Page 47 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“Well, the game is tomorrow,” Cliff finally says, his tonestill rough, but his breathing more even. “Go home and get ready to ride thatbench, scrub.”

Resentment rises in me—that because of him I never get toplay, that he holds it over my head all the time and tries to demean me infront of the team because of his own insecurities. Most of all, I resent thatbecause of him, I have to leave Takira.

We’re all walking down the steps from the roof when shecatches a fistful of my T-shirt at my back. A step above and behind me, shebends to whisper in my ear, “Tomorrow. After the game?”

I turn my head and meet the velvety brown of her eyes andnod. I’ll ride the bench tomorrow, and no one will see what I’m capable of.I’ll have to figure out what I’m doing for college. I’ve accepted that, butwhat I won’t accept is not seeing Takira again.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling back at her. “After the game.”

Chapter One

Takira

Twelve Years Later

“So what do you do?” the man seated across fromme asks.

You mean besides meet random people online overand over on Groundhog dates, only to be disappointed time and time again?

“Um,” I say aloud instead. “I do hair and makeup.”

“Ahhhh,” Calvin—if that’s even hisreal name—says. “Right. That was on your profile. Like in asalon or something?”

“Mostly in entertainment. Film, television, photo shoots.Stuff like that.”

“Oh.” Calvin’s brows lift as if I’ve impressed him. “Anystuff I’d know?”

“Well, I just wrapped on that newCanon Holt biopic, Dessi Blue. Have you heard of it?”

“Wow. Yeah.” If possible, Calvin’s brows climb even higherbut then dip into a disapproving V over his eyes. “You must be prettysuccessful, huh?”

Oh, Lord. One of them?

If they aren’t sleeping on your couch and asking for gasmoney, they’re pissed off and intimidated that youearn more than they do. Or they’re so obsessed with makingmoney they barely have time to take you out and get you off before the night isover. I swear, the last guy may as well have had one hand on his phone and onebetween my legs with the little bit of attention he paid me. How do you getlost down there? And yet, a surprising number of men seem unable to find theirway around a clit these days.

“I do all right,” I say warily, casting a longing glancetoward the door leading to the street. “What about you? Your profile saidyou’re an artist. That’s exciting. Would I see your art anywhere? Shows?Exhibits?”

“I mostly do drawings at events. Kids’ birthday parties, barmitzvahs—stuff like that,” he says, the look he offers a little sheepish. “Ididn’t think that sounded as good so I may have flubbed a little on myprofile.”

Flubbed a little?

The only apparent similarities between Calvin and his datingapp profile is that he is actually a man. When Ientered the restaurant, I walked right past him, not realizing the guy standingby the door who was maybe an inch shorter than I am was supposed to be thesix-foot-four Adonis from the profile pic.

“Drawing is really…cool,” I murmur, picking up my menu andimmediately going straight for the drinks like a heat-seeking missile. “Shouldwe order?”

An hour later, I can feel my brainmushing. I wouldn’t be surprised if my soul is oozingfrom my ears. If this date is a preview of hell, I’m running up the aisle andfalling on the altar this Sunday. Begging God to hear my cry. It’s not becausethis man ekes out his living drawing children at parties. At least he’sgainfully employed, which is more than I can say for Bart from Hinge. It’s notbecause he tells the server it will be separate checks as soon as she takes ourdrink order. Gary from Match didn’t even bother bringing his wallet. Calvin’sdull, sure, but Ginger from Plenty of Fish regaled me about the wonders of herwork as a shoe fitter the entire date.

The problem is I’m completely unmoved by Calvin. Not aflutter in my belly. Not a pussy twitch. Not a quickening pulse. My heart mayas well be a lump of clay in my chest. I’m so tired of going on these dates hopingto feel something and feeling absolutely nothing.

I’m considering another drink when the phone in my purserings.

“You need to get that?” Calvin asks.

“Oh!” My hands practically shake fumbling to reach my bag,my lifeline. “Yeah, I do.”

I didn’t ask anyone to do the ol’ callto interrupt a bad date trick, but this is evidence that God muststill be on my side. I barely even glance at the screen before I answer. I’dtalk to a scammer right now to get out of here.

“Hello,” I say breathlessly, feigning an apologetic look toCalvin.