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It’s so loud but he leans over and yells, “What can I get you?”
I can’t help the wide smile that spreads on my face, assuming that man got the bartender to come over here. “Two Captain and cokes, please—actually, make those doubles.”
He prepares our drinks while I send a thank you grin across the bar. Then I raise up my glass to him, a slow sexy nod coming back my way.
“Babe, sorry Kelsey took so long.” Kelsey jams in next me, shoving a random guy aside.
“Yeah, it’s about time, and you know I don’t like when you refer to yourself in the third person.”
She picks up her drink, guzzles the whole thing down. “Kelsey loves ya, babe. Now let’s go before we’re late.”
Disappointment settles over me that I can no longer make eyes at my faux date, but when I turn back for a goodbye gaze, he’s gone.
2
We make our way through the crowd and out to the lobby. “I’m having second thoughts about this speed dating thing.” Really, I’m having second and third thoughts about the guy at the bar.
“You said you’d try.”
“You said no working!”
“Yesterday we hardly did anything. Come on, give Kelsey a break.”
I turn and glare at her.
“Fine. But it might be hilarious. You never know if you’ll meet someone.”
We both know a big reason for this week is the fact that my fiancé and I split eight months ago and apparently finding me a man is Kelsey’s new project. “That depends on your definition of someone.”
“We’re not looking for Mr. Perfect. I mean how many dates have you been on since William?”
“Zero?” I say. I didn’t count my little faux pas with my neighbor Jack, who had the most adorable black curls and a chest so broad I wanted to curl up on it and hibernate for the winter. We hooked up shortly after William and I decided he was a douche.
“Exactly,” she says. “And we both agreed we’d be up for anything.” She kicks her eyebrows up and grins.
“I know. I know.”
“So…get your ass in there.”
“Fine.”
“There you go,” she says. “And if you meet Prince Charming, you can shove him into a suit case and drag him to LA with you.”
We stop in front of the doors that read, Conference Room A and I lift my wrap over me.
“Wait. What’s with the wrap?” she says.
“I figured if it’s a total loser fest, I’ll wear the shawl.” I throw my hands wide and lift my eyebrows. “And if I meet someone hot, then…” The tight black mini dress is low-cut in the front, showing just enough cleavage.
“The dress is hot. Leave the granny shawl off.”
The room is set up when we arrive; singles are getting their name tags, being assigned their first positions. There are four rows of five tables. The women stay in the same spot while the men rotate through the tables. Each “date” lasts five minutes.
“Good luck, Meg,” she says, as she gets her nametag and moves toward her seat.
“Good luck,” I throw over my shoulder, then slip my shawl on when she’s not looking.
Once I settle into my spot, I scan the room. Average looking guys mostly, with a couple on either end of the spectrum. Five minutes might show me something more. I’m about to take my seat when a pair of deep blue eyes catch my gaze and a warmth stirs in my chest. He’s here. I don’t know if it’s good or bad that he’d attend one of these. You’re here, I remind myself.
