Everly Dalton's Dating Disasters

by Claire Kingsley

  Preston was just as physically attractive as Stephen had been. Perhaps more so, depending on one’s particular tastes. Tall, lean. Well-dressed. He smelled nice.

  So why did I feel absolutely nothing in any place that counted?

  It wasn’t that I was looking to jump in bed with him. But was some good old-fashioned physical attraction too much to hope for?

  He lifted his mug and sipped the last of his coffee. Mine was already empty. I figured he was about to tell me it was nice to meet me and that would be that.

  “This has been nice,” he said. His brow creased slightly, as if that was an unexpected revelation.

  “It has been.” And I meant that. It had been nice. But was ‘nice’ enough for a second date?

  “I think I’m all coffeed out, but…” He hesitated, like he was making a decision. “I need to run over to the mall. Shopping isn’t really my thing, so I’ve been avoiding it. But maybe it would be fun to go together. Care to join me?”

  Okay, so I didn’t exactly want to drop my panties for him, but we’d had a good time so far. And I did like him. A little shopping would probably be fun.

  And maybe I could figure out why I wasn’t feeling any fun little flutters of excitement when I looked at him.

  “Sure, I’d love to.”

  “Great.”

  The air outside was crisp, but not too cold. I was dressed in my favorite pale blue trench coat, jeans, and a cute pair of flats. I’d driven myself, so I walked to my car and got in. The mall wasn’t far. I followed Preston and parked next to him.

  Just as we got inside, my phone binged with a text.

  “Do you mind if I check this?”

  Preston paused next to me. “Not at all.”

  I pulled my phone out of my purse. It was Nora.

  Nora: Obligatory serial killer check

  Me: Excuse me?

  Nora: Shy guy? Serial killer? It was hard to tell at the bar. Are you alive?

  Me: I’m texting you back, aren’t I?

  Nora: Someone is. We need proof of life.

  Me: We?

  Nora: I’m at Hazel’s.

  I held up my phone and snapped a quick selfie.

  Me: See? I’m fine.

  Nora: Good girl. Carry on.

  “Everything all right?” Preston asked.

  “It’s just my girlfriends checking on me.” I tucked my phone back in my purse.

  “Good friends,” he said.

  “They really are.”

  We wandered through the mall, side-by-side. Preston didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but he kept his hands to himself. No hand on my back or light touch on my elbow. The closest he’d come to touching me was when he’d helped me out of my coat at the coffee shop. Maybe that was his shyness coming through. He was very reserved.

  The sweet smell of cinnamon rolls filled the air and I slowed to enjoy it. Preston glanced at me with a little half-smile on his face.

  “Want one?”

  “A cinnamon roll?” Did I ever. But I wasn’t about to eat a sticky mass of sugary carbs when I was on a first date.

  “Yeah.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll share one with you.”

  That was so very tempting. And the way Preston grinned at me, like a kid about to sneak a cookie from his grandma’s cookie jar, made it all the more enticing.

  “Come on,” he said. “When was the last time you had trashy mall food?”

  “I don’t even know.”

  “Me neither. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  I laughed. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

  He bought a cinnamon roll and drizzled frosting over the top. We alternated tearing off bites as we walked.

  “So is this a typical date strategy?” I asked. “Meet a girl for coffee, then fill her up with baked goods?”

  He chuckled. “No, not really. It’s fun, though, right?”

  “It is.”

  I gazed at him for a second. He was undeniably handsome. But still doing nothing for me.

  After we finished the decadent cinnamon roll, we went into a department store and headed for the men’s section.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” I asked.

  “My office recently instituted casual Fridays, and I have a remarkable lack of casual-Friday clothing options.”

  “Let me guess. To you, casual just means no tie?”

  He smiled. “Basically, yes.”

  “Okay, let’s see what we can find.”

  I led him straight to men’s casual wear and started looking through the racks. A less-buttoned-up Preston might be rather sexy. Maybe he just needed to loosen up a little bit. I’d liked his grin when he’d suggested we eat naughty food. Was there a sex god lurking behind that straight spine and what looked like manicured hands?

  He paused to glance at a rack of shirts, and I took a moment to look him up and down. I tried to imagine him a little messy. Hair tousled, a few days without shaving. Would that do it for me?

  I still wasn’t seeing it.

  Why didn’t I feel anything for him? He was attractive, put-together, well-dressed. But there was zero chemistry. No spark at all.

  Oh my god, maybe the problem was me.

  I’d been attracted to Stephen, and he’d turned out to be a huge asshole. Now here was Preston—the epitome of a nice guy—and he wasn’t doing anything for me. Was I one of those women who said she wanted a nice guy, but really wanted a bad boy? Was I doomed to keep dating jerks because they made me tingly between the legs?

  We paused again and I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of a shirt. Was I really only attracted to assholes? That couldn’t be true. I liked nice guys, even shy ones. I’d taken a chance on Preston, even though he’d been too timid to talk to me himself.

