No More Horrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Nick scrunches up his face. “What’s high tea?”

  I shoot him a patronizing glare. “You don’t know what high tea is?”

  “Nope. But I know it doesn’t sound like my kind of thing.”

  “How do you know if you’ve got no idea what it is?”

  “What is it then?”

  “I guess it’s like a fancy snack. You get this tiered cake stand full of bite-sized food, and you sit there and talk and eat,” I explain, and he laughs. “What is funny about that?”

  “A cake stand? Dude, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a guy.”

  Dude? Seriously? I swallow down a retort.

  “Would I have to drink tea? Because I don’t do tea.”

  “Coffee, champagne. Whatever,” I reply.

  “No champagne,” Miranda says hurriedly. “Coffee is good.”

  He puts his hands up in the air. “I guess I can manage some fancy snacks with some coffee.”

  I give him a patronizing smile. How big of him.

  “Great. That’s settled then,” Ed says. “Nick, I understand you’ve got a new Bennett truck?”

  “Sure do,” he replies. “It was parked in my driveway when I got back from training. It’s a sweet ride.”

  I press my lips together. If I left my car on a beach to get washed out to sea, I’m positive no one would hand me a brand-new version for free.

  “Well, you can take that ‘sweet ride’ of yours and head to Erin’s friend’s high tea place,” Miranda says with a light laugh.

  And there she goes again, flirting with him. I think I might be sick.

  Nick shoots her his dazzling smile, plucks his phone off the table, and looks back up at me. “What time works for you? You know, once you’ve got that important filing done and that report written that’s not due for three weeks, that is.”

  I give him a terse smile. “How’s three?”

  He peers at his screen. “Two.”

  That’s how he’s going to play this?

  “Two thirty. Split the difference.”

  His eyes flick back to mine, and I notice the edges of his mouth twitch. “Two thirty it is. I’ll pick you up out front.”

  “Actually, let’s take my car.”

  “Is it a Bennett?” Miranda asks.

  Dammit. “No.”

  “Take Nick’s,” she instructs, “and after you’ve been to this high tea place, go stand next to the truck and, I don’t know, look like a happy couple. That’ll be the perfect optic to keep Bennett Motors happy, I’m sure.”

  Nick stands, his eyes still on mine. “Do you think you could manage to look happy? Or do you always look like this?”

  “I can look happy,” I snap and then realize my face is probably creased with annoyance, so I let out a laugh and throw my head back to show him just how happy I can be.

  “What the heck was that?” he asks with a startled chortle.

  “Just me being happy,” I reply.

  He leans his hands on the back of his chair and says, “Well, try to give me some warning next time, okay? So I can be prepared.”

  I arch a sardonic eyebrow at him.

  “Right, you two,” Miranda says, interrupting our moment. “That’s today worked out, and we’ll gauge the media attention following the initial outing. This is a layered approach we’re taking here, so we will need you to be seen in a number of different places before next Friday.”

  “Wonderful,” I say as I paste on a happy smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, Nick?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Yeah, it is.”

  “I’ll leave you to it. Nick? It was a pleasure meeting you,” Miranda says with a girly flutter of her eyelashes. “A real pleasure.”

  “You, too. And thanks for, you know, the plan,” he replies.

  “Oh, you’re very welcome.” She stands, gazing at him for a moment, before she seems to shake herself out of her goofiness. She glances at me with a terse smile and says, “Make it look authentic, okay?”

  “And aspirational,” I add, and I catch Nick out of the corner of my eye biting back a smile.

  “Erin, if you’re at all concerned about your workload during this, rest assured it’ll be covered,” Ed says. “You’re doing us a favor as an organization here. We won’t forget it, will we, Miranda?”

  “No,” she replies with a brittle smile.

  “But what about the monthly report, Ed?” Nick questions with mock concern on his face.

  Ed laughs while I simmer. “As I mentioned, we don’t need to worry about Erin’s monthly reports for now. I’m certain Bennett Motors will see that you’re serious about your future, Nick, and about keeping your sponsorship deal.”

  “Oh, I am serious,” he replies. “I get it. I need to shape up.”

  Ed pats him on the arm. “Good man.” He says good-bye and leaves the room, but Miranda remains hovering at the door.

  “Everything all right, Nick?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “I just wanted to talk to Erin for a while. You know, get to know her a little before we head out into the big bad world today.”

  Miranda looks like she might swoon. “A talented rugby player, handsome, and smart. You are the total package, Nick.”

  He shrugs but doesn’t refute her statement.

  Freaking jocks.

  Miranda (finally) leaves and closes the door behind her.

  “So. What did you want to talk about?” I say.

  “I wanted to check if you really know what ‘aspirational’ means, because I’ve got my concerns.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “No, you didn’t.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, you got me. What I did want to ask is why you don’t seem to like me.”

  “Who said I don’t like you?”

  “You.”

  “I did not.”

  “Not in words, but in every other way. I’m good at reading people, and you, Erin Andrews, can’t stand to be around me.”

  Surprised, I ask, “You know my full name?”

  “Yeah. Of course I do. You’re my new girlfriend, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “So? Cards on the table here. What is it about me that gets your back up?”

