I try my hardest to listen as she explains how this works. The app will send us a table number with the photo and name of our match. We’ll get five minutes before the bell rings and then change tables with each date. If we like anyone we meet, we have to tell the app before the end of the night. Tomorrow, we’ll be notified if there are any matches. But I can’t stop thinking about Benji, who is close enough that every time he reaches over to grab a pistachio out of the bowl, our arms brush.
I’ve got goose bumps on my goose bumps.
I keep my stare straight ahead as Benji turns to me.
“Can we talk?”
“Now’s really not a good time.”
Sheree finishes to a smattering of applause in the room, and I suddenly remember that I’ve been nervous about tonight for other non-Benji reasons.
Shit. I can’t remember my notes.What if I talk too much? What if I start reciting the weird dream I had last night, where I needed to dance my way out of a haunted house?
“Sorry,” I blurt out because I’ve already lost control of my mouth.
Benji steadies me with a hand on my elbow. “You don’t need to apologize?—”
A strangled sound escapes my throat, and he stops.
I know I don’t. It slipped out like a bad habit. I’m trying to get better at that, too, but Benji’s always been too good at getting under my defenses.
A wave of notifications grabs everyone’s attention. Benji pulls his phone from his pocket, and, oh God, if we got each other, then tonight really has gone to hell.
With my heart trembling in my throat, I swipe the app open and breathe a sigh of relief. Dave! Good old, boring Dave. Thank God.
“We need to talk.”
He’s relentless.
“Do we?” I bluster, and I hate how obvious my nerves are. “You were pretty clear the last time I saw you.” Something defiant roars in my chest, and I look up to find his eyes fierce. “Believe it or not,” I continue, “I actually came here to meet someone new. And honestly, even if I wanted to talk to you, out of all the guys in this room, you’d make fourth place at best.” It would be more effective if I didn’t get lost in the way he licked his lips.
He scoffs. “Fourth? No.” Said so confidently. As if I couldn’t possibly put anyone above him.
Well, we’ll see about that.
“You don’t think there are men in this room who could want me?”
“That’s not what I said,” he growls and shifts closer, heat pouringoff his skin.
I remember how hot he runs, how good it felt to press up against his chest, his palms curling around my shoulders.
God, I can’t believe I forgot …
Being around him turns everything else into static. My brain clears out any thought that isn’thim.
“A bet then,” he says. “Whoever gets the most matches wins.”
It’s ridiculous to agree—I know it is. I should take a page out of his book and run away, but as I stare down at his hand—his big, beautiful, bare hand—all the pain that I’ve spent months and months plastering over pours out, free and easy, like it was just waiting for him to reappear.
“You’re on.” I shake his hand, angrily ignoring the shiver that runs through me. “Winner plans the loser’s date.”
He doesn’t smile, but the fire in his eyes roars loudly.
Chapter Two
PAIGE
Dave looks just like his photo, which I appreciate. He’s not striking, not like Benji, but his combed hair and rounded features are welcoming. Safe.
