Page 83 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Oh, absolutely.” I’d call that one Bathsheba and that one Gabriel. I wonder if they can be potty-trained and let in the house, or would they leave their little pills everywhere? I need to google that. I could do it now, he probably wouldn’t notice. Can I get a signal here?

“Goodness, would you look at the time? We’d better put the rubber to the road, or we’ll be late for stop two.”

“We can’t have that.” I sound dull as dishwater.

“Chop-chop!” He actually just said “chop-chop.”

“Yep. All right. Just let me get this”—stupid, ugly—“helmet on.”

“You really shouldn’t take it off next time. More efficient.”

“Oh. Thanks for the pro tip.” I wonder exactly how dim he thinks I am. Like just regular not-too-bright? Or more of an entirely vacant nobody’s-home-and-they’re-never-coming-back?

On stop two, I heard about his new Audi and how much it cost to get a matte wrap.

I couldn’t get enough pictures of sheep, as it turned out. I would send hundreds of them to Simone at my next opportunity, just to see if I could make her curse me out for misuse of my selfie stick.

On stop three, I heard about his passion for cryptocurrency and was given several long-winded tips for developing my own portfolio.

I didn’t sweat it, though, because I knew what stop was next. Stop four. The dessert stop.

The weather was perfect, the sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, and there were baby lambs. Babies!

I pulled in after him to a little grassy spot by the lake. I had to hand it to him, the stops had been beautifully planned for all the best views.

“All right, Maya, you can sit right there. I wouldn’t worry too much about dirt, because you dressed down.”

“Oh. Thanks. Whew, what a relief.”

He smiled, humoring the simpleton. “I brought a travel towel for myself, though. White shorts. Can’t get them muddy, or—”

“It’ll look like you crapped yourself?” I blinked.

“Quite.”

I suppose this threw him off his game a bit. He hadn’t scheduled for any excrement chat at stop four. He was notably quiet as he retrieved the dessert. I was really hungry after all that pedaling. I hoped it was pastries. And chocolate. I hoped it was flaky chocolate and strawberry tarts and a bottle of champagne. He’s got all that money to splash around, right?

It wasn’t.

It was two apples and a single Ziploc bag of trail mix.

Conclusion: date unsuccessful.

Uncontrollable variable: my irrational belief that the precise size, curvature, and left-or-right-side preference of my date’s penis remain mysterious to me until at least an hour into the date—minimum.

Chapter 22 An Experiment in NOT Dating

“You all right?” Tadhg asked after I woke up from a nap in the backseat.

“Mm.” I rubbed at my hair. Thank goodness it was bouncy enough to resist four separate bike-helmet sessions, because Jackie had last-minute scheduled one last date for today. I thought about canceling. My usual schedule was one date a week for a good reason—they drained me. All that trying hard to “be myself” while also trying very hard not to be too much myself was exhausting.

But Jackie seemed to be really giving this some elbow grease and, good to his word, was also giving me a gorgeous tour of some of the most beautiful places I’d ever been. It was what I had asked for, for the most part. Also, the last date of the day was at a pub, and there would be dinner. I could manage just about anything if it came with a side of fries.

“We’ll have a quiet day tomorrow, promise,” Tadhg said with a glance in the rearview. “No dates at all, and then a home-cooked meal and an interview in the evening. How does that sound?”

I stretched and let out a yawn. “Delicious.”

“I’m kinda dying to know how the date went with Mr. Punctuality back there . . .”