Chapter Four
Jason
I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot, and I don't even care.
Walking back to my dorm from the engineering building, I keep replaying the last two hours in my head like some kind of highlight reel, except instead of incredible saves, it's all the moments Violet smiled at me or laughed at something I said or got that excited sparkle in her eyes when she was explaining how gear ratios work.
Who knew mechanical engineering could be so attractive?
Actually, it's not the engineering that's attractive—though listening to Violet talk about optimization and stress analysis with genuine passion was definitely doing things to my heart rate.
It's the way she lights up when she's talking about something she loves and the way she looked at me like I was actually worth her time.
My phone buzzes with a text from Keith: How did the "educational consultation" go?
I type back: Really well. She explained thermodynamics and I didn't fall asleep once.
That good, huh? Details. Now.
We talked for two hours. About engineering and hockey and stuff.
"Stuff." Very descriptive, Harrison. Did you ask her out again?
The thing is, I want to ask her out again.
I want to ask her out properly this time, not under the flimsy pretense of learning about mechanical engineering.
But I also don't want to seem too eager, even though I'm pretty sure I crossed that line somewhere around the moment I asked fifteen questions about heat transfer just to keep her talking.
Working on plan, I text back, which is code for "I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm hoping inspiration strikes before I mess this up."
So what is it? And don't tell me you have no idea yet.
I’m not sure yet. Dude, I want to see her again, obviously. But I don't want to rush things or make her think I'm some kind of overeager hockey player.
You're overthinking this.
I'm not overthinking anything. I'm being careful. There's a difference.
Is there? Because it sounds like you're talking yourself out of asking out a girl who obviously likes you.
This is the problem with having friends who know you too well. They can see through your very reasonable caution and call it what it really is: fear of screwing up something good before it has a chance to become great.
What if she was just being polite to the guy who helped her collect pucks?
She’s not, dude. I’m telling you, she likes you.
Keith is right. Violet definitely wasn't just being nice when she said I was better than the starting goalies. There was real conviction in her voice, like she genuinely meant it and couldn't believe anyone would think otherwise.
Keith continues his texting rant. Plus Tyler said she stayed after practice yesterday to watch you run extra drills. Since when do equipment managers hang around to watch third-stringers practice?
She stayed? My heart does that stupid skipping thing again.
For like an hour. Just organizing already-organized equipment and definitely not watching you work on your glove hand.
The idea that Violet chose to stay and watch me practice, that she might actually enjoy watching me play, makes something warm and hopeful bloom in my chest.
Okay. I text back, making a decision that feels both terrifying and exactly right. I'm going to ask her out. For real this time. Not an educational consultation or an equipment emergency. An actual date.
Finally! He texts back.
After Keith’s last text, I shove my phone into my pocket and think: What do you do for a first real date with someone who's way smarter than you and probably has better things to do than hang out with a guy whose greatest accomplishment is stopping rubber discs from going into a net?
I spend the rest of the walk to my dorm thinking about what I actually know about Violet beyond her professional competence and her ability to make mechanical engineering sound fascinating.
I know she has a dry sense of humor. I know she cares about doing good work and takes pride in solving problems. But I don't know what she does for fun, or what her favorite food is, or whether she likes movies or concerts or hiking or any of the normal things people do when they're not managing hockey equipment or studying engineering. Which means I need to find out.
I'm just pulling out my phone to text her when I realize I have no idea what to say.
"Hey, what are your hobbies?" seems a little direct.
"Want to go on a real date?" might be too forward.
"I had a great time today and would love to see you again" is probably the right sentiment but sounds like something out of a dating advice manual.
I settle on: Thanks for the crash course in mechanical engineering today. I feel significantly more educated about stress analysis and significantly less likely to take everyday machinery for granted.
It's not exactly smooth, but it's honest, and honesty seemed to work pretty well during our coffee date.
Her response comes back faster than I expected: Thanks for being such an engaged student! Most people's eyes glaze over when I start talking.
Their loss, I type back. Though I have to admit, I might have ulterior motives for being interested in your expertise.
I send that message and immediately panic. Was that too forward? Too obvious? Am I coming on too strong for someone who spent two hours explaining the engineering principles behind coffee machine design?
But her next message makes my heart do a complete somersault: Oh really? What kind of ulterior motives?
Okay, she's definitely flirting back. Which means I need to step up my game and actually ask her out instead of dancing around it like a middle schooler with his first crush.
The kind where I ask if you'd like to have dinner. I type. Somewhere that doesn't serve coffee in paper cups and where we can talk about things other than heat transfer coefficients.
Though heat transfer coefficients are fascinating conversation topics, she replies, and I can practically hear her teasing tone through the text.
Absolutely, I agree.
You're really committing to this whole engineering education thing, aren't you?
Well, I figure if I'm going to be taught by the best, I should take full advantage.
There's a pause, and for a moment I worry I've laid it on too thick. But then she texts back: I'd love to have dinner with you, Jason. Fair warning though, I might accidentally explain why restaurant equipment works the way it does.
I'm counting on it, I reply, grinning so widely that I probably look like a crazy person walking across campus. How about Friday night?
Perfect.
“Good. I’ll pick the restaurant.”
She replies with a thumbs up emoji.
By the time I get back to my dorm, I'm practically floating. Violet said yes. She wants to have dinner with me.
Tyler's sitting at his desk when I walk in, supposedly studying but actually scrolling through social media, and he takes one look at my face and starts laughing.
"Oh man," he says, "you've got it bad."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I lie, dropping onto my bed.
"You look like someone just told you Christmas was happening twice this year. Let me guess—Violet said yes to whatever you asked her."
"We're having dinner Friday night," I admit, because trying to hide my excitement would be pointless at this point.
"Nice! Where are you taking her?"
"I don't know yet. I’ll surprise her."
"Remember to chill. You don’t have to act like someone you’re not.”
"I’ll be myself, I guess," I say. "And try not to spill anything on her or accidentally quote hockey statistics when I'm nervous."
"Good plan. Simple. Hard to mess up."
"Unless I overthink it," I admit.
"Which you absolutely will," Tyler says cheerfully. "But that's part of your charm. You care enough to overthink things, which means you're taking this seriously."
After Tyler goes back to his definitely-not-studying, I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about Friday night.
My phone buzzes with one more text from Violet: Looking forward to Friday. Try not to learn too much about engineering between now and then. I'd hate to run out of things to teach you.
I type back: "Don't worry. I'm pretty sure I could spend years learning from you and never run out of questions."
After I send that, I realize how that might sound—like I'm thinking about years in the future, like I'm already planning some kind of long-term relationship with a girl I've technically only hung out with twice.
But instead of panicking about coming on too strong, I find myself hoping that's exactly how it sounds.