“It’s fun.”
Okay. Really don’t know where to go after that.
He spends the remainder of the three minutes staring at my chest and doesn’t seem to hear the bell when it chimes, just as he seemed to be unable to hear any of my other pained attempts at conversation starters.
“Okay, nice to meet you, bye now!”
David moves along to the next poor woman and a new man takes his seat.
This one at least makes eye contact, but it’s clear from the start that we have nothing in common. I guess the whole premise of speed dating means it’s okay to make snap decisions about people, which is good, because I veto guys two through seven within the first thirty seconds.
Old Lana would’ve jumped at the chance to chat with ten men who cared enough about finding a partner that they’d put themselves through speed dating. Old Lana would’ve left this event with at least five phone numbers and possibly even a date that would quickly turn into a steady relationship. Old Lana wouldn’t have cared about David’s inappropriate staring or Suitor Three’s bad breath or the way Suitor Five mentioned his “bros” four times in the first minute. Old Lana would’ve picked whoever seemed the most interested and would’ve vowed to make it work.
New Lana wants to go home and curl up in bed with a glass of wine andSchitt’s Creek.
When I feel my phone vibrate during the middle of Suitor Eight’s diatribe about gun rights, I don’t even bother trying to be sly about it. I pull it out of my purse and check my messages.
Seth:So how’s speed dating going?
Suitor Eight isn’t paying attention to me, so I swipe over to my camera and flip it in my direction. I point to my name tag, but mostly I let my get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here face dothe talking for me; a selfie is worth a thousand words and all that jazz. I send him the photo.
Seth:
Me:I hate you.
Seth:If it makes you feel any better, I had another therapy session today.
Me:I would kill to be in therapy right now. This task officially sucks.
Seth:I feel like you should probably not use the phrase “kill to be in therapy.”
Me:Did I mention that I hate you?
Seth:
Me:I only have a couple guys left but I’m tempted to pretend you’re texting me with a family emergency and bail.
Seth:I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just tell me you’re thinking about quitting halfway through. That would be cheating, Parker.
Me:Please have some pity. I’m begging you!
Seth:Lol. You’re almost done. Hang in there and then you never have to speed-date again.
Me:You’re the worst.
Seth:You know you love me.
That stops my fingers in their tracks. The wordloveanywhere near Seth Carson sparks immediate warning bells. Especially after everything that went down in the bar the other night. Seth and I are still on shaky ground, and the last thing I need is a reminder of old feelings when I’m stillnot quite sure of my current ones. I shove my phone back in my purse and look up to find Suitor Eight has thankfully vacated the chair across from me. In his place is Suitor Nine, who is actually cute, in a very wholesome kind of way.
“Hi, I’m Tim.” He holds out his hand and gives me a firm shake. “Sorry for just sitting here awkwardly, but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was that was making you smile like that.”
I don’t feel the grin on my lips until he mentions it, surprised that a few snarky texts from Seth would make me smile.
“Boyfriend?” Tim asks, completely nonjudgmentally, all things considered.
“What? No.” I immediately wipe the smile from my face. “Sorry. I’m Lana. Writer. Thirty. Been in LA for about twelve years.”
Tim smiles, and it’s genuine. “Tim. Thirty-five. Contractor. Born and raised.”
