The Undateable

by Sarah Title

  * * *

  Bernie was drunk. She must be drunk, except this felt better than being drunk because she didn’t have that out-of-control, vaguely nauseated feeling and the ominous foreknowledge of a headache in the morning. She just felt sort of floaty and soft and warm as Colin rubbed her back and her arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she could hear his heart beating in his chest. She wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. She thought she might fall asleep, but she didn’t.

  She just knew that she didn’t feel bad about being stood up anymore.

  She wasn’t sure what shifted, but something did, and suddenly she felt the closeness and maleness of Colin, how gentle his arms were, how good he smelled, how strong his back felt. Then his hand moved up to her cheek and she instinctively moved into it, off of his shoulder, and watched his face, his eyes closed, until she couldn’t watch anymore because he was kissing her.

  Well, this was unexpected. She should acknowledge that, think about the terrible ramifications of kissing a guy who was writing a story on her and whom she didn’t even like at all.

  But who could think at a time like this? Who could think when his lips were soft on hers and all she wanted was for them to not be quite so soft? So she pressed closer to him and opened up, and his arms came tight around her, pressing even closer. She let out a little groan when she felt his tongue against hers and he started to pull back, but no, she wasn’t done with this yet. She pulled on the fabric of his shirt and he got the message, changing his angle so he could go deeper and hotter. She lifted her arms so they were around his shoulders and his hands moved up to the sides of her breasts and just rested there, driving her mad.

  Finally, eventually, they had to come up for air. Stupid air. He didn’t move, just rested his forehead against hers while she breathed and breathed with her eyes closed.

  “Bernie?”

  “Shh.”

  She rubbed her lips together, savoring the taste of him. They felt thoroughly kissed. She liked it.

  “Can I talk now?”

  “No.”

  He huffed out a quick laugh. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her hands had done some damage to his hair, and he looked just as flushed as she felt. Dang. That was some world-class chemistry.

  There were probably some terrible ramifications. They should discuss them. But she didn’t want to. They didn’t even like each other. This was just a kiss.

  “I know we should talk about this,” she said. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “Should we talk about it later?”

  “This is probably going to shock you, but how about if we never talk about it?”

  “You don’t want to dissect what this means for society?”

  “The societal implications of your tongue down my throat? No.”

  She leaned into him again and rested her head on his shoulder. His arms came around and rested loosely on her hips.

  “You’re okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his shoulder a little so she sat up and watched him examine her face.

  “Okay.” Then he pulled her head back to his shoulder, and they rode around the carousel.

  Chapter Thirty

  “SHE WAS STOOD UP?”

  Pia looked like she wanted to punch a wall. Colin hadn’t thought she had it in her. Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces around the table, he wasn’t the only one.

  “It wasn’t much of a story,” Clea said. “But the comments are through the roof.”

  “And most of them were nice,” Jeanaeane said. “Very low troll ratio.”

  “Because everybody loves Bernie,” Makeda said. “She’s every woman.”

  Colin rolled his eyes.

  “But she really wasn’t that upset about it?” Pia asked.

  Colin thought about Bernie, looking forlornly over the spinning city. Then he thought about her falling into his arms, her body wrapped around his as he comforted her. Then her mouth under his. Her fists clenching his shirt. His hands pulling her closer.

  Yeah, she got over it.

  Or did she? Had he just taken advantage of her vulnerable state? Bernie wasn’t used to being vulnerable. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her.

  But she was into it. He knew what it was like when a woman was responding to him.

  Maybe he was just comforting her with his body. Hell, if she wanted to comfort herself with all of him, he wouldn’t argue.

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  “We need to take advantage of this.”

  He realized Clea was talking to the group, not to him. Not to his inner thoughts, which were venturing into uncharted territory. He didn’t want a woman like Bernie. He liked women who were quiet and polite and spent a lot of time at the gym. He didn’t like women who argued with everything he said and didn’t spend hours on their appearance. She was so not his type.

  He just liked her, that was all. They’d been spending so much time together. It was a proximity thing. A proximity thing he’d have to get a hold on, because it was totally unprofessional.

  Get a hold on her, Rodriguez.

  He adjusted himself in his chair.

  “I love it. What do you think, Colin?”

  And he totally hadn’t been listening. Great, another thing Bernie was messing up for him. She was supposed to be saving his job, not messing it up. Although, to be fair, he didn’t always pay very close attention in these meetings. It usually didn’t matter.

  “I’m not sure. Can you explain it again?”

  Clea rolled her eyes. Pia didn’t seem to notice that Colin had checked out for a minute there, bless her naive little heart.

  “I think it’s great,” Pia was saying, her eyes lit up in excitement. “We’ll make it a real event. We can get sponsorships. We’ll do it up, have all the guys there.”

  “It’s only a few days away,” Makeda said. “What kind of space can we get?”

  Pia dismissed her with a wave. “I’ll give you some names to call.”

  Makeda looked annoyed—it was not her job to call venues—but Pia soldiered on.

