“You should come to a game sometime. You’ll like it.”
I try to picture it—on the sidelines, learning whatever a macro is and how many of them I should be having, missing my bed and the bleary-eyed recap of Skye’s weird dreams over brunch.
I can’t decide if I like or hate that he apparently knows what I’ll like when he doesn’t even knowmeyet. I think I hate it.
Dave picks the next card. “What’s the best way to win you over?”
Easy. “Don’t ignore me,” I joke, turning a card over in my hands. Except it’s not a joke at all. Listening is a lost skill. “Be interested in who I am and be willing to be vulnerable.”
“Best way to win me over,” he says because I guess Iwas done talking, “is with a home-cooked meal at the end of the day. Do you cook?”
Maybe I should say no, just for a laugh. I love cooking. I’m no chef, but nobody puts cheese and crackers on a plate better than I can.
He probably has a list in his head.Rules for Females—because he definitely calls women that:Must be young and beautiful. Must cook all meals and clean up after me and service me and never complain.
That last one is always very important to guys like Dave.
The bell sounds.
“It was good to meet you, Paige.”
Wish I could say the same.
The next date is worse.
“Well, aren’t you a sweet thing?” says Robbie, a man whose forehead could hold a charity ball for male pattern baldness.
This is a man whose dating profile is all shirtless selfies and lines like,Looking for someone who isn’t caught up on the little things. The open buttons on his shirt expose angry red skin that I’m hoping is the result of poor sunscreen use and not something I’ll need a prescription for.
“So, what do you do?”
I perk up. “Oh, I own a candle shop with my cousin.” We’ve been attached at the hip since we were born a week apart, and we aren’t sick of each other yet. No part of my life hasn’t included Skye, so it surprised noone when we started a business together. “It’s Calm Candles. Have you heard of it?”
Robbie’s smile disappeared while I was speaking.“No.”
“We are in an alleyway in North Park, behind the main strip, so you really have to know we’re there to find us.”
People do though. It never fails to amaze me how far some people have traveled for our candles. What started out as a dream has become a rock-solid reality—one with utility bills, a vat with a personality of his own, and a point-of-sale system older than both of us combined.
“Can you even make money in that?” he asks with a sneer. “There’s a little thing called electricity now—don’t know if you’ve heard of it.”
I swallow back my frustration. “Candles are softer, calmer, and more reliable. And the ones we make smell amazing.”
“You know, most new businesses fail in the first year.”
I stare at the crown chandelier hanging in the center of the room to avoid looking at him. “Well, we’ve been running strong for two years, and?—”
“What you want to do is diversify your assets. I can’t even imagine the kind of debt you are in.”
Excuse me?
I wish it were socially acceptable to throw a drink on a bad date. Skye would do it.
I could kill her for talking me into this. I’m secondsaway from texting her all the ways that five minutes with Robbie is the equivalent to purgatory. Maybe that would distract me from the sexy linen-wrapped shadow sitting three tables away.
Damn, Benji looks good.
It’s a relief when the bell chimes.
