Chapter 4 #4
Oh god. Maybe he was forced into this. What if I was a dare or a bet? Am I living in an early 2000s rom-com?
I spend the next several minutes replaying every interaction I’ve ever had with this man, but when I’m through, I’m still not any clearer on what the hell I’m doing here.
And he still hasn’t spoken.
My phone rings loudly in my purse. I turned the volume up this afternoon while I was working in my classroom, so if I lost it again, I could find it, but I forgot to turn it down and now it’s obnoxiously going off, and my fingers can’t seem to work fast enough.
“Sorry,” I say, digging in my purse. It, like my desk, is a mess. I keep saying I’m going to clean it out and then I keep shoving more receipts and lip glosses into it.
By the time I find my phone, the unknown call has gone to voicemail. The guy at the table next to us side-eyes me. My terrible date is ruining his good one.
“Sorry.” I give him an apologetic smile and then look back to Conrad. “Sorry about that.”
He opens his mouth like he might be about to speak and then another phone goes off. This time it’s his. It’s quieter but definitely ringing. We have the same ringtone, which I choose to find adorable even though everything else about this date seems to be an abysmal failure.
His face turns pink again, and he reaches into his pocket. He barely looks at it before he silences it. He sets it face down on the table.
“Look at us being popular,” I say with a laugh.
Cue more awkward silence. Maybe I should tell him to answer the phone.
At least then I might be able to listen to him talk.
On top of everything, our server seems to have disappeared, and my Dr Pepper is almost empty, so I’m out of conversation starters and any distraction from how bad this is going.
His phone starts vibrating on the table again and then my obnoxious ringtone starts blasting. I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. I can’t control it, which only makes me laugh harder. “Oh my god, this is the worst date ever.”
Conrad’s face turns the color of a tomato. “I’m sorry. I . . .” His throat works, and he glances down at the table.
“No, don’t be,” I manage to get out as my laughter trails off. “Sometimes things just don’t click. We tried, right? I mean, do you really want to be here?”
The little hope I have left of salvaging this date evaporates when he doesn’t answer.
“Right,” I say, and start digging around for my phone again—and my wallet, so I can shove some cash on the table and bolt.
“Whitney.” Conrad’s voice has an apologetic lilt. He has a really nice voice.
“It’s okay. Really. I get it.” I don’t completely get it—at least why he asked me out in the first place, but it’s a mystery I’ll just have to live with because I absolutely refuse to ask him another question.
“Hey, excuse me.” The guy on the much better date at the table next to us raises his voice to me. “Can you turn off your fucking phone?”
I almost laugh again at the absurdity of the entire situation, but then I look over at him and he’s got a death stare aimed at me that steals the air from my lungs.
“Did you hear me?” He stands and takes a step toward us. His arms hang from his sides, and his brows slant like he’s an evil villain in a movie.
Conrad gets to his feet in a flash. The red of his face has spread to his ears. He puts himself directly in front of the guy.
“No.” For the first time tonight, his voice is loud and clear and leaves no room for argument. It’s only one word, but it has the guy taking a step back and a pleasant chill zipping down my spine.
“No?” the guy asks incredulously. He’s reined in his temper slightly, but he’s still visibly pissed.
“Don’t talk to her that way. If you have something to say, try using a whole different tone and adding the word please.
” Conrad has a foot on the guy and a lot of muscle, but he doesn’t loom over him or puff out his chest. He doesn’t need to.
The confident way he holds his ground and tells this guy exactly what he can and cannot do is somehow more intimidating.
“I’m trying to enjoy a meal with my girl and your chick is ruining it,” Angry Guy says, sounding less pissed and more whiny now.
I find my phone and silence it, then turn it to Silent Mode, something I should have done last time. I also find my wallet and hurriedly dig out the cash and put it on the table. Then I stand. “Sorry. My mistake. All good now.”
The guy’s gaze slides past Conrad to me, and he gives me an appreciative nod before scampering back to his seat.
Conrad and I face off. I try to read his expression, searching for any indication of what is going on in his head.
Why did you ask me out? Why haven’t you asked me one question about myself all night? Why did you stand up for me just now?
When the silence stretches on too long, I officially give up.
“I’m going to go,” I say. “Thank you for . . .” I trail off. What exactly am I thanking him for? “Have a good night.”
He nods and then I hightail it out of MVP and vow to go back to my rule of never dating hockey players. Nothing good can possibly come of it.