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I leave Hannah’s phone and find a florist in Vegas on my computer, where I order a bright, bold bouquet to be delivered to Hannah’s hotel room tomorrow morning, along with a card that reads, “Thinking of you. Can’t wait to see you in Seattle! XO Henny.” The arrangement I’ve ordered is much bigger and far more expensive than anything Hannah has ever purchased. And rightly so. My goal isn’t making her say, “Oh, how sweet!” It’s making her physically swoon. While I’m thinking about flowers, I order a bouquet for my mom in Fresno with a note that says, “I love you, Mom.” And then, return to snooping around Hannah’s phone.
What’s this? Hannah’s got a porn site app loaded onto her phone. Color me curious.
No, Henn. That’s out of bounds. The equivalent of using your X-ray vision to be a Peeping Tom.
Somehow, I muster the strength to ignore the porn app and move along.
Another click, and I’m exploring Hannah’s order history with the world’s largest online ticket vendor—but it only confirms something I already knew: Hannah is me in female form. I search to find out if any of our mutual favorites will be in Seattle in the timeframe when I’ll likely be there and discover a comedian Hannah and I have both seen twice in our respective cities will be performing there in about three weeks. Hallelujah. This is precisely the sort of intel I was hoping to find.
I tap out an excited text to Hannah, telling her that such and such comedian—one of my all-time favorites—is coming to Seattle on such and such date. I conclude with, “If you’d like to go with me, I’ll grab tickets.”
Hannah replies quickly:
Hannah: I LOVE HIM! I’ve seen him twice and he’s soooo funny! Sadly, his Seattle show is already sold out. I tried to get tix mere hours after they went on sale, and they were all gone. :( Thank you for the thought, though.
Me: Let me see what I can do. I’ve got a connection.
Hannah: AAAHHH! Fingers crossed! But PLEASE don’t spend too much. The resale market is insane.
Me: No worries. I’m on it, pretty lady.
Hannah: If you somehow score tix, PLEASE let me pay half! I don’t want you spending an arm and a leg. Only a leg. Haha.
Me: Your money is no good to me. But I appreciate the offer.
Hannah: Thank you. Cheers!
A photo lands on my phone. It’s Hannah and Kat, both of them wrapped in fluffy, white robes and holding champagne flutes to the camera. They’re obviously at a spa, living their best life, exactly as Josh wanted. At the sight of the shot—at the obvious glee on Hannah’s pretty face—my heart bursts with affection for her.
Me: Love it! I’ll let you know about the tix.
Hannah: Woohoo! I AM SWOONING SO HARD, Peter the Great! XOXOXO
Me: I’m having a similar reaction on my end, Milly Vanilli! XOXOXO
There’s a slight pause. And then:
Hannah: Hey, btw, have you already talked to Reed about Maddy’s UCLA application? After thinking about it (while sober haha), I’ve realized Maddy wouldn’t actually want Reed to help her out. I’m positive my sister would feel like that would be an unfair advantage. Maybe even cheating.
Me: No, I haven’t talked to Reed yet. I was going to do it after Maddy submits her application. But if Reed knows someone, he’d only ask them to take a closer look at her application. She’d still have to get in on her own merits.
Hannah: I’m positive Maddy wouldn’t see it that way. I really appreciate the offer, but this pit in my stomach tells me not to let you do it. As much as I’m dying to help make her dreams come true, I can’t do that at any cost. I’d feel better crossing my fingers and toes for her while letting the process run its course naturally.
Me: I can respect that. I’ll keep my fingers and toes crossed for her, too.
Hannah: Thank you so much.
Welp. Add this to the long list of reasons Hannah Milliken impresses the hell out of me. I was more than happy to ask Reed to help Maddy out, and honestly didn’t think twice about Hannah accepting my offer last night. But now that she’s made this about-face, I can’t deny I’m even more attracted to her. Talk about a stark one-eighty from the longtime acquaintances and fraternity brothers who hit me up for self-serving favors to this day, simply because, at some point in our distant past, I did some small favor for them.
Okay, back to those tickets.
I head to a secret back door to the ticket seller’s system; one I created eons ago that has never failed me. Fun fact: Even when a show has been advertised as “sold out,” there’s always a block of tickets still available—seats held back for VIPs or insiders. The best part is there’s never any rhyme or reason regarding the number of tickets held back, which means a guy like me can slip in undetected, grab a couple seats from the slush fund, code them in the system as properly issued, and nobody is ever the wiser.
