One Last First Date

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I bit my lip. Can one dress do all that?

  Oblivious to my nerves, Marissa continued, “It’s important you give him the right signals from the get-go. No friend zoning, no easy lay. Serious, long-term relationship for the rest of your lives.”

  Just as I’m about to defend myself as never having been “easy” in my life, thank you very much, smart-aleck Will Jordan poked his uninvited nose into our little group.

  “Is this a political meeting?” he questioned, taking in our trio, talking quietly amongst ourselves. “Are you going to become revolutionaries and overthrow the current regime?”

  “Oh, ha ha!” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’re just . . . talking.”

  “That’s a shame. I quite like the idea of being a revolutionary,” he sniffed, running his fingers through his wavy dark hair.

  I scoffed. “I bet you fancy yourself as a Che Guevara type or something.”

  Will looked off into the distance, a whimsical look on his face. “Yeah. I like that idea.”

  I shook my head, rolling my eyes at my friends. Marissa smirked back at me as Paige blushed every shade of red known to humanity, which was what she did every time Will was around. Although, why she liked him was totally beyond me. Sure, he was good-looking in that obvious handsome kind of way, and half of the women at AGD thought he was the cat’s pajamas. But he was too confident, too much of a ladies’ man for my liking.

  “So, if you’re not plotting to overturn AGD’s management, are you talking about this hot date Cassie’s going on tonight?” Will asked as though he was one of the girls.

  I glared first at Marissa, and then at Paige. They were the only two who knew about my date tonight with Parker, so it had to be one of them who’d blabbed to Will. I noticed Paige began to fidget, avoiding eye contact with me. I raised my eyebrows at her in accusation.

  Denial was the best approach. “No, Will. As a matter of fact, we were talking about work, if you have to know.” I turned to my friends. “Thank you for your input, Marissa. Paige, I’ll see you later.” When I roast you, I wanted to add.

  Paige smiled weakly at me as my friends peeled off, leaving me alone in the corridor with Will.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get on with,” I said brusquely.

  “Well, that makes a change today. Not sure you were quite ‘in the room,’ as they say, just now.” He had a cheeky grin on his face.

  I wanted to slap it right off. “Very funny.”

  “I thought we could talk about that account you’re having trouble with. Nettco Electricity, right?”

  Dammit! “Ah, yes. But it’s fine, really. Thanks anyway.” I began to walk away.

  “I’ve got a couple of minutes.” He walked over toward the empty conference room door and swung it open. “Take a seat. I’ll grab my laptop, and then I’m all yours.”

  Great. That’s all I needed, the company’s best sales rep helping me solve a fake problem on my account. How do you get yourself into these scrapes, Cassie Dunhill?

  I made myself comfortable in the conference room, doing some quick thinking. There may not have actually been a problem with Nettco, but it was true I hadn’t signed the deal with them yet. They kept asking for revision upon revision for the telecommunications solutions I’d presented to them, which kept delaying things. Although I would be the last person at the company to admit it, maybe I could do with some help.

  He returned with his laptop and sat down next to me, a little closer than I preferred. I pushed my seat away a couple of inches. Not quite far enough, but it would do.

  He raised his eyebrows at me, a look of amusement on his face. “Comfortable?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I didn’t smile. I knew I was about to get a lecture from Mr. Top Salesman, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “So, tell me all about the issue.” He leaned back in his chair, watching me with interest.

  I took him through what I had done to date, trying to ensure I sounded professional and in control of the situation. Which, of course, I was.

  “Have you considered ‘The Sheldon’?” he asked once I’d finished.

  I laughed. “No. What’s a Sheldon?”

  “Not a Sheldon, ‘The Sheldon.’ It’s a solution I came up with for one of my customers with similar needs to Nettco. It combined the connectivity they needed with the data, voice, and web presence they wanted. Here.” He opened his laptop and typed something in. Turning it around, he showed me a screen with all the key components of “The Sheldon.” He talked me through each element, the pricing, and how it all fitted together.

