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I fell to the side of my couch. I think I was literally dying from embarrassment. My heart was beating erratically enough for me to consider dialing 911. On the bright side, it would give me a good excuse to end this call, and he may even take mercy on me if I ended up in the ER or died. Either option sounded fantastic right about now.
“What kind of negotiations are we talking about?” I managed to squeak out through heart palpitations.
“Nothing too painful. You only have to admit to stalking me on, let me guess, Facebook, and tell me your secret to walking on water. In return, I promise I won’t ever stare at your chin hair and I might confess that I also looked you up on Facebook.”
I sat up. That did not make me feel better. Oh no, if anything, this was worse. Cardiac arrest, here I come. I had the most embarrassing pictures and videos on Facebook. Everything from bad Spice Girls karaoke and burping out the alphabet song, to Halloween pictures where I’d dressed up like a bowl of Froot Loops, or when Jenna and I were a bra. I was the left saggy boob. And I wondered why nobody found me to be a catch. I didn’t mind everyone else in the world looking at my life in pictures, but not him. Not after looking at Sawyer’s profile filled with professional pictures of him doing things like skiing or graduating from the University of Houston College of Optometry. Not to mention all the gorgeous women he’d dated over the years. They had names like Candy and Sasha. He even looked fabulous blowing out his birthday candles. No one should look good doing that. Needless to say, it all made me feel self-conscious. Maybe I should feel like that more often. I might get more dates.
“You’re stalking me on Facebook?” I homed in on that factoid.
“I think the deal was for you to admit that first.”
I melted into my comfy leather couch to help me get through the trauma I was experiencing. “See . . . the thing is, my mom, as wonderful as she is, has this awful habit of setting me up with less-than-scrupulous men, so I was preparing myself in case I had to get a restraining order.”
“Understandable. But why is she setting you up when according to your Facebook profile, you are in quite a few relationships already. It’s stiff competition. The Pillsbury Doughboy, Duncan Hines, Dr. Pepper, Mr. Pibb—”
“I only see Mr. Pibb if the Dr. isn’t available. And the Doughboy’s real name is Poppin’ Fresh. No one really knows that.” It was sad that I did, but bread would always be my first love.
“Consider me informed. Thank you. But what about Tony the Tiger and Captain Crunch? Do you see them at the same time?”
“All the time.”
He laughed. “Should I ask about Betty Crocker? I’m not judging.”
I sighed with content. She was my favorite. “Betty and I have a special relationship. I go to her when all the guys have let me down.”
“Is that often?”
I paused, not sure how to respond. “Are you asking how often Betty and I hook up?” Based on the pictures I saw of his girlfriends he probably thought I should dump Betty altogether.
He cleared his throat. “No. No,” he scrambled to say. “I meant, do men disappoint you often?”
“Are we talking about my guys or guy-guys?”
“Guy-guys.”
“Well . . . how do I put this?” I didn’t want to sound bitter, because I honestly wasn’t. There were perks to being the friend, never the girlfriend. I never had to worry about silly things like three-month anniversaries or if I had garlic on my pizza, because there was no one to kiss. I’d be willing to stock up on mint gum, because I really did like garlic. But no matter how fresh my breath was or non-felonious my dates were, I always managed to end up in the friend zone. “I tend to keep my expectations low unless it’s Colonel Sanders or my dad, so the answer is no.”
He thought about that for a second. “So you like chicken, your dad, and cereal. Anything else?”
The fact that I hadn’t scared him away yet surprised me. “That’s only the tip of the iceberg, but I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me ramble about why I love spreadsheets and soccer.”
His masculine laugh filled my ears. “You say the most unexpected things. I can’t think of anything I’d like to do better right now than to hear more about you.”
This couldn’t be real. “Did my mom already bring you cinnamon rolls?”
“Not one.”
I sank back against my couch, more confused. But what the heck, my shows were all in reruns. “Okay, spreadsheets or soccer first?”
“You choose.”