  “Alcohol sponsors, we’ll get beauty sponsors and people to do her hair and makeup. And a dress. Where can we get a dress?”

  “Well, when I’m done calling your people, I can call my people.”

  “Wait, what dress?” Colin really needed to pay attention.

  “The thirty days are almost up. Thirty dates in thirty days, right?”

  Colin nodded. His palms started sweating. He didn’t like where this was going.

  “It’ll be a huge event,” Dali said. “People are clamoring to find out who she chooses.”

  “But wait, hold on.” He really needed to get control of this situation.

  “I’m kind of holding out for Pete,” Jeanaeane said.

  “Pete? That was so long ago! Nobody remembers Pete!”

  “But wouldn’t that be poetic? If she chose the first guy she met?” Jeanaeane sat back with a dreamy sigh. He hadn’t known Jeanaeane could do a dreamy sigh.

  “But what about Ben? He was hot.” Now Clea was weighing in on this? What was wrong with these people?

  “It would do her good to date a hairdresser,” Pia said.

  He hated to rain on the first time in history that Clea and Pia had agreed on something, but this was getting out of hand.

  “It’s not about her choosing someone,” Colin interrupted. “It’s about proving that she’s not undateable.”

  “Pft,” Clea said. “If that was it, we could have ended this series a week ago. Proving her dateability was just the first step. Now we have to go big.”

  “It could become an annual thing,” Makeda said. “Every year, we pick the most undateable woman in San Francisco and set her up. Oh my God, I’m going to get to throw out so many Birkenstocks.”

  “Real women are in right now,” Pia said. “We’ll have people chomping at the bit to dress
them.”

  “Real women are in?” Colin powered through the incredulous crack in his voice. “What does that even mean?”

  “June thirtieth is a Friday. Perfect. We’ll run it like a date night. Or a mixer! Bring your single friends and find hope for the future!” Clea was standing up now, reaching for the projector and furiously making notes.

  It was happening. They were throwing a huge, attention-seeking party. For Bernie. To choose a man.

  Bernie was definitely going to kill him.

  * * *

  Bernie promised herself it wouldn’t be weird.

  It would be totally fine. No big deal. “No big deal,” she muttered as she got off the bus at the Cow Palace.

  “Excuse me?”

  She turned and looked at the guy next to her. He was handsome. Before Colin’s stupid story, she barely noticed handsome men.

  She gave him a vague smile and headed toward the entrance. He wasn’t the handsome guy she was looking for. Her handsome guy was named Marc-with-a-c and he had brown hair and a beard and would be wearing a green shirt. This handsome guy had brown hair and a beard and was wearing a black Misfits shirt. And a fedora. If Marc-with-a-c was wearing a fedora, she was going home.

  She checked her phone. No messages from Colin. Just some more words of encouragement from Dave and a picture of Marcie in a tiny tube dress asking if she looked too much like a drag queen to meet a potential producing partner. Bernie had no idea how much was too much like a drag queen, but she told Marcie she looked fine. She looked like Marcie. Marcie had a look.

  Bernie used to have a look. It wasn’t much of a look, but it was hers. It involved wearing whatever clothes were clean and whichever shoes would hurt her feet the least. Tonight she was wearing boots that pinched her toes, which Makeda had made her wear because she wouldn’t be walking far and the boots didn’t have heels, which was as far as Makeda would compromise, shoewise. Bernie was also wearing skinny jeans and a flowy top that was just long enough to make her feel slightly less uncomfortable with the fact that she was wearing skinny jeans. She had on mascara and eyeliner and lipstick and her hair was down, or at least it had been down when she left the house. But it was windy and she’d had to wait at the bus stop for a while because she was being stubborn and insisted on taking the bus, so now it was up. She thought about finding the ladies’ room to fix it. Which was definitely not ever part of her former look.

  But hey, she was getting dates.

  And it wasn’t like she didn’t kiss on the first date. She’d kissed a few of the guys on earlier dates. Jamal, who made her laugh, and Mark-with-a-k, who took her to a trendy gelato place in Cole Valley.

  And Colin. She’d kissed Colin. No, she’d straight up made out with Colin. But only because she was feeling crummy and he had been so sweet and smelled so good and even though she disagreed with everything that came out of his mouth, she still liked him. And his mouth.

  “Focus on Marc-with-a-c,” she reminded herself.

  “Who?”

  Because she had been thinking about him, Colin magically appeared before her. He had a talent for that. It was annoying.

  “Hi,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear like a girl who did stuff like that.

  “Date’s not here yet?” he asked, totally not fazed by the fact that, less than twenty-four hours ago, her tongue was down his throat.

  “Nope. Hope I’m not getting stood up again!” Did she sound frantic? She thought she might sound frantic. Then she thought she sounded like she was expecting Colin to make out with her again because that was what had happened last time she was stood up. “Not that I want to make out with you again,” she said, totally not awkwardly at all.

