I’d do it myself if I could because that was straight-up rude. The first time was a yellow flag, but the flag has now turned red.
“Everything okay?” I ask, wondering if maybe Todd is allergic to cold water and I’m prematurely judging him.
He shakes his head, clearly upset. “Cold water shocks your system,” he says, his words coming out clipped and sharp.
I don’t give him a response because I have nothing to say. It’s not that big a deal. Is he going to go into cardiac arrest because he just drank cold water?
He swipes a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been drinking room-temperature water for three years now. It’s the best thing for your body.”
I angle my head to the side. “Even better than vegetables?”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “It’s way better.”
I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true.
“I can send you some articles if you like.”
“Hmm, maybe,” I say, becauseNot a chancemight be too harsh.
He nods at my Diet Coke, the condensation on the glass glistening in the overhead lighting. “You really should drink that at room temperature as well. You’re literally killing yourself with ice.”
“I’m . . . good,” I say.
This man is off his rocker. I should really make up an excuse and leave. And yet—I stay. I sit through the rest of the dinner, through two more glasses of room-temperature water, through a detailed explanation of his morning hydration routine that I definitely didn’t ask for.
When he walks me to my car and asks if he can see me again, I tell him I’ll message him.
Spoiler alert: I will not.
“I take it the date was a flop?” Sam asks after I fall on the couch face-first, barely missing her legs. This was after I had to maneuver around the side to get into the room, so it was less dramatic than I was going for.
“So bad,” I say into the cushion before sitting up and giving her all the details.
“Yikes,” she says when I’ve finished. “I mean, he’s not wrong. Room-temperature drinks are better for you.”
“I wish we hadn’t donated the throw pillows for this couch, because I would totally throw one at you right now.”
She laughs. “How are you ever going to find kiss number fifty?”
“I’m not,” I tell her. “I’m giving up.”
“You can’t give up,” she protests.
“It’s pointless anyway. It’s just an arbitrary number I came up with.” I wave a hand in the air as punctuation.
“No, it’s a perfect round number. You have to try one more time.”
“I can’t even make it to a second date. Maybe the curse has extended to all facets of my life. It’s not just a kiss curse anymore; it’s an everything curse.”
I fall face-forward into the couch once more. I’m pleased to say that it’s much more dramatic than my first attempt.
“I thought work was better,” she says, patting my head like she would a dog.
“Only because Luke Wilder saved me,” I say. “I’m fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Oh, Lu-uke,” she says, in a singsong.
“Please shut up.” I liftmy head to tell her.
