by Terri Osburn
I looked up from the phone to find Chad standing in front of me. As our eyes met, a wide smile split his face, and I couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked so happy to see me.
“Yes, I’m Becca. Are you Chad?”
“I am.” He extended a hand instead of moving in for a hug. A bonus point already. “Megan said you were cute, but your picture doesn’t do you justice.”
Heat rising in my cheeks, I struggled to accept the compliment. Something I’d never been good at. “Thank you. You’re a handsome guy yourself.”
He was slimmer than Brian with a face that made him look younger than he probably was. Nice eyes that crinkled at the corners just the right amount. And thin, but not overly so, with a cyclist’s physique.
“I’m pretty ordinary, but thanks.” Chad motioned toward the entrance. “Should we go in? I don’t want to miss the puck drop.”
“Of course. So you’re a hockey fan?” I said as we walked side by side.
“Big-time. I spent a year with my grandparents in Canada when I was a kid and fell in love with the sport. I even got to play some while I was there.” He paused his story to ask the hostess for a table for two. When she told us to follow her, he gestured for me to go first, and then followed behind. So far, Chad had showed more manners than the previous two dates combined. “Are you a fan?” he asked as we reached the table.
“I grew up in a sports loving family so I didn’t really have a choice.” The waitress left us with two menus, and I asked, “Have you been here before?”
“Quite often, actually. I live around the corner.”
“Really? I grew up a few blocks from here.”
“Megan said you were from Carnegie but didn’t mention which part.”
Before I could reply, a group two tables away began whistling and yelling in support of the Pens. All but one in the group was wearing a team jersey. That one seemed familiar, but I could only see the back of his head. Assuming he was probably an old classmate, I returned my attention to Chad, whose was watching me with a sour expression.
“Do you know them?” he asked, all traces of the earlier smile gone.
“I might,” I said. “Every now and then I see someone I went to school with when I’m over here.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Do you want to go sit with them?”
Strange question. “No, of course not.”
“Good evening, folks,” said the waiter who stepped up to the table. “Can I start you off with some drinks?”
Chad remained silent so I said, “I’d like a Sprite, please.”
“I’ll have a Guinness,” my date snapped. “And the Rueben.”
“Guinness and a Rueben,” the waiter repeated. “Do you know what you’d like to eat, ma’am?”
I went with my regular order. “I’ll have the grilled cheese, thanks.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put this in and be right back with those drinks.”
Silence fell over the table as the waiter walked off, and I had to wonder what happened to my friendly date. The first few minutes had gone so well. I may not have been looking for a love connection, but was one pleasant meal too much to ask?
“Megan says you’re a writer,” I said, looking for a topic that might get him talking again.
“Yes,” he said, turning his chair to face the big screen. “The game is starting.”
So we were supposed to sit here and watch the game in silence? If that was the case, I could leave now.
Too exhausted for diplomacy, I said, “Did I do something wrong?”
He spared me a disgusted glance. “I don’t like it when my date looks at other men.”
Okay. How to respond to that?
“I’m sorry if it seemed that way, but I assure you I’m not looking for anyone else.” I wasn’t even looking for him, technically speaking. “I really would like to hear about your writing.”
To my relief, Chad’s expression softened, and he shifted his chair back around. “My apologies. I shouldn’t judge you by the women in my past. It’s just a sore spot for me.” Understandable, considering I had a similar experience the night before. He straightened his napkin and said, “I write short stories, mostly, but I’ve been working on a novel for five years. A little more polish and I’ll be ready to look for an agent.”
Five years seemed like a long time, but I’d never tried writing a novel and couldn’t imagine it was easy.
“Have you had any stories published?” I asked.
The smile dimmed again and his left eye twitched. “No,” he said. “Not yet. It isn’t that easy. There’s a lot of competition and not a lot of places print short stories anymore.”
How many sore spots did this guy have? That was two in a matter of seconds.
“So… Georgetown? What was that like?”
“Good for the two years I got to go. A family issue came up and I had to quit before my junior year.”
Megan said he’d graduated. Why were my friends so bad at telling me anything about these men? The first date had been nursing a broken heart. The second clearly had a thing against women who didn’t drink. So far, Chad had jealousy issues—which totally explained that Darcy forgiveness thing—and multiple sensitive topics.
His attention returned to the game and this time I felt no need to earn it back. More and more locals filled the patio, raising the volume enough to make talking difficult anyway. I’d eat my grilled cheese sandwich, leave a ten on the table to cover my half, and make the short walk to my parents’ house before the end of the first period.
Chapter Nine
Not far into the game, the crowd of spectators turned angry and Chad joined in, spewing rapid-fire expletives in response to the refs putting one of our players into the penalty box. I didn’t see the play, but the fans obviously considered it a bad call. To be fair, hockey fans in general believed all calls against their own team were bogus. And in many cases, they were. Just recently a ref had been caught on a hot microphone admitting as much.
“These refs suck,” Chad declared, and earned a high five from two men a table over.
So he got to fraternize with our neighbors, but I couldn’t even look around. Sure. Totally fair.