  “Ah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Great, she’d made him uncomfortable.

  Well, why shouldn’t he be uncomfortable? She was uncomfortable. And it wasn’t like she’d been making out with herself. They were in this uncomfortable situation together. They should both feel weird.

  That, oddly, made her feel better.

  “So,” she said. “Marc-with-a-c.”

  “Marc-with-a-c,” he said, pulling out his phone. “He’s a graphic designer for a small firm in the East Bay. He drives a Prius.”

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll love him.”

  Colin gave her a crooked smile. Her heart totally did not do a little flip. Not at all.

  “He went to Stanford, and he’s lived in the city for about five years. He’s never been married, but he was engaged to his college girlfriend. In his free time he plays disc golf and watches horror movies and—you’ll like this even better than the Prius—he reads.”

  “Oh? What does he read?”

  “Uh, it doesn’t say. But he wrote it down, so . . .”

  “So he can read.”

  “And he chooses to read for fun. Listen, don’t grill him, okay? Just try to get to know him.”

  “I know. I’ll learn something about him before I judge him.”

  “I appreciate you taking to your lessons.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stood at the door, looking for Marc, moving out of people’s way as they headed inside.

  “So.”

  “So.”

  “So . . . roller derby?”

  “I thought it sounded fun.” And Pia had insisted.

  “Not very romantic.”

  “Sure it is,” he said. “All that adrenaline gets the blood pumping.”

  She was sure there was something she could say about women beating each other up and adrenaline, but she couldn’t quite put it into words that Colin would argue with. “Great,” she said instead.

  “Great.”

  And still, no Marc.

  “Are we going to talk about this or what?” she asked.

  “Talk about what?” She looked at him. “Oh, that. Right. Kissing. Sorry about that. It was totally inappropriate of me.”

  “It wasn’t just you.”

  “I appreciate you saying that, but I should not have jumped on you like that. You’re the story,” he said.

  “Right.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  “Okay, just wanted to clear that up.” It didn’t feel clear at all. If anything, she felt more muddled. She heard what Colin was saying—that it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again, that he would maintain his professional boundaries—and she appreciated that. But she didn’t feel better about it.

  Stupid vulnerability.

  “Melissa?”

  Brown hair, beard, green shirt. “Marc?”

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late. I was looking for parking. It’s crazy out there. I didn’t think roller derby was that popular.”

  “Actually, it’s had quite a resurgence in the past few years,” she started. Then she caught herself. Dates don’t like to be corrected. Be nice. Don’t judge until he gives you something to judge him for. “I’m glad you found a spot. This should be really fun.” She turned to face Colin, to get some credit for course-correcting and acting like a normal dating person.

  But Colin was gone.

  She turned back to Marc-with-a-c and let him lead her into the stadium.

  * * *

  What kind of self-respecting adult played disc golf?

  Actually, a bunch of Colin’s friends played at the course in Golden Gate Park. But that didn’t make Marc any less of a dope. And the beard was a little much. He was a graphic designer, not an artisanal brewer. Marc-with-a-c was trying a little too hard. And Colin didn’t like the way he guided Bernie around by the small of her back. She hated to be led around. She could walk perfectly well on her own.

  And Colin wasn’t acting crazy at all.

  It wasn’t his fault that kissing Bernie had completely messed him up. Well, he’d initiated it, so maybe it was his fault. But he hadn’t meant to. He’d just meant to comfort her. He hated to see her upset. And it felt totally natural to go from holding her to kissing her, and he
’d thought she felt the same way. But clearly she had been waiting for him to redraw the line in the sand. They were back to writer and subject, which was good. That was how it should be. That was what he wanted.

  He watched Marc lead Bernie to their seats, and took his own seat a few rows behind them. Then he unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he was clenching.

  This was ridiculous. This wasn’t any different from any other date, and here, he had the added bonus of watching tough chicks on roller skates kick each other’s asses. There was not a thing in the world he should be complaining about.

  A woman in pinup curls handed him a program, and he idly started flipping through it. Steph had dated a derby girl once, and Colin was amazed at the athleticism and toughness of the ladies, but he was less convinced by their ridiculous names. Who was he kidding, he loved them. Badass puns, Steph called them. He flipped to the team roster. Trixie Sticks. Ophelia Burn. Liz Vicious. AnaMurderPia. That one was a bit of a stretch. He looked closer at her picture. She looked vaguely familiar, though it was hard to tell since she was wearing her helmet and had stars painted over her eyes. AnaMurderPia, aka Li’l Smasher, was the newest member of the squad, and would be jamming tonight for the first time. He flipped over to the rules portion of the program. Dang, Li’l Smasher had her work cut out for her.

  Oh, God, he thought, as the realization struck. AnaMurderPia. That was Pia. The pain-in-the-ass, entitled, practically teenage woman who was trying to steal his job.

  And he was about to watch her get her ass kicked by women twice her size wearing roller skates.

  He wasn’t proud of it, but the thought made him feel better.