Page 10 of Playing for Keeps

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.

As the evening wore on, Jill’s monologue continued unabated.

Jill: “I mean, I could never eat carbs. Like, look at me. Do I look like I eat carbs? No. But, like, bread smells so good, right?”

Me: “Sure.”

Jill: “I go to the gym twice a day. Not because I need to, obviously, but because, like, wellness is a lifestyle. I mean, I could teach classes. People always ask me, like, ‘How do you stay so skinny?’ and I’m like, ‘Genes, babe.’”

Me: (nodding, cutting steak) “Makes sense.”

Jill: “You’re so lucky you’re tall. Like, tall guys can wear anything. I swear, if I were a guy, I’d be a model. I mean, not that you’re not handsome. You definitely are. But, like, models are next level, you know?”

Me: “Right.”

Dessert was tiramisu, which Jill photographed from four angles before pushing it aside. “Too many calories. But it looks amazing on camera, right?”

“Absolutely,” I said, stabbing mine with gusto.

She frowned. “Are you really going to eat that?”

“Yep.”

“I mean, wow. Must be nice not having to care about calories.”

“Burns off in practice,” I said, deliberately taking another large bite. And if I was being honest, I wasn’t about to let a woman who hadn’t taken a single real bite of anything all night make me feel guilty about tiramisu.

By the time we stood to leave, my patience was stretched thin. I’d smiled, nodded and put up with the endless likes, you knows and I means, until they had lost all meaning.

On the sidewalk, Jill clung to my arm, her phone poised for yet another selfie. “Okay, one last one. Streetlight vibes, so chic.”

I forced a smile, my mind already halfway to my truck, when two guys across the street spotted me.

“Finn!” one shouted, jogging over. “Man, can we get a picture?”

“Sure,” I said, glad for the interruption. I posed, but Jill couldn’t resist getting into the frame.

“Dude,” one of the guys said, grinning, “where you two headed next?”

Jill’s face lit up. “We’re going to a club! Drinks and dancing, you know.”

I looked the guy straight in the eye. “She is. I’m going home.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the guys laughed, slapped my shoulder, and wandered off.

Jill blinked up at me and pouted. “Wait, what?”

I held the door of her cab open. “Thanks for dinner. Have a good night.”

Her mouth opened, then shut again, clearly not used to being dismissed, before huffing into the backseat and slamming the door. I stood there, with my hands in my pockets, staring at the empty curb.

Wow, that was brutal.

I exhaled, squared my shoulders, and started the walk back to my truck.

Two dates down. God knew how many to go.

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