Chapter 7 #3
I opened my mouth to blurt yep, because I couldn’t handle any more scrutiny and photographers, but I was also having a really good time with Connor.
I had no idea how it was possible to feel so at ease with him when we’d just met and he was a beautiful famous dude, but a huge part of me was bummed the night was about to end, because I actually liked him.
“Because I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink after all that. There’s a dive bar around the corner that’s got cheap drinks and no witnesses, if you’re interested.”
So tempting.
“I think people will still recognize you at a dive bar,” I said, trying to say no but unable to actually spit out the words.
“No, I’m talking dive dive bar,” he said. “There’s one I go to now and then where no one ever recognizes me. It’s dark and smells like greasy food.”
“You’re delusional if you think no one there knows you,” I said. “Impossible.”
“I also put on a hat before I go in,” he said, as if that changed everything.
“Oh yeah, surely that’s the thing that would make all the difference in the world. Everyone knows that when you put on a hat, you become an entirely different person.”
“Do not doubt me, wiseass,” he said. “It’s the kind of hat that makes the difference.”
“Is that so?” I asked with a snort. “A difference-making hat?”
“Watch this.” He pulled up to a stoplight and put the car in park, leaned across me to reach into the glove box, then dug out the most ridiculous hat I’d ever seen.
It was like the hunting hat Elmer Fudd wore in Bugs Bunny cartoons, with furry felt ear covers.
He held up a finger before reaching into the back seat and pulling out a plaid winter coat, the kind of barn jacket that looked like someone who lived out in the country would wear.
He put it on and zipped it all the way up, and then he grabbed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from the center console and put them on his face.
And holy shit—he actually didn’t look at all like himself anymore.
He was somehow still hot, but nerdy with an I-might-hunt-people-for-sport vibe.
“That is quite the disguise—you look like a sociopath,” I said, giggling in spite of everything.
“Right?” He looked boyish, positively mischievous, as he raised his eyebrows and started driving again. “And don’t you think since I went to all the trouble to show you this, you should go to the dive bar with me?”
“I’m missing a heel, though.”
“The heel’s not a problem if you’re in,” he said, his eyes looking big and hopeful behind his fake glasses. “I can fix it.”
I didn’t know what that meant; all I knew was that I wanted desperately to have a little more time with Connor. “Fine, but only one drink. And maybe some fries.”
There was just something about him that was hard to deny, and I strongly suspected it was the simple fact that he was fun.
I hadn’t had much of that in a really long time.
And, y’know…wildly attractive and charming.
Hotter than the sun, really.
“Definitely some fries,” he said, hitting the gas down the quiet street. He turned at the corner, found a curb spot, and he was out of the car mere moments later.
“Show me that heel,” he said when he came around and opened my door.
I swung my legs over the edge of the seat, so they were dangling out of the car while I remained seated, and before I could even give a thought to what was going to happen or how he was going to “fix” it, Connor went to work.
He looked at my boot for approximately one second, then without a word, he pulled it off my foot.
Something about the confidence, the utter capability of that swift move, made me want to gasp.
Or request smelling salts so I didn’t faint.
I watched in disbelief as he snapped the heel like a twig, easy and casual like it wasn’t glued and nailed together. I was fairly certain the move didn’t require superhuman strength, but I was just as certain I couldn’t have cracked off a heel like that.
Well OKAY, I thought. I’m not even going to entertain any thoughts about what insanely attractive thing just happened.
Nope.
“Now they’re flats,” he said, looking up at me with a boyish half smile as he held out the boot for me to slide my foot back into. “Right?”
I swallowed and slid my foot back into the boot, suddenly giggly and light-headed as I stepped out of the car. “Right.”
The boots didn’t look right without the heels, but if you weren’t checking too closely, they worked.
When we got inside (where, true to his word, nobody even glanced our way), I saw what was happening at the far end of the bar just as he looked over and gave me the hugest grin.
“We have to,” he said.
“Nooo, oh my God, no,” I said, shaking my head. I’d never done karaoke and I was definitely going to keep that streak going. “You can, but I am not. Ever, like, never ever.”
“Oh, come on—just a little duet.”
“No, thank you,” I said, and I was a little surprised that he wanted to. That he was unserious enough about himself to think it’d be fun, laid-back enough to risk being spotted.
We went over to a table in the corner and sat down.