If I had better company this would have actually been fun. I hadn’t seen a game in weeks. Dad would have it on, and I was looking forward to watching the rest with him, which made me think of the mystery box. What could be in there? I hadn’t occupied that room since leaving for college nearly twelve years ago, at which point Mom had turned it into a guest room.
No telling what I’d find. Probably some embarrassing artwork from elementary school. Or a diary filled with overly dramatic stories like the time I had a crush on Johnny Cukowski in sixth grade but he’d barely acknowledged my existence.
The waiter delivered our drinks but my date was too distracted to notice. “Thank you,” I said with an apologetic smile.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Your food should be up shortly.”
As I reached for my glass, Chad shouted, “Pass the damn puck!” Slamming his hand on the table, he bolted from his chair and the combination knocked over my Sprite.
Shoving my chair back while simultaneously righting the drink, I managed not to wear the whole thing, but a splash of clear liquid quickly soaked through the denim covering my left thigh.
“What happened?” my date asked, his brow furrowed as if angry that I was distracting him from the game.
“You knocked over my pop,” I replied, beyond annoyed. “I need to put some water on this.”
Rising, I grabbed my purse and charged off toward the ladies’ room, hoping I could clean the sticky mess without making things worse. Rigby’s grilled cheese was one of my favorite sandwiches, but it was not good enough to endure any more of this date. I’d scrub the soda out of my pants, return to the table to let Chad know I was leaving, and then see myself out.
When I entered the restroom, two women were lingering near the sinks at the far end.
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“I can’t believe he has the nerve to bring a woman here,” the redhead said as she leaned close to the mirror to freshen up her mascara. “He knows Jackie works every Friday night.”
The second woman applied bright-pink lipstick before smacking her lips together. “He’s trying to make her jealous. When is he going to get it through his thick skull that she’s happy with Greg?”
“Probably never. I almost feel bad for his date. She looks nice enough. Tiny and a bit desperate, but nice.”
I stepped up to the first sink, lifted my bag higher onto my shoulder, and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser. After soaking them in cold water, I dabbed at my jeans, eventually noticing an odd silence. Feeling as if I was being watched, I looked up to find the women staring with a combination of curiosity and pity in their eyes.
“It’s Sprite,” I said, sounding like the dork that I was.
“About before—” pink lipstick said, but her friend cut her off.
“Did he even tell you his ex works here?”
Stopping mid-dab, I opened my mouth to tell them they must have me confused with someone else, but then the truth dawned. I was the tiny and desperate-looking one, and that meant Chad was the one trying to make this Jackie person jealous. Oh, the irony.
Wait. I looked desperate?
“This is a blind date,” I explained. “I don’t know anything about an ex.”
“Girl,” the redhead said, crossing her arms and kicking out a hip, “get out now. That man is a mess. Jackie dated him for three months and every time she didn’t answer his call or text within seconds, he accused her of being with another man. She dumped him six months ago and he’s still trying to get her back.”
I’d already planned to leave so the warning was unnecessary, but I thanked them anyway. “I appreciate the heads-up. I won’t be staying much longer.”
“Then he’s already shown his ass?” she asked, chestnut brow arched.
“Something like that.” I returned to cleaning my pants and the ladies left the room.
As if someone flipped a switch, my energy drained and I braced my hands on the sink to stay upright. Exhaustion hit like a weighted blanket and it took several deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. Why would I cry over a jealous idiot and some spilled Sprite?
Because this wasn’t about either of those things.
My boss was dealing with cancer; I was dealing with a workload no human being could manage, and my friends were trying to top each other in finding me the absolute worst dates ever. Dates I didn’t even want to go on.
An older waitress in a green apron pushed through the door and stopped halfway to the stalls. “Are you okay, honey?”
Sniffling, I put on my best fake smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”
I couldn’t even be honest with a stranger. Hell, when was the last time I was honest with myself?
“You sure?” she asked again. “You look a bit pale.”
I tossed the paper towels in the trash and pinched my cheeks to add color. “It’s just been a long week,” I explained. An understatement of epic proportions. “I’ll be okay.”
Would I? Not if I went on another one of these dates. Whether Lindsey’s pick backed out or not, tomorrow night was not going to happen. At some point, I had to put my sanity first. Something I should have done long before now.
“All right, darling. Just be careful when you head out. The crowd is rowdier than usual tonight.”
“I will, thank you.”
Shifting away from the sink, I lifted my left leg and turned on the hand dryer in an effort to minimize the wet spot. Luckily, my jeans were dark so the area blended in well enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to leave the bathroom. Hugging my purse against my side, I stepped out to a barrage of groans and heard the television announcer say, “The shot went wide but the Penguins retain possession.”
Though the path to the bathroom had been clear on my way in, the way was almost completely blocked now. I squeezed through and when I could finally see my table, the crowd erupted as I heard the telltale siren that signaled a goal had been scored. Shoved back and forth like a pinball, I felt myself losing my balance at the same moment a body slammed into me from the left. I went flying and as I landed on my bottom in a stranger’s lap, my elbow hit the table, sending pain shooting up my arm. Tucking the arm against my side, my shoulder connected with the stranger’s chin.
