“Here’s your uh…oh cool, you like football?” Varsity asks, intrigue glinting in his rich brown eyes.
“Um, yes! Love it, go Lions!” I pump my fist in the air for effect.
The Lions are something right?
“That’s cool, but unfortunately I’m a Vikings fan. You know their history…” Varsity begins rambling on about some rivalry. I nod at the appropriate times, smiling encouragingly.
Loyalty…to a sports team, I guess that counts, check.
Tall, check.
Handsome, check.
“…and that’s where I realized my love for the sport! You know?” Varsity is smiling at me, waiting for a reply.
Oh shit, what did he say?
“Totally! Me too. So do you study here?” I ask quickly, hoping to get off the football topic.
“Yeah, I’m in my third year in the business program. You?”
“Fourth year biomedical sciences,” I reply as delicately as possible.
Fragile ego in 3…2…1…
“Yeah, that’s cool.” Varsity scratches his head, looking around. “So I gotta run, see ya.” He leaves so abruptly pages of a nearby open book stir in his wake.
I release a very long and breathy groan while rubbing circles on my temples.What I need is a knight in shining armour type.The mental checklist in my brain on what I’ve determined necessary in a dating candidate doesn’t waver. It can’t. I want this experiment to be as close to my real life dating preferences as possible to get the most accurate results. I shouldn’t have to lower the bar for men who can’t appreciate a smart woman. I’m incredibly proud of my hard work and sacrifice to get where I am, not just for myself but for my mom too. It’s almost always been just us. A small inheritance helped us float by and Mom helped me study every time she could.
Ever since the first grade I’ve wanted to help people through medicine. At first I wanted to be a doctor but it became too daunting of an idea, holding someone’s life in my own hands. I preferred the idea of being the brains behind the operations. A medical researcher, I’d decided, was my calling. When I finally landed on that idea at nearly ten years old, there was no going back. That was my path. Finish my bachelors degree biomedical sciences at Remington University—stay local and save funds—then head straight into medical school. Together my mom and I did everything we could to save, apply for grants and keep my grades as high as possible to get any and every scholarship I could be awarded. She would stay up late studying with me, balancing chemical equations, memorizing every facet and function of a human cell. The mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cellsure,but what about the role of the Golgi apparatus? I had to know it all. I needed to succeed to make both our efforts mean something.
I file away the football book huffing in frustration before turning towards my actual preferred section, Feminist Horror.I’ve noticed it’s very off-putting for men when I browse books with covers titledThe Bloody ChamberandNightbitch.I agree though, it is a little unapproachable for someone trying to start up a romantic conversation, hence why I decided to scope out the sports and political science section. At least there I could snag an athlete or a trust fund baby. It feels a little surface level to begin experimentally dating someone like this, however, if they aren’t great on the surface then what’s the point in going deeper? I cast a glance up toward the feminist horror section.
This is when I’d love a real knight in shining armour, a prince charming if you will, to help me out a bit.
Unfortunately for me, feminist horror is a real niche and not so popular genre, therefore it is shuffled away well above my reach. I pull over the little reading table that no one seems to be using and climb on top, careful not to wobble it too much or flash someone walking by. I reread the spines of novels I’ve already read. Nothing new, yet. I hop down in disappointment, the skirt of my dress billowing out like a Mary Poppins landing.
I amble around the fantasy shelves—my second favourite section—hands running across the spines of the many thick novels. Across the covers are a plethora of magical beasts, royalty ready for battle, and princesses in the arms of knights. I pick up one novel in particular that shows a red haired maiden in a voluminous corseted gown. She’s resting within the embrace of a very attractive man…no,male?He’s some sort of fae variety, if the pointy ears are any indication. Either way he’s a gorgeous specimen of man meat. His dark hair drapes over his own broad shirtless shoulders…
“We have a strict no drooling policy, Hoot. However, once you purchase, you can…do whatever you want to that cover.” My eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets as I hear Dominic’s husky voice from just over my shoulder. I shove the novel into my chest, feeling my cheeks grow warm.
Why does he throw me off so much?
I take a calming breath to settle my rapid heart rate and throw on a mask of haughty confidence before turning to face him. “I’ll have you know that not only is this male gorgeous, his personality matches. He’s sensitive, wields shadows, and puts his mate’s wants and needs first.” I raise my eyebrows as if I’m not at all embarrassed.
“Are there no men onthisplanet that meet your expectations? Or are you only into fictional fae?” he asks tauntingly, folding his arms across his chest making his shirt under his apron pull taut across his muscular arms. His dark hair is swooshed back effortlessly today, and his devious smile is tantalizing.
Am I fucking ovulating? Get a grip, Celeste.
I clear my throat and push my shoulders back, “The problem, dear Dominic, is that these men are fictional because the ones we love the most are written bywomen.” I tap across several titles I’ve already read to prove my point. “Men in the real world don’t evenlistento women, let alone stand by them,” I add less confidently, then stiffen, suddenly wondering why I felt compelled to share something so vulnerable in front of Dominic.
His smile falters a fraction at my honesty. “I’m sorry to hear that Hoot.” His brows pull together, “You know if you ever need someone to listen, I’ve been told I’m the sullen and quiet type. If you ever need to talk I’m always here.” He gestures around. “Well, Monday to Friday anyway.” His mouth tugs up on one side into an adorable half smile, an attempt to turn my sudden sour mood around. His tone is lighthearted, but his intention feels genuine. His attention is unwavering and I feel my skin prickle from it, a heat summering just under the surface.
“I appreciate that,” I manage, looking away from his concern. “Although, I think the saying is ‘strong and silent type’ but I’lltake it. Wait, maybebroodyfits you better,” I add playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
“So how did Lance fare for you then? He might be strong but definitely not silent,” Dominic asks, leading us back to the coffee counter, then gestures to a stool. “Pull up a seat, stay while.”
I pull the stool just off to the side of the espresso machine, out of the way but still somewhat behind the coffee bar.