  A man in a short-sleeved shirt and well-fitting jeans walked by. My eyes were drawn to the way those jeans hugged his ass. I looked away quickly—I wasn’t about to stand here staring at some guy’s butt while I was on a date—and noticed Preston looking in the same direction.

  Wait…

  He tilted his head as the guy walked away, then went back to browsing through the rack of clothes.

  Had I just imagined that? Or had we both been checking out the same guy?

  “This is nice,” I said, holding up a dark blue shirt.

  Preston slid the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not bad.”

  Another man walked by as I put it back on the rack. Preston’s eyes strayed to him.

  “He makes those pants look good,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Preston said, almost under his breath, then cleared his throat.

  “Were you checking him out?”

  “What? No.”

  I crossed my arms. “Are you sure?”

  He sighed out a breath, his shoulders slumping a little. “All right. Maybe. Yes.”

  “Okay, so…”

  “I’m sorry, Everly. I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He took another deep breath. “I’m gay.”

  A sudden sense of relief washed over me. He was gay? No wonder there wasn’t any chemistry between us. It wasn’t because he was a nice guy. It was because we were batting for the same team.

  But why was he out on a date with me?

  “I’m confused. If you’re gay, why did you ask me out?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Okay. I got out of a relationship about six months ago. It was… toxic, to say the least. Jake’s been a good friend—he’s been there for me—but he came up with this idea.”

  “What idea? To ask me out?”

  He tipped his head. “To go out with a woman. I’ve known I was gay for a long time, so I’ve never even been on a date with a woman. Jake thinks I’m only attracted to asshole men, and he thought maybe a date with a woman would help me gain some clarity or something.”

  “Are you serious?”

&nbs
p; “It sounds so much worse now that I’m explaining it to you.”

  “Well, it’s pretty terrible,” I said. “My sister is gay, and I’d never try to get her to date a man. I mean, come on, what century is it?”

  “He’s not trying to turn me straight. I think he just figured I needed to get out of my comfort zone. Mix things up. His original idea was worse. He was trying to get me to have sex with a woman. I refused to budge on that.”

  I gaped at him. “Some friend.”

  Preston shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this. Listen, I’m sorry. When we saw you at the bar, I said you were pretty. I don’t have to be straight to appreciate female beauty. He said he’d get your number for me. I didn’t think he was serious. But suddenly, there he was, talking to you. I didn’t want to be a jerk and not text you after all that.”

  “But why go out with me at all?” I asked. “You could have texted and said your friend overstepped and you weren’t really interested.”

  “I should have, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he said. “And then today at coffee, I was having such a nice time. You’re so easy to talk to and I thought hanging out a little more would be fun. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

  I took a deep breath and shrugged, letting my arms drop. “Well, I’ve had worse first dates. Do you still want some shopping help?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, why not? But you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to pick your first casual Friday outfit, and you have to promise to wear it. And text me a selfie.”

  He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me.” I grinned.

  “Okay, well, I suppose I deserve it.” He gestured at the clothes surrounding us. “Do your worst.”

  “Gay?” Hazel asked, her eyebrow arching behind her glasses. “That definitely presents a compatibility problem.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it at the bar,” Nora said. “Normally I can sense these things, even from a distance.”

  “I feel like I should have known,” I said. “Anyway, it was a relief when I found out the truth.”

  “A relief?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said. “It explains why I wasn’t attracted to him. I was starting to worry I was a cliché—the nice girl who’s only attracted to jerks.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Nora said. “So, what clothes did you pick out for him?”

  “Nothing terrible,” I said.

  “Why not?” Nora asked. “He lied to you.”

  “He did, but like I told him, I’ve had worse first dates. And I think he just needed a change of pace. Granted, asking me out under false pretenses wasn’t cool. But I had a lot of sympathy for him. He told me a little more about his breakup and it was pretty bad. Besides, I liked him.”

  “It’s understandable,” Hazel said. “Remember Joey Schilling?”

  “The guy you dated freshman year?” I asked.

  Hazel nodded. “Turns out he was gay. I experienced a similar sense of relief at realizing the reason for our lack of compatibility. I wasn’t angry with him, either.”

  “See?”

  “Okay, feelings, self-discovery, yadda yadda,” Nora said, waving her hand around. “What does he have to wear to work on Friday?”

  “A Jack Daniels t-shirt, black leather jacket, and a pair of distressed jeans,” I said. “Oh, and Converse high tops. I’m telling you, he looked freaking adorable. It didn’t even look like him.”

  “You had the opportunity to make him go to work in a Speedo, and you chose that?” Nora asked.

  “I didn’t want to be mean,” I said. “Just help him get out of his comfort zone a little.”

  “I approve,” Hazel said. “And you’re right, gay is not the worst you’ve encountered on a first date.”

  I raised my glass. “Indeed.”

  Nora’s lip protruded in a pout. “Fine, you’re probably right. I’m just glad he wasn’t a serial killer.”

  I took a sip. “That’s one dating disaster I’ve never encountered.”

  “Well, don’t jinx it,” Nora said.