Mortified, I turned to apologize and found familiar brown eyes staring into mine. Panic sent my heart racing as I leaped to my feet and felt the blood rush from my head. When the black spots entered the edge of my vision, I knew what was coming next but was powerless to stop it.
I managed to say, “Not you,” before the world went black.
I had a sense of chaos surrounding me before realizing that I was moving. Except I wasn’t walking. At least I didn’t think so. I was floating. No, someone was carrying me. Someone solid who smelled like vanilla and pine. I eased my eyes open to see silver ductwork and a polished wood ceiling before the scenery changed and the night sky filled my vision, black with tiny dots like distant fireflies.
“What are you doing?” a man demanded. “That’s my date.”
The whiny plea brought me back to reality. I groaned as pain echoed from several parts of my body. My left elbow. My right knee. The back of my head.
“Easy now,” said a soothing voice. My bottom made contact with a flat surface. “Take your time.”
Struggling to focus, I blinked until Jacob’s face became clear in front of mine. His hands cupped my cheeks as if he feared my head would roll off my shoulders.
“Get your hands off her.”
My rescuer ignored the command. “Do you know where you are?” he asked, eyes locked on mine.
I gave a slight nod and said, “Rigby’s.” Pushing his hands away, I sat up straighter and felt a twinge in my neck. My hand shot to the back of my head as I muttered an expletive.
“Let me see,” Jacob said, checking beneath my hand. “You’re probably going to have another bump.”
These damn dates were going to leave me with a concussion yet. All the more reason to skip the next one. At the rate I was going, the odds of me falling off the damn boat were ridiculously high.
“Another bump?” Chad repeated. “So you do know each other.”
“We do,” Jacob replied. “Go get her some ice.”
“Screw you,” my date countered. To me, he said, “The next time you want to make a guy jealous, pick someone else.”
“I didn’t pick you, you jerk. And you’re the one trying to win back an old girlfriend.”
Defending myself only made the pain worse, and I whimpered as I leaned forward, tucking my head into my lap. Tears threatened again as humiliation mixed with fatigue, and in seconds I would be in the fetal position under this chair.
Jacob rubbed my back. “Just breathe.” Chest hitching, I followed the order and eventually sat up again. “Here you go,” he said, handing me a napkin that came from who knew where. The kind gesture only heightened the mortification.
“I’m not usually this unstable,” I said, drying my damp cheeks. “I just didn’t eat much today.” In truth, I hadn’t eaten much all week. Who had time? Mind clearing, I dropped my hands into my lap. “What are you doing here?”
Pulling over a chair from the next table, he took a seat. “I was watching the game.”
“But why here? Why are you always around at the worst times?”
With a half grin, he shrugged. “Lucky, I guess. Though I agree with you now. This is getting weird.”
Weird didn’t begin to describe these encounters.
“I won’t keep you from the game,” I said. “You should get back to your friends.”
“How are you getting home?”
“I’m not. At least not for a while. My parents live close by. I plan to walk over there.” I rose and took a second to make sure my legs were steady. Jacob stood as well, clearly prepared to catch me if nece
ssary. I appreciated his dedication to playing the hero, but hated how weak I must have seemed.
“I’ll walk with you.”
Despite how attractive I found him, and how much I’d enjoyed our last conversation, all I wanted in that moment was to wallow in my self-pity alone.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“A minute ago you were unconscious,” he reminded me. “I’d be an asshole to let you walk off alone.”
Though I felt fine now, he did have a point. Mom and Dad didn’t live far so it wasn’t as if I’d have to endure his company for long. I’d just send him on his way before getting all the way to the door. Mom would have a field day if I showed up with a man in tow. She hadn’t outright asked about my love life—or the lack thereof—but she still hinted about grandchildren now and then. Joey and Paula had been dating for over a year, but neither were in a hurry to get married, nor were they kid people. That left me as Mom’s only hope.
She was going to be sadly disappointed.
“Are you sure?” I asked. The crowd inside erupted once again. “You’re going to miss a big chunk of the game.”
“I’ll catch the highlights later.”
“What about your friends?”
He pulled out his phone, fired off a text, and dropped the cell back into his pocket. “Done. You ready?”
Was I ready to get this night over with? I sure as hell was.
Less than a minute later, we crossed East Main to Robert Avenue in companionable silence. That could have been because we’d done this—in a car—twice already, but even Tuesday night, after the first date, being alone with Jacob had felt natural. There was a calmness about him that put me at ease. He likely had the same effect on everyone he met.
I made it a full block before curiosity got the best of me. “Of all the bars in town, how did you end up at Rigby’s?”
He stepped to the left to allow a woman and her dog to pass between us. “I don’t live far from here. My neighbor watches games up there all the time. He invited me and since I had the night off, I decided to join him. How about you?”
“My date picked it, but I grew up around here so I know the place well. You live in Carnegie?”