you were going for my mouth.” By the time my brain picked up that he was just going to give me a polite peck on the cheek, it was too late. I'd already made the move.
Wyatt’s teeth sparkle as he grins, almost sheepish. “It’s all right.” He takes my hand and kisses the back of my knuckles. As he does so, he holds eye contact and I can’t be sure if it’s the cologne, his firm grip or the gentle way his velvet lips caress my skin, but every atom in my body shivers with delight.
“Good night, Lucy,” he murmurs, letting my hand go. My stomach drops as he takes a step back and the air grows cold around me. I shiver, hugging myself with my arms. “Good night.”
He turns away from me and walks away down the path. My shoulders slump in defeat. Is that it? Is Mr. Business going off into the sunset, never to be seen again?
I was such an idiot to think I could get a guy to fall for me. Sure, my sisters can make me look like a catch. But as soon as I open my big mouth, it all goes downhill from there.
I start to run through all the possible reasons why Wyatt didn’t ask me out on another date.
I couldn’t think of anything fun to talk about at dinner.
I didn’t play with my hair enough.
Bringing up my dad’s car accident was a mood killer.
What about the horribly awkward way I went in for a kiss on the lips when he was aiming for my cheek? We bumped teeth like a pair of donkeys.
Ugh. “What was I thinking? I’m such an idiot.” I walk inside my apartment and kick my shoes off with an angry huff while I continue to berate myself for messing up the date. “‘Aragorn and Arwen’s story is the most epic tale of true love.’ Way to sound like a total nerd!”
A soft knock on the door interrupts my tirade of abuse and I peek through the spy hole to see a close up of Wyatt’s dimpled chin. I hitch a breath, straighten out my dress and yank the door open.
“Did you forget something?” I ask, trying to act poised and charming, even though I just stubbed my toe on the baseboard.
“Do you like basketball?” Wyatt asks with big eyes and a winded voice. Did he run all the way back to my door? I rub my foot on the back of my calf, trying to ignore the throbbing ache, not dissimilar to the pain in my nose from the other day. Man, I’m accident prone these days.
“I love basketball.” It’s a lie, but if this is an opener to another date, I’m in. Heck, he could offer to take me to a haunted house and I’d agree to it.
“I’ve got two tickets to the game tomorrow night. Do you want to join me?”
I can’t stop myself from beaming. “Sure.”
“Okay. Great,” Wyatt turns away but then seems to change his mind. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Great.”
“Super.”
Then Wyatt marches off into the night, his shoulders broad and his back a little straighter. I close the door, biting back a squeal as I bolt the lock.
Hook, line, and sinker. This guy is totally falling for me.
Chapter Nine
Wyatt
“You bumped your teeth?” Logan’s face twists into an amusing mix of confusion and disgust as he cradles his mug. Fortunately, he’s in the city for some business, so I got him to meet up with me for lunch. I just gave him the mid-length version of my date with Lucy.
I nod with a chuckle. “I chipped a tooth.”
Logan eyes me strangely. I can’t work out if he thinks I’m crazy, or if he’s still trying to figure me out. It’s probably both.
“You don’t seem too upset about it,” he notes.
I shrug. “I’m not. She said she thought I was going for her mouth.”
Another thought hits me and I scratch the back of my neck, grinning. “And during dinner, she asked me if I was playing footsie with her.”
Logan’s eyes boggle wide at me. “So, after all that, you did kiss her right? Properly?”
I take a sip of my coffee, glad for the caffeine. I’ve not slept much since I met Lucy, and fatigue is starting to catch up with me. The strong aroma is oddly comforting.
“Kind of.”
A thick brow rises to Logan’s hairline. “What does even that mean?”
“I kissed her hand,” I explain. In my head, it was romantic. But Logan’s eyes grow even bigger and he lets out a little cough, like my words got caught in the back of his open mouth.
“Why didn’t you kiss her? She was obviously expecting you to.”
The question startles. “She was?”
How did he draw that conclusion from the story so far?
This must be another one of those times when I missed some unspoken rule. Logan sighs heavily, and relaxes into the back of his chair. “Mate. If a woman fiddles with her keys and moves toward your mouth when you go to kiss her cheek… She wants you to kiss her. On the lips.”
I nod, letting the new information land on me like a slap. “I messed up.”
“Yup.” Logan picks up his drink again and looks at me over the rim as he takes a long slurp of coffee.
We sit in silence as my brain works overtime, trying to think of ways I can rescue the situation.
“I’m taking her to the game tonight… Thanks for the tickets by the way,” I say, wondering why my stomach is writhing.
Logan’s eyes twinkle. “Of course. Anytime. And that’s good… Maybe you can make the move tonight.”
I want to ask Logan for some general pointers on how to navigate this dating game. But something holds me back. Pride? Stubbornness? Whatever it is keeps me mute until we finish up our lunch, and I spend the rest of the day trying to focus on work just to make time move faster.
But with every passing minute, my stomach knots itself even tighter.
There are so many ways I can mess this up. I can’t decide if I feel stressed, or if I’ve never felt more alive.
Either way, I’m determined to make sure nothing goes wrong tonight.
Chapter Ten
Lucy
“Soooo, how did it go last night? Tell me everything!” Chessy’s voice is far too chirpy and excitable for seven in the morning. I rub my eyes groggily and yawn into my phone. Last night could have been a disaster, and for a second there, I thought it was.
I’m not sure what made Wyatt change his mind. Did he think I was too zany for him, but reasoned that because I look cute, he’d see me again?
Are men that shallow?
In an alternate universe––one where I’m not trying to
get this guy to fall for me––I can picture Wyatt and I being friends. We’ve got some things in common, and I like being around him. But this is a guy who probably wouldn’t hang out with me if I was wearing my comfy everyday clothes and my bottle rim glasses. If we met online, maybe things would have been different. Maybe then, this would have had the chance of being one of those stories where the girl meets her prince charming in a role playing game, falling in love while battling goblins.
“Oh no. You didn’t show him your Cosplay closet, did you?” Chessy asks when I tell her about Wyatt’s dream to go to the place they shot Lord of the Rings. Her voice is laced with horror. Horror at the thought of me unleashing my inner nerd when the stakes are this high, because heaven help me if the guy I’m dating knows about my unconventional interests. Surely, he will run for the hills when he discovers there’s a whole lot of kooky personality under my Barbie girl mask.
“No, I didn’t. You can breathe.” I roll my eyes up at the ceiling as Chessy puffs out a breath in relief.
“The point is; I have a second date. But it’s at a basketball game. It’s going to be hard work trying to flirt while stressing about getting hit by the ball.”
“Hit by the… oh, Lucy. You and your worries!”
“My worries? You say it like they’re unfounded! There’s a statistics report that over thirty Americans get a concussion from being struck by a rogue basketball every year!”
Chessy snorts. “Rogue basketball. Do you even hear yourself? You’re so funny, Lucy.”
Why do people keep calling me funny when I’m being one hundred percent serious?
“What are you going to wear today?” Chessy asks, wisely changing the subject before I get too riled up. I wander over to my closet and look at the new clothes hanging in front of me in a color-coded line. I’m reminded of my pen collection sitting in my drawer at work.
I’m dying to wear something comfortable. Something without a waistband. I pick out a floaty dress that looks a bit too airy fairy for my liking. And the soft pink is totally girly. But it’s not figure hugging, so that’s a major plus in my book.