  “That doesn’t pose a real danger,” Hazel said. “There’s no such thing as a jinx.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Nora said and finished off her glass of wine.

  I leaned back into my bean bag chair and ran my fingers through the fuzzy yellow fabric. My date with Preston hadn’t been awful, but it had certainly been disappointing. Was it too much to ask to meet a guy who was ready for a relationship, attractive, and straight? It didn’t seem like I was asking for the world, here. It wasn’t like I was chasing millionaires, or refused to date blond men, or had other criteria that made dating more difficult.

  I simply wanted a good man. Someone I could connect with. Share a life with. Someone who did it for me in and out of the bedroom.

  Was he out there somewhere? I was really starting to wonder.

  Episode 4

  The bar was crowded, so we’d chosen a table near the back. It was dim back here, but at least we could hear each other.

  “What’s with the crowd?” Nora asked, glancing around as she perched on the bar stool. “It’s a Tuesday.”

  “Good question,” I said. We came to this bar once in a while—the martinis were excellent—but it wasn’t usually this busy.

  “Taco Tuesday,” Hazel said, nodding toward a waitress carrying a taco platter to a nearby table.

  “Ah,” Nora and I both said in unison. Taco Tuesday explained everything.

  A waitress brought our drinks and I stirred my martini with the speared olive.

  “Am I mistaken, or did you have a date the other night, Miss Everly?” Nora asked.

  I nodded. “Chad.”

  “The abs guy?” Nora asked. “He was a gym bro, wasn’t he?”

  “What’s a gym bro?” Hazel asked.

  “You know, a guy who’s really into fitness,” Nora said. “Spends most of his free time at the gym, both for working out and socializing. Really into supplements. Not much else going on up here.” She tapped her temple.

  Unfortunately, that was pretty accurate.

  “Kind of,” I said. “Although a night of talking about supplements and training regimens would have been better than what actually happened.”

  “Uh-oh,” Nora said. “What went wrong this time?”

  Chad held the door for me as we walked into the bar. Noise spilled out into the evening air. I’d never been here before, and I didn’t want to judge, but at a glance it didn’t look like my usual crowd. It reminded me of a college bar right after finals week. The kind of place that specialized in cheap well drinks and shots. It smelled like the nineties—mostly beer mixed with cucumber melon body spray and Axe deodorant.

  People gathered in knots around tables, talking and laughing over their drinks. My black sheath dress and party-pink heels had seemed like perfectly good date attire when I’d chosen them, but here I felt overdressed. The men were dressed casually, most in jeans, and the women were the same.

  We wove our way through the crowd and stopped at a small bar-height table.

  “I’ll go get us drinks,” Chad said, raising his voice above the noise.

  “Thanks.” I had no idea if he could hear me.

  I’d been introduced to Chad through a co-worker. We’d texted for a few weeks before I’d decided to take a chance and go out with him. He’d seemed nice enough, although he had sent a lot of pictures of his abs. Granted, the girls and I had stalked him on social media, and peek-a-boo abs pics were a large part of his online persona. Apparently, that was his thing.

  He was attractive, in an athletic way. Tall and big, with an imposing physical presence. He was in great shape, with wide shoulders and thick arms. I imagined he’d played sports in high school—maybe college, too.

  Not my usual type, necessarily—if I had a type, other than wrong—but he’d made me laugh a l
ot, so that had to count for something. Funny was good. And let’s be honest, the abs didn’t hurt.

  Funny, and nice abs? That was worth a date, in my book.

  I glanced over at the bar, wondering how Chad was going to get close enough to order anything. It was packed.

  My mouth dropped open as I watched him grab a smaller guy beneath the arms. He lifted him up like a little kid and set him out of the way. Then he moved into his spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender.

  Wow. Well, that was something.

  A man dressed in a t-shirt with the bar logo came out onto a small stage with a microphone in his hand. “Hey party people!”

  The crowd erupted with cheers.

  “I’m Maverick, and I’ll be your host tonight.” He pulled a large box closer to the edge of the stage. “Who’s ready to win some prizes?”

  More cheering.

  Chad came back with two beers. I wondered what it was about me that had made Chad think I was a beer drinker, but I thanked him anyway.

  Maverick—I wondered if that was his real name or if he was a male stripper on the side—held his hands up for quiet. “Okay, first up. Trivia!”

  More cheers.

  “This place is great, right?” Chad asked. “They have the best trivia nights. I’ll win you something good.”

  People started crowding around the stage, nearly surrounding our table. One guy got a little too close and Chad casually shoved him out of the way, then winked at me.

  Maverick started posing pop-culture questions to the crowd. It was clear the game wasn’t meant to be challenging. The questions were basic. People shouted out answers—I had no idea how Maverick could tell where the responses came from—and he tossed random bar swag into the crowd.

  Chad yelled out his answer each time and scowled when he didn’t win. “We’re too far back. Let’s get closer.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  He took my hand and pulled me with him, either ignoring or not hearing my protest. I shuffled along behind, my heels sticking to the floor so badly one of them almost came off.

  Gross.