Extra Credit

by Dunne, Poppy

  “So why are you single?” I ask. With a face like that—it is a good question. There are several options. He could have a fatal flaw like my own. He could have a tiny penis. (Please, baby Jesus, don’t let it be that.) Worst of all, he could be a vegetarian.

  “I’m not,” he says.

  “Um.” I am busily drinking his last shot of tequila, and that response causes a fair amount to come back up my nose. Not only is that a very uncomfortable feeling, I can only imagine what my face looks like. Actually, scratch that, I don’t want to imagine it. Once the coughing fit ends, I realize Officer Asshat is laughing at me.

  “I was kidding. I didn’t realize you were going to be taking a drink when I said it. Literally. Taking. Because… okay.”

  I gather the shards of my dignity and dab at my mouth, nose, and also eyes with my napkin. Then a few spots on the table. Then and only then do I gaze imperiously at him.

  “It’s your sense of humor that drives girls away, then.”

  “What? No! It’s my—” Don’t say tiny penis, don’t say tiny penis. “Profession, mostly. Everyone’s hiding something, I’ve discovered. It makes intimacy difficult.”

  I’m simultaneously relieved about his penis and disarmed by his confession. That state of vulnerability is the only way I can account for how I go ahead and order another tequila, plus a round of goat tacos. Hey, don’t knock them til you’ve tried them.

  “Well, I’m single because I only like fictional men,” I go ahead and just get that out of the way. The last guy who’d tried to date me had announced that to me as though it was a surprise. I was like, duh, buddy! Could have told you that ages ago. Also, I’m too young to settle down with anyone outside a book. So I don’t try very hard.

  “Like… Mr. Darcy?” Officer Leo-Who-Is-Totally-Forgiven says.

  “In fact, no, but you get many bonus points for knowing that’s a thing. I prefer my fake boyfriends more rugged. Fewer ruffles. The Jon Snow type.” My eyes glaze over a little just picturing the man, the fur, and that cave north of the Wall.

  “Oh. Huh. Not really a Game of Thrones fan,” Officer Leo-Who-Is-Unforgiven-Again says.

  Well, now I know the real reason why he’s single. He knows nothing. I resign myself to the fact that at least someone else will be buying my tacos tonight, even though I never had the chance to eat them. I have also lost a loyal customer. The sad fact of never looking at this glorious face in front of me again smarts a little too. I’ll just have to find him on Facebook and gaze sadly at the photos he’s set to public. I fervently hope a few are topless.

  I down the last of my drinks and suddenly realize I am going to need an Uber. I can’t get into the phone to order one. Frustrating. I try again. Still locked.

  “Why do you have my phone?” Officer Leo asks.

  “Total accident,” I slide it back. “Yours looks just like mine.”

  He glances down at his black Otterbox, and then back at my bright pink bedazzled case.

  “They do a strong tequila pour here,” he mumbles.

  “Welp, gotta run. Lovely meeting you, Officer Watson,” I say, standing up a little too fast. Swaying, I reach for the table. The table grabs back.

  I look down, extremely startled. It’s not the table. It’s his hand.

  “Call me Leo.” His strong grip engulfs mine, shooting electricity through me, and I rethink my decision to leave. He looks like he genuinely doesn’t want me to go. What if…? But then, my purse rattles again, and I know the decision was already made, a long time ago.

  “Goodbye, Leo,” I tell him. “Tip generously.”

  On my way to the door, I wonder if it’s against the rules to kick Melissa out of book club for this stunt. I like the other members too well to subject them to Fern, so stepping down isn’t an option. Perhaps simply ignoring her answers, the way I ignore Fern’s monotone voice? I pause before opening the door and jot down “deal with M problem” on a fresh Post-it.

  The door swings open for me like magic, and maybe the night is going to go my way after all. Wait—no. That wasn’t magic. It was Leo Can’t-Leave-Well-Enough-Alone. Although, another long, searching look from his caramel-colored eyes makes me wonder if magic isn’t real after all.

  “Are you going straight home?” he asks. I nod. Any more tequila at this point would just be ill advised.

  “Let me wait with you at least,” he says. I suppose another few moments of gazing into those eyes wouldn’t hurt me, so I agree. Plus, I’m a tad unsteady on my feet. Probably just the heels.

  I attempt a casual lean against the hood of his cruiser. Channel your inner music video vixen, girl. And I do. I have it.

  Right up until my heel snags on a rock and my inner sex kitten discovers she doesn’t always land on her feet. I blink up at Leo, trying to determine if anything besides my pride is broken. His mouth is twisting, his eyes are watering, and his shoulders are shaking with the effort, but I must give him an A for not actually laughing out loud. Blessedly, his radio starts squawking.

  “I have a J-03 in progress at 44th and Gillham,” the radio tells him. He ignores it, and holds out that large, strong hand again for me to grab. I refuse it. I plan to stay here in my misery until I die.

  “I can see your panties,” he adds helpfully. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse. I heave a sigh, and let him help me out of my sprawl, only to collapse again when I realize my ankle isn’t quite ready to bear my weight yet.

  “Is someone at home waiting for you?” I think for a second. My roommate Fern’s sleeping at her boyfriend’s tonight, so no. I shake my head.

  “Nope. I’ll be by myself.” I’m perfectly capable of icing my ankle, jeez.

  “Is anyone nearby? Seriously, anyone.”

  “Crap,” Leo says, and I must agree. Falling. Exposing myself. And now my ankle. This is a truly awful blind date, possibly my worse ever. The fact that it is my only one ever does not help matters one bit.

  “I’m the only one close by. Let’s do this!” And with that, I find myself unceremonious heaved into the backseat. “Elevate that foot!” he yells and rushes around to the driver’s side.

  As we speed away, me sputtering and confused on my back while desperately trying to elevate my ankle on the seatback, I think about how he asked whether I lived alone and realize that I may have just been kidnapped. My purse jangles, and I know it could also be an unorthodox arrest.

  Even worse, my Uber rating will certainly go down after I cancel my ride just as he pulls up.

  “I can still see your panties!” Leo calls cheerily from the front seat.

  Worst. Date. Ever.

  * * *

  Hands Off is available on Amazon now!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to the fancy pants private school I subbed in when I first found my way to Los Angeles. I was never in a room with Beyoncé and Jay Z, but I did go on a field trip with Blair Underwood and give Jodi Foster a tissue. I'll take it.

  Kiki Chattfield of The Next Step PR and Debra Presely of The Book Enthuiast are amazing professionals in this industry, and working with them and learning from their experiences was a pleasure.

  Shannon Passmore with Shanoff Formats, Sybil Wilson of PopKitty Designs, and Book Blast are creative and accommodating geniuses. Thank you for help with promotional images for this book.

  It would be super easy to acknowledge all the YouTube stars who have entertained my children as I worked on this book. I could copy and paste the browser history onto this page. (Let's not discuss Mr.'s browser history, ok?) It's harder to thank the countless readers and bloggers who have shown me big and small acts of kindness and encouragement. Every drop of positivity matters, and I will surely fail to acknowledge everyone. So thank you to all who go out of their way to make other people smile and spread happiness and warmth around our little book corner of this universe. I'll never stop looking for ways to pay it forward. (And right there is my husband's cue to say, "Poppy, your Angeleno's showing." I know, dear. I love you, too.)<
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