  I didn’t like to admit it, but it looked good.

  “Why did you call it that? I mean, it’s not exactly a technology name, is it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m kind of a Big Bang fan. I’ve got ‘The Leonard’ and ‘The Raj,’ too, plus, I’m working on ‘The Howard’ with one of my customers right now.”

  “Nerd.” I loved The Big Bang Theory, but I wasn’t going to tell Will Jordan that.

  He laughed. “Sure, if you say so. Name-calling aside, do you think it could work for your customer?”

  I looked through the solution elements and realized it could. In fact, “The Sheldon” may have just been the perfect fit for Nettco.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll present it to them at our next meeting.”

  “Great!” His grin stretched from ear to ear.

  Although it physically hurt me, I muttered, “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. Glad I could help, Dunny.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. I hated that nickname with a passion. Dunny, short for Dunhill, my last name. It could be considered cute if it wasn’t for the fact “dunny” is Australian slang for toilet, a fact I was absolutely certain Will Jordan was aware of.

  “Tell me something. Why do guys feel the need to hand out nicknames to everyone? Girls don’t do it. I’m going to lunch today with Marissa and Paige. And guess what? I call them Marissa and Paige. It’s really quite straight forward.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, and pretty boring.”

  “It’s not boring. It’s the way it should be. Men go out together and call each other Bucko and Mac and . . . Spotty Dick.”

  “Spotty Dick?” He chuckled. “Isn’t that an English dessert? Definitely something no guy would want, that’s for sure.”

  I brushed his comment away with my hand. “You know what I mean. Silly, stupid names.”

  “They’re not stupid.” He shrugged. “It’s a guy thing, I guess.”

  “I’m not a guy, in case you haven’t noticed. Believe me, I’d much rather be called Cassie or even Cassandra rather than ‘Dunny.’”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Cassandra, huh? I bet you’re only called that when you’re really naughty.”

  He was so immature. “Just call me Cassie.”

  “Sure, Dunny. I mean, Cassie.” He grinned. Not satisfied with insulting me by naming me after a toilet, he added, “I bet this new guy you’re going on a date with has a nickname.”

  I crossed my arms. “I bet he doesn’t.”

  “Care to make it interesting?”

  “All right. Five bucks says I’m right.”

  “Ten.”

  I glared at him. “Twenty.”

  He extended his hand, and we shook on it. “How will I know if you’re telling me the truth? I mean, he could have a nickname and you could pretend he doesn’t.’”

  I smirked. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  He looked at me for a long moment. “Actually, I know exactly when you’re lying.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s your eye. It twitches. Around about here.” He pointed to a spot under my right eye. “It’s cute.”

  My hand went straight to my face. I pulled it away quickly, embarrassed. “No, it doesn’t.” Even my tone was lame, unconvincing.

  His phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “Excuse me, Cassie. I have to
take this.”

  “Sure.” I stood up, ready to leave.

  “Hey, babe. Where are you? Oh, you’re in Milan?” He put his hand over the receiver. “It’s my girlfriend, Samantha. She’s a model. I thought she was in Tokyo.”

  I nodded at him. How very not interesting.

  “No, this is a great time. How are you, babe?”

  I pushed my way through the conference door and closed it firmly behind me. The last thing I wanted to hear was Will Jordan getting all smoochie on the phone with his international supermodel girlfriend.

  I had a job to do. And a One Last First Date to prepare for.

  Chapter 3

  THIS WAS IT.

  After all my research, my vetting, my planning—frankly, my obsessing—I was finally going on a date with Parker Hamilton. And not just any old date, this was my One Last First Date.

  Forever.

  We agreed to meet at a bar overlooking Auckland’s spectacular harbor for a pre-dinner drink. And I needed it. I was more nervous than a turkey at Christmas as I perched uncomfortably on a barstool in the friend-approved blue dress and heels, my long auburn hair in a loose ponytail.

