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“Your faith in my abilities is astounding,” I say, rummaging in the freezer.
“You found your own date?”
“Always with the surprise.”
She backpedals. “It’s not that you can’t—you just usually... don’t. And you’re amazing! I don’t know why they don’t—”
An exaggerated eye roll around the freezer door cuts her off. “I was teasing, not asking for validation. Anyway... I have a date. Except, not a date, but I’m bringing someone. Or meeting him there. Or something.”
“Huh?”
I’ve completely confused her now, so I have to recount the whole golf incident—somewhat embellished—while my pot pie spins in the microwave.
“Well, that’s nice of him. Do you think he’s interested?”
“Absolutely not. He made it abundantly clear that he can’t date students, and that’s fine with me. I’m much more comfortable with guys in a non-dating scenario.”
Ivy weighs this and decides to agree. Sort of.
“But is he attractive?”
“Ivy, leave it. He’s my instructor, so I couldn’t date him if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
“Definitely attractive.”
Sometimes this girl drives me crazy. “He could be,” I say. “Possibly. But that’s not how it is, so I’m just going to pretend he’s my golf buddy—which he is, sort of—and leave it at that.”
She smirks in triumph, so I steer her toward our couch and turn the tables. “Now, tell me why my dating-queen roommate is all worked up about a simple first date.”
Though Ivy refuses to admit anything, she takes the hint and stops pressuring me about Ethan. Thank heaven. I’m having enough trouble managing my expectations as it is.
Chapter 5
Super
I’ve worked it out withEthan to meet at my apartment so we can all drive to the show together. Ivy is seriously nervous—which never happens—but no matter how hard I press, she won’t say anything more about Dave. All I can figure is that she might actually like this guy.
Promptly at 6:15 there’s a knock on our door, and I am unceremoniously shoved toward the stairs as Ivy bolts back into her room. Like water on a duck, I let her nerves wash off me and slowly descend our town-house stairs to the front door. We wouldn’t want them to think we’re anxious.
Dave is about like I remember from church, and I wonder again what has Ivy so uptight, but she’s back out of her room before Dave has accepted my invitation to come in. “Hey, Dave,” she says, cranking up the charm. “Thanks again for coming with us.”
“Oh, no problem.” His oblivion knows no bounds. “Everyone in my family sings, so I’ve been to plenty of musicals. What is it tonight?”
With that they launch into a discussion of song and dance that is the camping equivalent of hiking the entire Pacific Coast Trail. I have no idea what they’re talking about—partially because I avoid musicals like algebra but mostly because I’m too busy watching the nonverbal communication. Dave is confident, pleased to be here, and engaged in the conversation, but there are two glaring differences from Ivy’s usual dates. First, he seems completely indifferent to her appearance. And second, she is seriously affected by his. She tends to bowl over most males of our acquaintance with her gorgeousness, so I’m amazed that Dave seems unaffected by her auburn waves, tiny waist, and shapely legs—not to mention the knockout smile and the almost hungry look in her emerald eyes.
That’s different. She rarely gives her dates a second look—and, believe me, they’re always worth looking at—but with Dave she can’t look anywhere else. She is laughing with him, checking out his hair and shoulders, offering him a seat on the couch next to her.
And, apparently, I’m gawking, because now Ivy’s giving me a strange look and so is Dave.
“Are you going to get the door?” Ivy asks me.
Did someone knock? “Yes. Definitely getting the door.” I am rewarded for my intuitiveness with a tall, blond, handsome Ethan at the door wearing his usual golfish attire and a rather attractive smirk.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, thinking to myself that the no-dating-students rule is a gift I’ll happily embrace in lieu of the awkwardness that would be plaguing me otherwise, especially considering the enticingly subtle smell of his cologne.
The evening passes with relative ease, Ivy and Dave enthralled by our college theater company’s production ofMary Poppinswhile Ethan and I pretend to be. Honestly,pretendingto like the show almost makes me enjoy it, even though the musical numbers drag the story out for way too long and have me glancing at my watch in spite of the pleasant company.