“Do you know what you want to drink?” he asked. “Because I think that bartender is literally the only guy working tonight.”
“Just a Jack and Coke,” I said.
“And fries,” he added. “Be right back.”
I watched as he went over to the bar and ordered, and I wondered—yet again—how this was happening.
I was at a random dive bar with Connor Cunningham and he was ordering my drink.
After asking me to sing a karaoke duet with him.
After buying me dinner.
After picking me up from my childhood home.
Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was sound asleep in my room at my dad’s house, Dale Earnhardt Junior was having the zoomies in the living room, and my brain was taking me on a wild ride with 9.63 inches of hand span.
That made as much sense as this actual date.
My phone buzzed and when I pulled it out, I had five messages. The first four were from Ellie.
SO???? How’s it going?
Chemistry still high??
Make sure you’re not too nice.
But be nice, ofc!!
I didn’t even attempt a response, because trying to explain the evening would take more time than I had.
The other message was from Matty. Dad wants to know if you’re being nice.
I rolled my eyes and set down the phone right as Connor came back to the table.
Wow, he was quite a sight.
His Elmer-Fudd-meets-serial-killer disguise was ridiculous, yet he somehow managed to pull off looking wildly attractive, even while costumed up.
Maybe it was his massive size, or maybe it had to do with the sexy little smirk he seemed to live in, but unattractive seemed to be the one thing he was incapable of.
How unfair, I thought as I sat in my busted boots.
“I can tell you’re desperate to blow me off, so I have an idea,” he said as he sat down across from me.
“What?”
His eyes dipped down to my phone on the table. Oh my God, he thinks I’m bored. He probably saw me rolling my eyes at my brother’s text and thought I wanted to get out of there.
“How about you do one duet with me and the worst date of your life is over; you don’t even have to finish your drink.”
It was wild, the way he said that, as if I actually hated going out with him.
Because that part definitely wasn’t true.
I hated the pomp and ceremony that’d accompanied the evening before we’d hit the bar, but I was actually having a good time with Connor. He seemed funny, kind, and smart, and in a different situation, I was pretty sure this would be a great date.
But I just didn’t know how to date somebody who was Somebody.
“It has been pretty dreadful,” I said with a smile, wanting him to know that I was having fun. “And I don’t even think there are duets anymore, Cunningham.”
“What are you even talking about? There’s ‘Die with a Smile’ by Lady Gaga, that depressing song from A Star Is Born by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, also wow—Gaga really likes a duet, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” I agreed with a laugh.
“We could also go super old-school, like ‘Islands in the Stream’ by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers.”
“Ewww.”
“What ewww? My nana loved everything Kenny and Dolly.”
“Of course she did.”
“Are you mocking Nana?” he teased with an eyebrow raise.
“I would never.”
Just as I was thinking that he could absolutely force me to do this simply by suggesting “Exile” (my all-time favorite song), he said, “And there’s always ‘Exile’ or ‘Coney Island’ if you’re into that Swiftie sort of thing.”
No way.
No way. I had to do it now, right?
“Are you?” I asked, suddenly curious about his music taste. “Into that sort of thing?”
He leaned a little closer, picked up his beer, and said, “I definitely know all the words without looking at the lyrics.”
“Oh, dear God,” I replied, reaching for my glass, smiling despite myself as I took a drink because the one-two punch of his überdirect eye contact and deep voice felt more powerful than the whiskey that warmed my throat.
And as he watched me, I realized that I wanted a little stupid silly moment with Connor—just the two of us—before life went back to normal.
I could let myself have that, right?
“Okay, so I guess we have to do ‘Exile,’ ” I said, shaking my head in disbelief as I set down my drink.
“Is Distefano excited about this?” he said before lifting his bottle to his mouth.
“Not excited, just trying to end this miserable date,” I teased. “But ‘Exile’ is a great song so we will do it.”
“Gimme More” started playing in my head yet again as I watched him take a few swallows of his beer, my eyes dipping down to his neck.
Knock it off, you thirsty bitch!
“We both know you’re excited, regardless of what you say,” he said, using the little keypad at the table to sign us up. “You’ve never done karaoke before, have you?”
“No, I have not,” I admitted, lifting my glass and downing the rest of my drink. “Have you?”
“Let’s just say there was a karaoke bar way too close to my apartment in college. My friends and I were there all the damn time, making fools out of ourselves on a regular basis.”