There’s nothing. No sparks. No zips of electricity over my skin. No flutters.
“Call me.” He winks and then strolls away.
I drop in my car feeling a little stunned and confused. Considering the amount of attraction we had, I thought for sure our chemistry would be off the charts. Wow. I was wildly wrong. Maybe because it was rushed?
FOUR
“I am up!” I shout at my alarm clock for the fourth time, smacking it and then falling to my back.
I don’t mind mornings. They’re great—a fresh start to a brand-new day that you own—but getting out of bed, the warm and very comfortable bed, is the hardest thing.
My scrubs are on. My hair is in a ponytail. I am ready for work. As I gather all my things, my phone chimes a text message.
Insta-Dates: You've been selected for dates from the following: Nathan #22. Cody #30. Please respond so we can let the bachelors know.
My heart slams into my ribs just seeing his name. “Oh, holy shit.”
He picked me. They picked me. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Instantly, I call the one person who can keep me calm—Shyla.
“He picked me,” I rush out as I shut my front door behind me.
“Who?”
“Him! Nathan.”
I told the girls about him just the other day. She should know who him is.
“Ohhh…” she sings. “And have we accepted the date?”
“No. Not yet. I’m not sure I want to. What took him so long? It’s been a week. Did all his other dates go to hell and I was last on the list? The last ditch effort to love? I don’t want to be the last. I should be the first.” I’m a mess, babbling words uncontrollably.
“How do you know you’re the last and not the first? What if—”
“His friend picked me too,” I interrupt just as my Bluetooth switches over to my car radio and Shyla blares from the speakers.
“The other hottie? I knew this was a good idea. You go from nothing to hotties falling at your feet.”
“This isn’t a good idea. This isn’t me. It’s complicated things. I want peaceful and easy.” Of course, it would be nice to share that with a man, but I don’t have to have that.
“It’s not complicated. You’re flipping out over nothing. Reply. Go on dates and see what everyone brings to the table. You said you’re attracted to Declan physically and you’re intrigued with Nathan. What if someone brings both emotional and physical?”
I hear her statement loud and clear. “You just want me to get laid.”
Her laugh shoots out of my speakers. “Of course. That too. If your vag is happy, you’re happy.”
“I am happy!” I snap back.
“Does your unused vagina feel the same way? You two may not be on the same page.”
“Jesus, Shyla.” I snort.
“Respond to the dates. You know you want to. I’ve got to get off here. I’m about to walk into work and my first appointment is already here. Gotta love Mrs. Callahan,” she whispers under her breath.
Two minutes after hanging up, I’m parked in my normal spot at work and staring at the two names on my screen.
I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
Me: #22. #30
I choose both because why not? Take risks, right?
Shit.
I shouldn’t have chosen both.
Insta-Dates: Do we have permission to give the selected dates your phone number? Please respond with YES or NO.
Me: YES
Insta-Dates: Thank you for giving us a chance to find your happily ever after. After each date, please go online and rate each date to let us know how we did.
All morning, I was either freaking out with anticipation of a text or feeling phantom vibrations from my pocket and then freaking out even worse. Once lunch comes, I sit at the picnic table with my phone on my lap as my back rests against the tree enjoying a pack of crackers and my coke.
Remember? I’m a health nut. Totally.
My phone rings and it startles me. I jerk, knocking it off the table, and jump for it before it hits the ground like a damn football player scrambling for a fumble.
“Hello?” I’m totally out of breath.
“Brooklyn?”
Shit…shiiiittt. It’s him. “Yeah.”
“It’s Nathan. How are you?”
My heart can’t take his velvety smooth voice.
“Oh. Hey, Nathan. I’m good. How are you?” I fake the shit out of not being too excited ‘cause you know…dignity.
“I’m doing well. Since you accepted my second date. Would you like to have dinner Friday?”
“Friday?” I squeak instantly thinking of Declan.
“Yes. If that’s not a problem.”
He sounds so different, so much more professional than what I remember. “I, um. I don’t get off work until late on Fridays.” Please don’t ask for a late date.
There’s shuffling in the background and a few clicks on what sounds like a keyboard before he asks, “What about Thursday?”
“I’m off by five.”
“Care to join me?”
“You sound really different over the phone than in person,” I blurt. Seriously? I slap my palm to my forehead and shake my head.
He chuckles and yeah. It’s so him. Only he has a laugh that wakes up the butterflies.
“Did your friend force you to call me?” Clearly my thought-to-speech neurons are running amok and not doing their job.
“Not at all,” he responds.
“Your friend chose me for a second date today too.”
What the hell is wrong with my mouth?
“Did he now?” His tone drops and I hear the aggravation in it. “Well, he likes pickles. Probably eats them as he cleans the windows in the bathroom.”
A laugh bubbles from me. “While he drinks cold coffee?”
“Precisely.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Where should I pick you up Thursday?”
“I’ll meet you. Just text me the address.”
“I will. Look forward to it. Hope you have a good day.”
When we hang up, my breath is ragged like I’ve run three miles. Quickly, I store his number and then text the group chat with Shyla and Aimee.
I know what you’re thinking. Group chats are hostage situations, but I’m not the one who created it. That evil eye should go to Aimee.
Me: Come this Thursday, I may die.
Aimee: OMG. With Nathan?
Me: Yes!
Shyla: You’ll need to sneak a photo of him. I need to see the man who is making you squirm.
Me: I’m totally not pulling my phone out during our date and snapping a picture of him.
Aimee: Why not? I did with William.
Shyla: I did with Brady.
Me: Sigh.
Aimee: You should let your dignity and morals go for one night.
Shyla: I second this. One night. One beautiful night.
Me: I can’t even with you two.
Aimee: But we love you.
Suddenly, our texts drop out and my phone rings with an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Brooklyn! It’s Cody. What’s going on, spitfire?”
His exuberance instantly pulls a smile out of me. “Hi, Cody. I’m eating lunch. How are you?”