Page 20 of Taking Sides

“Good. Well, good might be a stretch, but it was okay. I’m hanging wallpaper in my house, and I severely underestimated how long it would take and how good of shape I’m in.” I hug my triceps at the memory. They’re still sore and I only got half of the downstairs bathroom done.

Conrad’s smile tugs a little higher. Something about his quiet makes me want to keep talking. Like perhaps it isn’t me or this scenario but just silence that makes him uncomfortable. And I’m a people pleaser, through and through.

“Have you ever hung wallpaper?”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t do it. It isn’t worth it.” I lean forward and rest my arms on the table. “Or hire someone. But vet them carefully first because the last person I brought in to fix a broken showerhead cost me five hundred dollars, and it still leaks.”

Another slight uptick of his lips. Progress.

“Do you have a house or apartment?”

“Apartment.”

“Roommate?”

He nods.

I should have made a detailed list of first date conversation starters because I’m running out of topics fast. Silence stretches out between us again. I’m grateful when the server returns with my drink, but it’s a short reprieve and then we’re back to awkward silence.

I take a sip of my soda, then make a face. “Dr Pepper doesn’t taste the same here as it does in Texas.”

“Really?”

“I’m not sure what it is. It’s sweeter or something. Did you know Dr Pepper originated in Texas?” I sit back in my chair and at his head shake, fire off another question. “Are you training in the off-season or taking some time off?”

My foot taps under the table. I have got to chill out. I’m blabbering, jumping topics so fast, I’m probably giving him whiplash. I take another long sip of the too-sweet Dr Pepper.

“Training in the mornings. Weightlifting, skating, working with a trainer a few times a week.” He stops and a flash of insecurity crosses his face. “You probably don’t want to hear the boring details.”

“No, it isn’t boring at all,” I say way too eagerly. “I know how hard you guys work.”

And it’s the most words I’ve heard him say. I’m desperate to hear more. Partly so I don’t have to keep firing questions at him.

“Right.” He nods. “Well, that’s basically it. I train most of the off-season the same way as the rest of the year, but it’s nice not to travel as much and have my evenings free.”

“That makes sense.” And it’s almost identical to something Victor’s said in the past.

Unfortunately, his answer didn’t take as long as I hoped, and now, I don’t know what else to say. Think, Whitney, think. I glance over at the couple beside us. They’re leaning forward, smiling at each other. I know she has to be super into this guy because as far as I can tell she hasn’t even noticed Conrad. If I were on a date with someone else and Conrad was sitting at the table next to me, I’d definitely be sneaking glances this way.

Okay. Focus. Ice breakers.

“Where are you from?” I ask. Yes, let’s cover the basics. Boring? Yeah. But maybe it’ll ease us into things.

“Washington. A small town north of Seattle.”

“And did you play other places before Moonshot?”

“I came straight from college. Boston.”

“Nice.”

I wait for him to tell me more or ask me something. Anything. But it seems he’s used his quota of words for the day, because for the next several minutes we take turns staring all around MVP like we’re tourists at the Grand Canyon, occasionally making eye contact and then quickly darting our stare back someplace else.

I’m not usually prone to taking the blame for bad dates, but I have to think I did something. He isn’t making any attempt to get to know me, and his answers are like a game of “how do I use the least words possible.” I covertly look myself over the best I can. I wore my favorite yellow sundress with my pale purple Converse. I wanted casual and comfortable. Maybe I picked wrong. Maybe he took one look at me and decided he wasn’t really into me at all. I mean, fuck him, I’m gorgeous, but I get it. We can’t help who we are attracted to. But if he isn’t into me, why did he ask me out at all? It isn’t like I changed faces since the last time he saw me. What gives? Why would he ask me out and then act like he would rather shove needles under his fingernails than be here?

Oh god. Maybe he was forced into this. What if I was a dare or a bet? Am I living in an early 2000s rom-com?