  I ordered my favorite alcoholic beverage—a gin and tonic—and surveyed the bar. Being a Friday evening, the place was almost full, most of the patrons still dressed in their corporate day job clothes. A guy about my age, standing with a group of other men close by, caught my eye and smiled at me. I shot him a quick smile I hoped said thank-you-but-no-thank-you and averted my eyes.

  My drink delivered, I paid the barmaid and took a sip. I glanced over at the table in the far corner. Marissa and Paige were doing a very poor job of appearing as though they weren’t watching my every move.

  Although I was initially as happy about them being here as a cat in a bath, I eventually conceded, on the basis they would stay completely out of the way. Being the first of our little trio to go on their One Last First Date, we all knew tonight was nothing short of crucial.

  My friends smiled and waved at me, their faces beaming with encouragement. I gave them a couple of nerve-racked nods before turning my attention to my posture. Back straight, chest out, butt out, tummy in, legs crossed.

  There was a lot to remember.

  I glanced at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I looked about as natural as a mannequin in a shop window—and felt about as comfortable, too.

  “Hi, Cassie?”

  I looked across the mirror. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Parker standing next to me. Tall and sexy, he was looking oh-so handsome in a crisply ironed sky-blue shirt, a pair of khaki pants, and an uncertain smile.

  Both dressed in blue, we looked like we belonged together.

  Butterflies batting their wings in my belly, I turned to him and half stood from my barstool, wedged up against the bar. We hugged awkwardly, and I breathed in his freshly showered scent. He took the seat I had saved with my purse next to me.

  “You look beautiful,” he commented, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

  I returned the smile, warmed inside, those butterflies doing a Highland fling. He’s it. He’s my future husband. “You do, too.”

  He raised his eyebrows, smiling.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, you look handsome.”

  “Thanks.” His sea-green eyes twinkled. “I see you’ve got a drink.” He gestured to my glass. “Is that a gin and tonic?”

  I nodded.

  “Great choice.” He got the barmaid’s attention and ordered one for himself.

  I beamed. Already so much in common. In a flash, I could see us sitting down together in our gracious living room after a long day at work, with the French doors open to the lawn, the curtains moving gently in the light breeze. We could be enjoying a gin and tonic, talking about our days while our children played, darting in and out to show us their drawings and tell us how much they loved us.

  But, perhaps, I was getting a little ahead of myself.

  As Parker sat down next to me, I was suddenly at a loss for words. I was finally on this much-anticipated date, and I knew so much about him from my research. I couldn’t think of a single thing to talk about.

  Thankfully, he said, “It’s great we’re finally doing this.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” I took a sip of my drink.

  Gawd! What do I say now?

  My mind shot to my list. Marissa, Paige, and I had put together a bunch of topics for us to discuss if this situation should arise. At the risk of looking like I had some amateur tattoos, I had written down some bullet points on my wrist before I left my house tonight.

  I surreptitiously rolled my hand over and glanced down. My eyes landed on the last bullet point. Doctor.

  “So, Parker. You’re a doctor. Tell me what that’s like.”

  He chuckled. “You want to know about being a doctor?”

  “Absolutely. I’m fascinated by it. Tell me everything.” I smiled at him, prepared to be riveted to his every word. My future husband: the brilliant doctor.

  He furrowed his brow. “Okay. Being a GP is . . . great. Sure, the hours are long, and the work can be challenging, but I love it. As cheesy as it may sound, I believe it’s my calling, I guess. I had this one patient today who . . .”

  As he talked, I watched his face light up. He was sitting upright on his barstool, gesturing as he spoke. My heart swelled. He was a good man. He cared about others. He’d care about me, about our children. Not just emotionally, medically too. Fixing all those boo-boos, knowing what to do in a medical crisis, talking with the doctors in the hospital when our son, Christopher, broke his arm falling out of that large oak on our back lawn . . .