  “Nothing gets my back up about you. I don’t know why you think I don’t like you.” I add a little laugh to show him how ridiculous he’s being. “I don’t even know you all that well. We’ve met, what, a handful of times now? And all of those were to discuss sponsorship stuff.”

  “So, you’re telling me that you act the way you do around me because that’s just who you are?”

  He got me, and I know it.

  “Yes,” I reply haughtily.

  He lets out a puff of air. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

  I chew the inside of my lip. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Hit me.”

  “It’s not you, per se,” I begin tentatively, aware of the fact that I work for the rugby team he plays for, as of 2:30 this afternoon we’re in a fake relationship, and I need to at least try to keep things professional here. “I guess it’s just that I’m not into jocks. So, it’s not you at all.” Satisfied with my response, I shoot him a smile and open the door to leave.

  “Why?” he says behind me.

  I turn back to face him. “What do you mean ‘why?’”

  “Don’t be difficult.”

  “I’m not being difficult,” I protest, although I know I totally am. I let out a sigh and say, “Because they all think they’re God’s gift to us mere mortals, that’s why.”

  “All of them?”

  I raise my chin. “Yes. All of them.”

  “Because you’ve met all jocks.”

  “Well, no, of course not. That would be impossible.”

  “Erin, you don’t know me. You make all these assumptions based on some idea of what a jock is. And that’s not me.”

  “I know you better than you realize,” I say smugly.

  “How?”

  �
�I’ve seen the photos. I’ve read the articles.”

  His mouth tightens as he studies my face for a beat. “You can’t believe everything you read.”

  “Okay. That’s fair enough,” I concede. “Tell me, what makes you different from the average sports pro?”

  “I guess you’re gonna find that out at 2:30 this afternoon.” He throws me a smile, walks past me, and heads down the hallway. “Enjoy writing that report,” he says over his shoulder.

  “I will, thank you,” is the only reply I can muster as I watch him walk away.

  Chapter 5

  You know how when you’re looking forward to something, you’re always glancing at the time and wishing it would skip by faster? Time really seems to drag, and you’re sure a minute suddenly lasts a year, an hour lasts a decade, and a day lasts a whole lifetime?

  Well, that does not happen for me today.

  Today, Father Time clearly drank far too much coffee, and he’s racing as fast as his little hands will go, right around to 2:30 in the afternoon: the time I’m due to meet Nick Zachary for our first fake date.

  As I collect my jacket from the back of my chair, icy dread creeps down my spine. Leaving the office to meet Nick is like walking to a trigonometry exam I’ve not prepared for (and I know the feeling, because I did just that in high school and totally flunked out. Obviously).

  Ed looks up at me over his reading glasses as I pass by his desk. “Is it 2:30 already? Wow, today has raced by.”

  I blink at him in disbelief. It’s raced by like a sloth climbing a twenty-mile high tree as far as I’m concerned.

  He stands up as I slip my jacket on and sling my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll walk with you,” he says, which is a weird thing for him to offer. Don’t get me wrong, Ed’s a lovely man and a very sweet and understanding boss. It’s just that he’s never walked me anywhere before, and I feel a little like a puppy.

  At the elevator I say, “Thanks, Ed. I think I’ve got it from here.”

  His eyes dart around the empty landing before he leans closer to me and says, “On behalf of the Hawks, I want to thank you for what you’re doing, Erin.” He keeps his voice low.

  The only people who know about this fake relationship are me, Ed, Miranda, and the guys from Bennett Motors. And Nick, obviously. Oh, and Sophie and Darcy, too, although they’re under strict instructions not to mention anything about this being fake, on pain of death.

  “What you’re doing for the team is nothing short of life saving.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, Ed,” I say as I pull my jacket together and try not to think of the fact that I’ve got my own reasons for doing this, reasons that have nothing to do with Ed or the Hawks or anything but me.

  He looks at me earnestly. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He glances about himself once more and lowers his voice even further. So much so, in fact, that I need to lean closer just to hear him. “The truth is, without Bennett Motors, the Hawks would be in a tough position. Their sponsorship is worth a lot to us. A lot.” He shoots me a meaningful look.

  “I’ll do my best to be as authentic as I can,” I say with an optimistic nod of the head. “You can rely on me.”

  “Good. I knew I could. And if that monthly report is causing you any concerns—”

  “It’s not. I’m fine.” I press the down button.

  “Good. Excellent. All right. Well.” He smacks his lips together a couple of times as he works out what to say. In the end he lands on, “Go forth and convince the world.”

  The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside. Turning to Ed, I reply, “I’ve got this,” with a confident grin, while inside I’m seriously beginning to consider making a run for the border. Well, if the island nation of New Zealand had any borders, that is, other than the wet one called the ocean. And I don’t have any current plans to go running into an ocean.

  He grins at me as the doors begin to close over. “I know you do.”

  Out on the sidewalk, I look up and down the street, searching for Nick. I spot a new, black, and very shiny Bennett truck and know instantly it’s his. I walk over to it and peer inside. Nick has his head back on the headrest and his arm up by the window, tapping to the beat of the music I can hear clearly from my spot on the sidewalk. I stand and wait. When he doesn’t notice me, I rap my knuckles on his window.

