I’m nodding, but truthfully, bolting out the door sounds better.
“After our contact, it’ll be up to you and the dater to set up the dates. I advise public settings where you feel the safest. Most of the daters here normally pick five to six gentlemen and set up dates every day of a single week so they’re not stringing everyone along.”
“Wait.” I shift on my heels. “The dates. Are they required?”
Her green eyes do a little amused dance that has my stomach dropping. “At least one is, but we strive for five or six. Sometimes there are more, but that can cause confusion. We’re here to help find love, not muddle up the heart.”
What in the hell did Shyla get me into?
“Right. I don’t think I knew about the dating part.”
“It’s all in the agreement you signed when you bought your ticket, Miss Anderson,” she replies.
Well, fuck you, Shyla.
“Oh. I guess I overlooked that part.” My nervous laugh rumbles out of me. “Sorry.”
She smiles again, nodding toward a tinted glass door. “Enjoy your evening. Good luck.”
I’m going to kill Shyla. Murder her slowly. Stab her in each palm with my heels. She completely failed to mention a mandatory date.
WOMEN: to the right. MEN: to the left.
Great. We’re in the fifties.
After deciding to go light on my alcohol intake and grabbing a glass of red wine, I park my back against the far back wall and wait…still debating on bolting out the door. Not even five minutes later an older woman with jet black hair steps in and up onto a podium.
“Good evening, ladies,” she shouts, grabbing everyone’s attention and quieting the room. “Welcome to Insta-Dates. I have just a few guidelines to go over. Keep your personal information to yourself. Try to give everyone a fair chance. And if you’re here just for sex, you’ve got the wrong place. We are not a bordello and there’s an app for that. Just swipe right.” She flips her hair off her shoulder. “You’ll have five minutes with each man and a one-minute break between so they can move to the next table. Be respectful and don’t keep them hanging around. Check their box and let them go. After the night is over, we open up our bar for all. You can continue to mingle with the men who catch your attention. If you and your date are on the same page and want a date, please make sure you follow the rules and contact us first. That way there is absolutely no confusion. We are all respectful and beautiful women, so absolutely no fighting.”
Fighting over a stranger? Wow.
“Any questions?”
Yeah. Am I allowed to leave anytime I want? Take off running out the door? God, I hate Shyla so much right now.
I don’t ask. I remain silent just like the rest of the women here.
She smiles. “Enjoy your time, ladies.”
We’re all seated at small individual tables large enough to set our drinks on with our numbers printed on a folded stock card to sit in the middle. I’m lucky number twenty-one.
Once we’re all settled, a stern-looking man dressed in a white button down and black slacks with hard lines etching his face enters. As he opens the double doors, men begin to pile in.
“The buzzer sounds, you move,” he calls out. “Begin.”
First up, I shall dub him surfer, based solely on his blond swooping long hair.
He sticks his hand out. “I’m Jared.”
“Brooklyn.”
“Free drinks, am I right?”
I hate his laugh. And who the hell says that? Sigh…he’s probably nervous and I should cut him a break.
Thankfully, I came prepared after scouring the internet for good speed dating questions. “Sure. Is this your first time?”
His eyes are blue, a light blue, kind of like the ocean waters on a Windows screen saver. “Nope. Second time. Tried it about a year ago. Nothing panned out. They didn’t match me up quite well. You like to hike?”
“Never tried it.”
He writes something on his card. Did I just get Xed because I’ve never hiked, walked through the paths of rugged nature, or run from a hungry bobcat? Do bobcats eat humans?
“What about swimming?”
“Yes. Love it.”
Another mark. What the hell?
“You live alone?”
He irks me. “If I say I live with my ex-husband and four kids, will that grant me another mark on your card?”
He doesn’t even smile as he stares me dead in the eyes and marks the damn card.
Where the hell is the buzzer?”
“Like to drink?”
I arch my brow and glance to my wine.
Mark.
“Are those good or bad marks?” I ask.
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s neither. I don’t do checks or X’s unless I have good reason. I created a tally mark system. It’s genius.”
“Really? Genius? Tell me about it. It sounds intriguing.” Not at all, but I need to know about my marks.
“Well, on one side I have good traits and on the other, I have bad.”
“Hmmm…” I hum, feigning interest. “What side is what? How do you keep from getting mixed up?” I pry.
“For me to know and not you,” he states flatly.
“Aren’t you fun…” I reply as dryly as the driest desert in Dryland that hasn’t seen rain in thirty years.
Mark.
Betcha that was a bad one.
Buzz!
Thank god. What a drab. I think they should require a personality to do this.
After an hour and a half of unnatural interaction in this meat grinder of an assembly line of boring men, Scott Eastwood’s stunt double sits across from me with the prettiest light brown eyes.
“I’m a race car driver.”
I giggle. “I’m a non-watcher of said race car driver.”
He smiles. “Declan.” His voice is deep and smooth, and it sounds really good.
“Brooklyn,” I reply flirtatiously. “So you drive a race car? That sounds fun.”
“Actually, it’s the truck series, but yes. It has its perks.” He places his forearm on the table, leaning closer. “What about you? Who is Brooklyn?”
“I’m the fastest and bestest prescription filler this side of the Mississippi,” I titter. “Nothing great like you, but I save the people one prescription at a time.”
His light brown eyes are such a unique shade, lighter around the pupils darkening toward the outer bands. They shine as he smiles. “So you’re a hero. I like that.”
“I keep my cape folded in my purse for when I need to snap it on quickly.”
He laughs. “Is this your first time here?”
“Yes. I was suckered into it. The real question is, why are you here?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Figured I’d try something new. I recently moved and I don’t have a lot of time to meet people naturally.”
“Keyword is naturally. This is far from it,” I reply.
“Isn’t that the truth.”
Buzz!
He warms me with a smile. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too. Good luck.”
He’s chuckling as he moves to the next table over, occasionally peeking over to me with a bored look. I’m assuming that date isn’t going so well.