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“This is my date.”
He looks behind me. “Where is he?”
“Oh, hahaha, I mean this is where I’m having my date. With David. David, our first date,” I ramble. If this were a flamenco-dancing studio, could I snap myself to death with castanets and end this misery?
“What are the odds?” Will crosses his arms over his chest, the move making his biceps bulge. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, all of him contoured, strong, and tan.
I narrow my eyes. Was that a dig? Does he think I’m following him? Does he think I have no life and all I do is stalk him to find ways to “accidentally” run into him at the farmer’s market or his lacrosse games or when we shared the same orthodontist freshman year and I figured out his schedule?
Because that is sooooo fourteen years ago.
Okay. Fine.
Ten.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, quirking one eyebrow. Maybe Perky and Fiona are right? Maybe Will is Dance Guy, and this is all an elaborate scheme to get me to go out with him?
Wait. That’s the entire plot of one of my ninth-grade fantasies, with the addition of the app.
Never mind.
“The wedding.”
“Wedding?”
“Remember? I’m a groomsman in a wedding. The bride requires us to take dancing lessons.”
“Hah. You got a zilla.”
“A zilla?”
“Bridezilla.”
“It’s not that bad.” Shrug.
“I’ll bet she’s an over-controlling, pedantic, neurotic freak who has a high need for perfection and she thinks objects are more important than people.”
“She’s my sister, Mallory.”
Foot, mouth, insert. Awkward.
I try to recover. “Actually, that was my sister that I just described.”
His head tilts, like he’s trying to understand me, as if that shift will somehow give him more power. “That’s right. You have an older sister, too. Hayley? Holly? Hannah?”
“Hastings. She’s four years older than us.”
“My sister is four years older, too. Bet they knew each other in school.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because I know Hasty hated Will’s sister with a burning passion she once compared to a raging yeast infection, so I just ask, “How’s your head?”
“Better. Some ibuprofen, emergency brain surgery, and an ice pack later, I’m good as new.”
I laugh, but I’m suddenly filled with remorse. “Seriously, I’m sorry I hurt you.”
His eyes soften, attention deeper. “Thanks.”
“But if you ever creep up on me like that again, I’ll do the same.”