  Immediately he winds his window down, and the music blares out at me, some loud rap song with a heavy baseline.

  “Erin Andrews. My happy new girlfriend,” he says, shooting me that typically smug jock smile of his. He trails his eyes over me, and I resist the strong urge to squirm. “You’re looking cute. Red suits you.”

  I smooth down my dress. I’m particularly proud of this ensemble, from the scoop-neck dress with the empire line to the cropped zip-up jacket. I’d spent hours upon hours learning how to tailor suits, and this jacket was my first success. There were a few less than optimal attempts along the way, but it was worth it to learn how to do it—and to get a jacket out of the process, too.

  “Thank you, Nick,” I reply stiffly. “I made this outfit, you know.”

  “An Erin Andrews original, huh?”

  I raise my chin. “That’s right.”

  “A woman of hidden talents. Hop in.”

  I walk around to the passenger seat and climb up into the cab. Even for my considerably taller friends, this thing is high off the ground, and I’m forced to grab onto the door to launch myself into it.

  Nick is still smirking at me when I plunk myself onto the soft leather seat. “I’ll bring a step ladder for next time,” he says loudly over the music.

  “Oh, very funny,” I bristle. “We can’t all be six-foot giants, you know.”

  “Who’s a giant?”

  “You are.”

  “What?”

  “Turn the music down,” I yell. When he does so, I repeat, “I said, we can’t all be six-foot giants like you.”

  “Six foot three.”

  “Splitting hairs much, Nick?” With some effort, I manage to pull the heavy door shut and click my seat belt in place.

  “I’m just putting you straight. I figure my girlfriend should know my height.”

  “Right, because people will definitely ask me how tall you are. It’ll be ‘Hi, Nick’s new girlfriend, do you know how tall he is, because otherwise we’ll all know this is a fake relationship.’” I scoff.

  “I’m six foot three,” he repeats, his smile now almost reaching his ears.

  “Okay. I’ve got it.” I refuse to smile back.

  “How tall are you?”

  “Not. I’m non-tall.”

  “‘Non-tall’?” he questions, his lips lifting into a grin. “Is that even a thing?”

  “Yes, it is.” I sniff. “Like nonstop or nonfat. Non-tall.”

  “Good to know.” He keeps his eyes on me, and I do my best to appear as though being stared at by a self-satisfied jerk doesn’t ruffle my feathers. But oh, it so does. “So, where’s this place where we get to eat from a cake stand like ladies.”

  “It’s not just a ladies thing, you know. Men go there, too.”

  “With their ladies.”

  “Not always.” Yes, always.

  “Tell me, when did you last see a group of guys with no women at this place? My bet is never.”

  “Why don’t we drive there, and we’ll see for ourselves?”

  “I’ll, ah, need the address for that.”

  I give him the address, and he pulls out of his parking space. The car growls like an angry panther as he drives us through the streets. He turns his terrible music up and begins to nod his head along to it. Thankfully for my poor eardrums being hammered by Nick’s terrible choice in music, the drive to Cozy Cottage High Tea isn’t long, and he pulls the car up a mere block down the street.

  Switching the ignition off, he turns to face me. “We need to make this look real, remember.”

  “Oh, I remember.”

  “So, why don’t you drop the whole dis
dain for pro rugby players thing now before we get in there?”

  “It’s not just disdain for rugby players,” I huff. “It’s all pro sportsmen.”

  “Do you think that makes it better? Because I don’t,” he says with a chortle.

  I take a deep breath. “Okay. I promise not to be negative about you and your kind.”

  “If I do what?”

  I furrow my brow. “I didn’t say ‘if.’”

  “It was implied.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Yes, Erin, it was.”

  I widen my eyes. “You’re using a tone with me now?”

  He studies me for a moment. “Would it help if you knew something about me? We could swap info, get to know one another better.”

  I give a noncommittal shrug. “Sure.”

  “Good.” He nods. “Here’s my thing. Since an injury I got last year, I’m not a hundred-percent confident in my kicking ability. I’m working on it, but in my position, I really need to be able to nail it every time.”

  I blink at him. He wants us to get to know one another, and the thing he chooses to share with me is about playing rugby? “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. Now it’s your turn.”

  I cycle through a bunch of ideas, landing on something of equal importance. “Sometimes I get bored at sponsorship events and imagine telling everyone to shut up and leave so I can go home and stream Gilmore Girls and eat ice cream with my roommate.”

  He lets out a low laugh. “The ice cream I can get on board with, but Gilmore Girls? No way.”

  “Gilmore Girls is a classic! Sure, it’s a little dated now, but that’s part of its charm.”

  “Erin likes Gilmore Girls. Mental note taken. Which is your favorite episode? Mine’s the one where Lorelai drinks coffee.”

  “She does that continually in every episode.” I shoot him a sideways look. “You’ve watched Gilmore Girls?”

  He shrugs. “I grew up in a house full of women. Shows like that were impossible to avoid. I still bear the scars.”

  “My heart bleeds for you. Now, shall we get in there, or do you want to bare your soul some more?”