No More Horrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “No, we, ah, decided to go out together, that’s all. A spur of the moment thing.” Or rather, a planned outing for my friends to question my new boyfriend so we can date. Details, details.

  “You went out…” The look on her face tells me realization has dawned. “Do you think you’re dating him?” There’s a look of both horror and pity on her pretty face.

  I twist my mouth. “We’ve, ah, become close. Nick’s a great guy, and he’s not the person he’s portrayed to be in the media.”

  Her laugh could rival any wannabe evil witch. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Miranda, let Erin speak. This could be a good thing,” Ed says. “Go ahead, Erin. Tell us about what’s going on with you and Nick.”

  I sweep my eyes from Ed’s kindly expression to Miranda’s, which is somewhat less than kind, shall we say. I swallow. “Well, as you know, we’ve been spending a lot of time together—”

  “I’d hardly say a handful of outings so you can be photographed together in just over two weeks is a lot of time,” Miranda quips.

  I press my lips together. “We’ve been seeing each other outside of the scheduled public appearances.”

  Miranda’s mouth forms a perfect O, and I do a silent air punch in my head. Take that, Ms. Glamazon Superior who thinks I’m just an “ordinary” girl.

  “Good for you,” Ed says, and I shoot him a grateful smile.

  Miranda’s face hardens. “He probably likes you as a friend, Erin. Someone to talk to. A man like Nick Zachary would never date a girl like you.”

  I take a steadying breath. I’ve just about had enough of this woman. “Whether that’s true or not, Miranda, my point is that I know Nick. He’s not that partying Wild Boy of Rugby he was. He’s a good, decent man, and I bet you he always was.”

  Ed lets out a puff of air, his face lit up. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that, Erin!”

  “That we’re dating?” I ask with a light laugh.

  “That’s your business. I’m just glad you can vouch for his whereabouts last night, and for his character. That changes things completely.”

  “Before you two go throwing a self-congratulatory party, there’s one small glitch in your happy couple theory, Erin.” Miranda’s expression is a mixture of condescension, irritation, and a touch of the cat who’s got the full bottle of cream, too.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “How do you explain these?” She turns her laptop around, and I’m faced with a multitude of images of Nick. Drunk Nick. Nick with the girl. “They’re all on social media, taken by randos last night. Anyone with a phone is a journalist on social media, you know.”

  I blink at the screen. “But—”

  “Exactly,” she replies with satisfaction. “The guy you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’re dating is still out there, picking up girls in bars and getting drunk. You’re on planet cuckoo if you think anything different.”

  Before I have the chance to reply, the door to the conference room swings open, making us all jump. I look up to see John Rogers come striding in, a stern look on his face. “Ed, Miranda, Erin,” he says. “I’m glad you’re all here.” He turns back and waves his hand. “Here’s the man himself.” He steps aside, and Nick walks gingerly into the room.

  We all gape at him.

  “Nick?” I murmur, my eyes wide. Shock stabs me in the side, my heart banging against my ribs.

  “Hey.” His jaw is locked, and he looks like he hasn’t slept.

  “Nick, hi,” Miranda says breathlessly. She jumps out of her chair and fixes her posture to show her perfect leggy figure off to best advantage. “We’re so glad you’re here. I bet your ears have been burning.”

  “Yeah.” Nick gives her a closed-mouth smile and sits down heavily on a chair. His eyes find mine across the table, and I mouth, “Are you okay?” my heart breaking for him. Whatever has happened to him, he looks like he’s been through the ringer and back again.

  He pulls his lips into a line and nods at me, and I’m certain I can see sorrow in his eyes.

  “Right. Where are we with this?” John asks, taking his rightful seat at the head of the table.

  “Erin here was telling us that she thought the photos were from a while back, not from last night,” Miranda begins, “although by the look of you, Nick, I wonder whether she’s being a little too optimistic about that, along with some other things we’ve been discussing.”

