Chapter 10
Blake
There are exactly three reasons I don’t text Lisa Miller the morning after the party.
The first reason is that she slapped someone in public last night. She deserves at least twelve uninterrupted hours of peace before I start showing up again like a recurring problem she accidentally adopted.
The second reason is Zane. Technically, he hasn’t said anything. Which makes me think he either doesn’t realize this is happening or is overthinking it himself. Neither option is what I like.
The third reason is the most inconvenient one. I don’t want to text her. I want to see her. There’s a difference.
Texting is casual. Easy. Disposable. It’s the sort of thing I’ve done a hundred times with a hundred women. Women whose names I barely remember after the third message thread.
Lisa is not that. Lisa gets the car. Lisa gets the flowers. Lisa gets the effort.
Unfortunately, that realization hits me at six thirty in the morning on a Monday. I’m wide awake and staring at my ceiling like I’m about to take a final exam in emotional vulnerability.
Which is not a situation I recommend.
Practice starts at nine. By eight thirty, I’ve already made coffee twice and checked my phone six times. I have convinced myself not to drive past Zane’s building “accidentally.”
Growth.
Real growth.
Jake is already in the locker room when I get there. He is lacing his skates with the focused seriousness of someone trying to prove he belongs here.
He glances up when I sit down beside him.
“You look terrible.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I slept.”
“You blinked slowly for six hours.”
I ignore him. He doesn’t let that stop him.
“So,” he says casually, like he’s asking about the weather. “Zane’s sister.”
I stop tying my skate.
“What about her?”
“You like her.”
“That’s not a question.”
“It didn’t sound like one.”
He shrugs. “Everyone noticed.”
Perfect. Exactly what I wanted.
“Good,” I say finally. “Then I don’t have to explain it.”
Jake studies me for a second.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“That’s new.”
“It’s not new.”
“It’s new for you.”
I don’t answer that because he’s not wrong.
Coach walks in before the conversation can go somewhere inconvenient. He claps once and starts yelling about conditioning like he personally invented skating. It helps the situation for about ten minutes.
Until halfway through drills, when my brain decides to replay the moment Lisa caught the keys I dropped in her lap. The way she stared at them. The way she laughed like she couldn’t believe I was serious. The way she kept them anyway.
“Blake!”
I pivot just in time to avoid slamming directly into the boards.
Coach stares at me.
“You planning to join us today?”
“I’m here.”
“You’re thinking about something else.”
“I’m thinking about positioning.”
Jake nearly chokes laughing behind me.
I skate faster. Mostly because I suddenly need somewhere to put the energy in my chest.
After practice, I’ve decided waiting is stupid. Planning is better.
Lisa said she didn’t have her life together. Lisa said she needed time. Lisa basically said she needed proof I could be a gentleman. Fine. I can do proof.
Step one: coffee.
Step two: flowers.
Purple. Obviously.
Step three: logistics. This is where things get complicated.
“Absolutely not,” Josh says when he answers the phone.
“I need a favor.”
“That sentence never ends well.”
“I need lobby screen access. You know the doorman.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“It’s romantic,” I try to convince him.
“It’s suspicious.”
“It’s both.”
He sighs.
“What are you doing?”
“Asking Lisa out.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m committed.”
Silence.
Then:
“…fine.”
At four thirty, I’m standing outside Zane’s building. I’m holding coffee, flowers, and exactly zero chill.
JOSH: Screen ready
Perfect.
Lisa walks into the lobby three seconds later. Also perfect. The screen lights up.
LISA MILLER, WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?
She stops walking. Slowly turns. Sees me. Then the flowers. Then the coffee. Then the screen again.
“You did not,” she says.
“I did.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s romantic.”
“It’s public pressure.”
“It’s efficient.”
She laughs.
I step forward and hold out the coffee.
“Hazelnut latte,” I say. “Extra foam. No sugar.”
She takes the cup slowly.
“That’s dangerous.”
“I use my powers responsibly.”
Her mouth twitches.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says, nodding toward the screen.
“I know.”
“You definitely didn’t have to do the flowers.”
“They’re purple.”
“I noticed.”
“And the car works.”
“I drove it,” she admits.
“And?”
“…it has heated seats.”
“I told you.”
“That was unfair leverage.”
“It worked.”
She exhales, shaking her head like she’s trying not to smile.
“Blake.”
“Lisa.”
“You are persistent.”
“Yes.”
“You are dramatic.”
“Yes.”
“You are extremely confident this is going to work.”
“Yes.”
She studies me. Really studies me.
“Ok,” she says.
I blink.
“Ok?”
“Yes.”
Relief hits harder than expected.
“Condition,” she adds immediately.
“I accept.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I’m optimistic.”
“You need to prove you can be a gentleman.”
That surprises me.
“What?”
“I mean it,” she says. “You have a reputation.”
“I know.”
“You cancel dates in living rooms.”
“They weren’t important dates.”
“That’s worse.”
“Fair.”
She shifts her weight.
“I’m not interested in being part of your history.”
“You won’t be.”
“You say that now.”
“I said it before.”
“And I didn’t believe you then.”
I step closer.
“That’s fair too.”
She watches me carefully.
Like she’s waiting for a performance.
Instead, she gets honesty.
“I’ll prove it,” I say.
“How?”
“By showing up. Planning real dates. Not disappearing halfway through the night. Not flirting with anyone else while I’m standing next to you.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly.
“That last one feels targeted.”
“I’m learning.”
She smiles.
“And if I decide you’re not a gentleman?”
“Then I accept defeat and retrieve my car with dignity.”
“You are not getting that car back that easily.”
“See? Already attached.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” she echoes softly. “When’s the date?” she asks.
“Tonight.”
“Blake.”
“What?”
“You cannot plan a date in three hours.”
“I already did.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m extremely prepared.”
“How’s Sunday?”
“That works as well,” Blake sighs.
“What are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You like purple tulips.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s close.”
She sighs. But she doesn’t say no.
“Six?” I suggest.
She nods.
“Six.”
I start backing toward the door.
“Don’t be late,” I tell her.
“You asked me out.”
“And I’m already worried.”
She laughs.
“Go,” she says. “Before I change my mind.”
“Too late,” I reply. “You said yes.”
I turn to leave.
Then pause.
Turn back.
“Oh, and Lisa?”
She looks at me.
“When I ask you out again next week, I expect more credit for consistency.”
She shakes her head, smiling despite herself.
“You are unbelievable.”
“See you soon, trouble.”
And as I step outside into the cold Chicago evening, I realize something I didn’t expect.
I’m nervous.
Not first-date nervous.
Not impress-her nervous.
The other kind.
The kind where something important is about to begin, and I know it.