  “What are you grinning at?” he asked, punctuating my daydream.

  “Oh, just listening to you talk,” I managed, pushing Christopher’s damaged limb from my mind. “You really love what you do, don’t you, Parker?”

  “Yup. Why would you spend your time doing a job you hate? Life’s too short for that.”

  “You’re so right. My job is great, too. Not that selling communications solutions is anywhere near as important as being a doctor.”

  He shrugged. “Everything is important in different ways.”

  “That’s true.” I gazed at him. He was a philosopher, too?

  I raised my glass, and Parker followed suit. “To doing what you love in life.” We clinked. I took a sip, although I was down to the dregs. Parker noticed and offered me another drink.

  “Shouldn’t we get to the restaurant?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize what time it was. You’re right. We should get going.” He stood up from his barstool, paused, and turned to me. “You’re so easy to talk to, Cassie.”

  Bees buzzed around my tummy, making it tingle. “You, too,” I added breathlessly.

  Suppressing a grin—this was going so well!—I leaned down to collect my purse from the hook under the bar. As I stood and turned to leave, the skirt of my dress must have caught on the barstool because, the next thing I knew, I was dragging the stool across the floor as I tried to walk.

  Argh!

  I stopped, glanced at Parker beside me, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But of course he had. Who would fail to notice a piece of furniture stuck to someone’s clothes?

  “Are you all right, Cassie?”

  I channeled my inner Control Queen. “Yes. Thank you.” I shot him the breeziest smile I could muster and turned my attention to my dress’s recent attachment.

  I tugged at it; it stayed put. I tugged again, nothing. It was firmly wedged in the stool’s wooden join. Tension crept across my forehead. How did this even happen? A barstool attached to my dress simply wasn’t part of the look for my One Last First Date.

  I had images of myself dragging this stool around with me for the rest of the date, even bundling it into my car at the end to head home.

  I leaned down and peered at my dress. In the low-lit bar, it was hard to see exactly how the dress was attached. I grabbed hold
of the fabric and twisted it, hoping to loosen it off.

  “Do you need a hand?” Parker asked.

  I looked up and shot him a terse smile. “No, I’ve got this. Thank you, though.”

  He shrugged, watching me tug. “It looks pretty stuck.”

  I tugged and tugged. It still wasn’t budging. I took a deep breath, trying to quell the now frantically buzzing bees in my belly. I needed to give this all I’d got before the evening was ruined. I grabbed a firm hold on the fabric and pulled with all my might. In an instant, it snapped free, my hand—still holding my dress—hurtling upwards.

  I blinked, unable to prevent contact, as my fist smacked straight into my face, causing my head to snap back. “Ow!” I screamed, clutching my nose, still holding the skirt of my dress. My eyes began to water with the throbbing pain.

  “Cassie! Are you okay?” Parker asked, his voice filled with concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I lied.

  Why oh why oh why did this have to happen on my One Last First Date?

  My dress still in my hand, I glanced down. No underwear flash from the front. Good. Slowly, expecting the humiliating inevitable, I turned my head to look behind me. Oh, god. I scrunched my eyes shut and dropped my skirt immediately.

  In my wisdom, I had made the decision to wear something I was wearing the day I met Parker. After all, who was I to mess with Lady Luck? I needed all the help I could get to make this the best One Last First Date known to humanity. No pressure there.

  I was not a frilly, complicated underwear kind of girl. I liked practical, plain white cotton. Occasionally, I’d go crazy and buy a different color—I had pink, salmon, and even lavender in my not-so extensive collection—but really, I was a plain ’n practical panties kinda gal.

  But this pair? They were a joke present from Paige for my last birthday. Plain white, yes. So far so good. However, emblazoned across the back were the words Bite Me! in bold red letters with a blue outline. Seriously? I mean, come on!

  I consoled myself with the fact Parker was standing in front of me. There was no way he could have seen what was written across my butt. And then I remembered the mirror behind the bar. Oh, god.