  I shoot darts at her with my eyes. “All I’m saying is that there’s bound to be a reasonable explanation for what happened last night, that’s all. Personally, I think what we need to focus on now is how to calm Bennett Motors down.”

  Miranda lets out a cold, unpleasant laugh. “These two have been so good at pretending they’re together over the last couple of weeks that poor little Erin here thought she and Nick were dating for real.”

  The flaming heat in my cheeks threatens to fry my eyes, but I hold strong. I know Nick. I know there’s an explanation for these images. The girl could simply be an overexcited fan, nothing more.

  “Well, maybe we should ask the man in question?” Miranda says. “Nick?”

  “Yes, Nick. That does seem to be the question we need answered here,” Ed says. “Are those photos of you out drinking and, ah, fraternizing with a woman from last night?”

  I tilt my head enough to watch his face. I hold my breath. This is it: the moment of truth. The moment when Nick puts all these rumors to bed.

  His features are tight when he replies, “I went out last night with Bulldog and the others, after Erin and I had been out. We met some girls, and we partied.”

  My heart sinks down to my shoes as I blink at him, trying to wrap my head around what he’s said. Why? Why would he do that? After everything we’d shared, after everything we’d said to one another. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

  John slaps his hand on the table. “Nick. You were seen out with another woman when you’re meant to be dating Erin. There are photos of you drunk, photos of you with this woman in a compromising position. How did you not know that this would be a big issue for Bennett Motors?”

  I stare at Nick across the table, waiting for his plausible explanation for his behavior, to prove to everyone I was right to have faith in him. She was just an overexcited fan; I only looked drunk; I stopped by for a soda with Bulldog and then went home. I will him to look at me, to tell me everything is as it was, but he avoids my eyes.

  “I messed up,” he replies, looking down. “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re absolutely right it won’t happen again,” John fires back at him. “Do you understand what you’ve done? I’ve had Stinklater on the phone to me this morning already. Did you think they’d miss this little show you put on last night?”

  He appears visibly shaken. “Yeah, I…as I said, I messed up,” he repeats.

  “You did mess up, Nick, and now Bennett Motors is insisting we remove you from the campaign. Do you know what that means? That means pulling the TV ads, pulling the billboards, the whole nine yards. Do you know how much your little dalliance last night will cost them?” John glares at Nick, his nostrils flared, his face flushed.

  “I’m guessing a lot.”

  John scoffs. In all my time at the Hawks, I’ve never seen him this riled up. “You’re lucky we’re not dropping you from the team.”

  The tension in Nick’s jaw tightens. “Okay. I get it. I’ve been told off and been sent to my room with no dinner. Fair call.” He puts his hands on the chair arms and pushes himself up. “Are we done?” The tautness of his features belies the casual tone of his words.

  He’s not telling the truth.

  Why is he admitting to it all, taking full responsibility for whatever punishment Bennett Motors is going to dole out? There has got to be more to it than this. This is Nick, not some member of the party boys group. I know him.

  “Nick. What’s going on?” I ask him, my voice high and breathless. “This isn’t true.”

&n
bsp; He flashes his eyes to mine, and I see his pain. He twists his mouth as he rubs the back of his neck.

  “John, I think we can salvage something here,” Miranda says urgently. “It’s not all doom and gloom. It’s one minor slip up.”

  “I believe the time for pretending Nick is someone he clearly no longer is has well and truly passed, don’t you?” John shakes his head. “It’s too late.”

  Nick is now standing by his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  John lets out a puff of air. “Do you know what bothers me the most about this, Nick? It’s not the sponsorship deal. Sure, that’s a terrible loss, but we’ll do our best to salvage something for the team there. It’s that you have so much potential, and I’ve got to sit by like some schmuck and watch you throw it all away.”

  I see a flash of hurt on Nick’s face, but it’s gone before it’s even fully formed. “I’ll, ah, get going then,” he mumbles. He turns to leave.

