Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Maybe I’ll have a post-date one too,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Get it, girl,” she says.
“I plan to.”
“Good for you. Moving to a new town and dating right away.” She flicks her brown hair off her shoulders, then shudders. “It’s scary out there, but you’re diving in. I admire that. Lord knows, I don’t have the guts to do it.”
A smidge of guilt wiggles around inside me. I’m not quite diving into it. I don’t want people to think I’m good at this dating thing when I’m sort of a sham.
“Well, not exactly,” I say, feeling a little sheepish.
Maybe I should tell her the truth. I don’t want anyone to think I’m some kind of example of go-getter womanhood when I’m just playing a game. One with rules and a clock.
But the bell tinkles above the store and a pack of customers strides in. This is not the time nor place to issue a correction.
Instead, as Rachel heads over to help them, I peruse the necklaces by the counter, then pick a silver chain with a small typewriter charm.
I show it to my pup. “Do you approve?”
She rubs her head against me.
“Excellent,” I say, then when Rachel swings by again, I pay for the necklace and thank her.
“Let me know how the date goes,” she says. “I’m surviving on secondhand date fumes.”
I laugh. “I will. Want to do dinner on Sunday? We can catch up on all the things,” I say.
“Is there ping-pong involved too?”
“That can be arranged.”
“I’m there,” she says, and we agree to meet at Max’s Restaurant on Sunday, then hit The Happiest Hours. I’ll tell her then that I’m not a bold dating icon. I’m just a woman who’s having a little fun. Had.
By then I’ll be a woman who has had a little fun, past tense.
I leave and head home, but I don’t feel entirely satisfied.
I feel off.
I wasn’t as honest as I want to be with friends.
Inside my house, as I give Gigi a fresh bowl of water in her I Wish I Could Text My Dog bowl, I make a new plan—I’ll text Rachel later and let her know that my date tonight is just a fun thing, nothing to be admired.
That feels less squicky. More honest.
With a sense of relief, I check the time. I need to take off to meet Gabe, so I round the kitchen counter to shut my laptop. The scene where I left off earlier catches my eye, and I read it again.
By the power vested in me as your bestie, I hereby order you to take a new dating challenge, the hero says.
Give the order, the heroine replies.
Do something that scares you.
Perhaps it’s time I take my heroine’s challenge tonight—try something that scares me.
I don’t mean in bed, though. I mean before.
20
PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
Ellie
The thing about a honeymoon is it’s temporary. Then you go back to real life and make the relationship work when you don’t have room service.
No matter what Maddox says about how great Gabe is for me, we only have a honeymoon. There’s no relationship to make work.
But even though this is a temporary fling, I can tell Gabe something tonight. Something real. I’m still working out what to say exactly though as I hunt for a parking spot at the park.
That’s the challenge I set for myself tonight. Be more than sexy. Be vulnerable.
I find a parking spot, cut the engine, and grab the two slices of pie I picked up for our evening picnic.
I get out of the red convertible, then shield my eyes against the fading sun. I peer past a group of guys in their thirty-somethings playing volleyball, then some college dudes tossing a frisbee.
In the distance are picnic tables, and a six-foot-three, strapping, tattooed man unpacking food at one of them.
My heart scampers in my chest. My skin warms. Is this infatuation? Or more? I just like him so much I barely know what to do with these feelings.
Is that what I want to say?
Hey, Gabe, I dig you.
Hey, handsome, I’m totally into you.
Hey there, this has been the best week ever and I’m not just saying that because of your dick.
Yeah, maybe not those.
I’ll need to workshop this confession like it’s a scene in my TV show. But as I cross the park, I hit pause in my scare myself into opening up challenge when my gaze catches on a wicker basket on the table. Then the red checked tablecloth underneath it. And, at last, I settle on the man.
Sure, I knew we were having a picnic, but I didn’t expect him to have an actual picnic basket. It’s such an incongruous image—the big, burly man reaching into the old-fashioned basket.
And it gives me butterflies.
How will he react when I tell him I like him? I think he might like me too, but he was so clear about the week limit. But that’s why I’m going to take my own challenge.