  With his hand on the doorknob, I spring out of my chair and rush over to him. “Nick,” I say, reaching for him. “Please.”

  He looks down at my hand for a moment and then back up into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. “I’m no good. You should never have gotten involved with me.”

  I watch as he turns to leave, the door swinging behind him, leaving me standing there, stunned and alone.

  Chapter 20

  I sit in stunned silence through the rest of the meeting as John and Ed try to work out how to salvage the Bennett Motors sponsorship deal, and Miranda darts me triumphant looks. Eventually, after a lengthy groveling session over the phone with Mr. Stinklater, I stumble home, exhausted.

  All I want to do is hide from the world and nurse my poor, wounded heart.

  “He said that? ‘You should never have gotten involved with me?’” Darcy’s staring at me with a look of absolute astonishment on her face.

  I nod, my lips pressed firmly together. “I don’t even know what it means, but he walked away from me, Darce. He said those words then turned and walked away.”

  “Oh, babe. That’s awful. And in front of your bosses, too.”

  I close my eyes as I recall the humiliation of having to walk back to the table and sit through the rest of the meeting. “I should have gone after him. I should have made him tell me what he meant.”

  “Have you called him?”

  “Of course I have. It keeps going to voicemail. All I’ve got from him is one lousy message telling me he’s sorry.”

  “I don’t believe it.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  My throat begins to tighten once more. “Why won’t he return my calls? It’s like he’s said sorry and that’s it: game over.”

  “Oh, honey. He doesn’t deserve someone like you,” she says, rubbing my arm. “You’re kind and caring and fun and sweet.” She offers me a tissue, and I take it and blow my nose loudly. “You’re one of my favorite people. I have extremely good taste in friends, you know.”

  I wipe my eyes and smile at her. “You do have very good taste in friends.”

  “I do.” She gets up from the end of my bed, where she’s been sitting.

  I’ve been lying here since I blundered back home after the meeting, recounting as much of the day’s events as I can manage for her before hot, angry, hurt tears swallow me up.

  Darcy looks at me as the tears form once more. “Right. That’s it. I’m calling in reinforcements,” she states firmly.

  “Reinforcements?”

  “We need Sophie, and we need chocolate.”

  I shake my head vigorously. “Not chocolate.”

  “Why not? You love chocolate.” Her mouth forms an O. “Nick likes chocolate. I get it, though you can’t rule out an entire food group because of one idiot guy.”

  “I’m not sure chocolate is an entire food group, you know.”

  “Girl, it so is. Chocolate is up there with cake and ice cream as the very cornerstones of any well-balanced, post-breakup, eat-away-your-feelings feast. Which is what we are going to do now.” She grins at me.

  “You’re the best,” I say as a fresh wave of tears prick my eyes.

  She thrusts the tissue box at me as the doorbell rings. “Hold tight. BRB.”

  A moment later, Sophie bursts into my room with a container in her hands, which she drops on my bed as she collects me in a hug. “Erin, babe. I got here as soon as I could. Oh, my gosh, you look terrible!” she exclaims.

  “Thanks,” I reply. “Shouldn’t you be at High Tea?”

  “It’s fine. I told Paige what had happened, and she and her husband took over for me.”

  I’m torn between being ashamed other people know how upset I am and grateful for having a friend who would drop everything to be with me.

  “Paige is very sweet,” I say.

  “She is.” Sophie takes the phone from me and puts it on the nightstand. She kicks off her shoes. “Move over,” she instructs and then promptly plops herself down next to me. “Now, I brought you some of those chocolate and coconut mousse tartlets you like as well as some slices of Cozy Cottage cakes.” She opens the lid. “Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, apple streusel cake, and a slice of the flourless chocolate and raspberry cake.”

  “Don’t mention the C-word, Soph,” Darcy warns as she breezes back into the room with a tub of ice cream in one hand and three bowls and spoons in the other.

  Sophie looks puzzled. “What are you talking about? What C-word?”

  “The one you just said,” Darcy replies.

  “What? What did I say?”

  “She means chocolate,” I clarify.

  “He Who Shall Not Be Named liked it,” Darcy explains with a meaningful look. “And I’m not talking about Harry Potter here.”

  “Right. Got it.” Sophie taps the side of her nose conspiratorially. “Don’t mention the C-word.”

  I throw my eyes to the ceiling. “You do realize discussing how not to mention chocolate makes me think about chocolate?”

  Darcy scrunches up her nose. “Sorry, babe.”

  I let out a puff of air. “No worries. It’s an important food group, after all.”

  Darcy beams at me. “Part of a balanced diet. Now, you two, make room. Woman bearing salted caramel ice cream here.”

  Sophie and I move so that all three of us are sitting on my bed, leaning up against my headboard, looking like a small collection of canned sardines. Once our plates are stacked with enough sugar to give us diabetes, Sophie asks me to tell her what’s happened, and I go through the whole sorry tale once more.

  “I really can’t believe it. He seemed so smitten with you. Why would a smitten guy go off with another woman?” Sophie says. “Plus, why would he put himself through the whole vetting process if he didn’t feel something for you? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I chew on my lip. “I know. I need to find out.” I scoot down the bed and hop off the end. “I’ve had enough of wallowing. I want answers, and I’m going to get them.

  Darcy’s face is bright when she asks, “What are you going to do?”

  I pick my purse up from the floor where I’d dropped it earlier and slot my feet into my shoes. I turn to my friends. “I’m going to get some answers, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not giving up on him. We’ve come too far to throw it all away.”

  Chapter 21

  I clamber into my car, feeling hopeful and excited. I’m going to find him, and he’s going to tell me the truth. I find the most uplifting playlist on my phone. A girl needs the right soundtrack when she’s going after her man, after all. I click play and Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now comes blasting out.

  As I turn onto the main road, it suddenly occurs to me I don’t know where Nick lives. Sure, I know the area, but I’ve never been there. I sit in my car, wracking my brain. He looked distraught when he left the conference room. Where would he go to feel better? Would it be home, or would it be somewhere else?

  A smile creeps across my face. I b
et I know where he is.

  The drive is long, and I’m impatient to get there. Finally, I pull my car into an angled parking spot and switch it off. I get out and peer out at the expanse of green before me. Nick’s childhood rugby ground. This is where I bet he’d come if he was upset. This is where he once told me he feels most at home.

  I scan the grounds, searching for him. I spot a dark figure sitting in the shade of a tree, and I feel of surge of hope. It’s Nick. I’m sure it is. A begin to make my way across the grass to him, my Queen-induced confidence slipping. What if he meant what he said? What if he’s not the man I feel so sure he is? What if I’ve got this all wrong?

  I slow my steps as the figure stands up and turns to me. It’s not Nick. I come to a stop and look around. There’s no one else in sight.

  He’s got to be here.

  I walk toward the club house, but when I get there, I find it’s locked with no sign of life. I turn and put my hands on my hips, squinting into the light as I search and search.

  It’s then that I see another figure. It’s a man, his head down, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He’s kicking the ground as he moves slowly down field.

  I’m certain it’s him.

  “Nick!” I call out.

  The figure stops and turns. It’s him. It’s Nick.

  I quicken my pace, dashing across the grass to him.

  He stops and waits, his hands still thrust into his pockets.

  “Nick,” I say as I catch my breath, my relief at finding him. “I found you.”

  His features are pinched as he looks at me, his shoulders tense. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you. I wanted to see you. I’m so worried about you,” I say in a rush.

  His eyes widen. “You’re worried about me?”

  I move closer. “Of course.” I reach out to touch him, and he stiffens. “What’s going on, Nick?”

  “Erin, you’re a good person. You don’t want to get mixed up with me.”

  “What does that mean? I’m already mixed up with you.”

  He lets out a puff of air. “Forget about me. I’m no good for you.”