1. Chapter 1 #2
“Understandable,” I say, knowing I would sprint out the back door if I ever saw him set foot in the salon I work at.
“Do you, uh, like cutting hair?”
“I love helping women feel like their most beautiful, confident self.” I wish that I was anywhere but here, but I feel trapped since my cousin works with him.
I wouldn’t want her to get caught in the cross fire.
I fidget with the edge of the napkin in my lap and push through the awkward conversation. “What made you want to be a realtor?”
“I guess you could say it runs in the family.” He snorts, but I don’t get the joke. “It was the practical choice. I like practicality. It’s also how I view dating. If a woman can get along with my mother, I know she’ll be the kind of woman I can pair well with.”
Just what every woman wants to hear.
If it wasn’t already obvious before, it is now: Mike is a mama’s boy. They’re a TLC reality show’s dream duo with their attachment issues. Sounds to me like they should be going to therapy rather than going to dinner, but I’m no expert.
Thankfully, Tracy returns with our drinks. I take a sip and close my eyes as the flavors hit my taste buds. It’s one of the best lemonades I’ve ever had. The perfect balance of tart and sweet with just the right hint of strawberry.
“Are you folks ready to order?”
“Yes,” I say before anyone else can answer. I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet with how the night has unfolded, but I’ll order anything to get out of here as soon as possible.
Mike taps his menu on the table. “I’ll have the filet mignon.”
“How would you like that cooked?”
“He likes it medium-well,” Susan answers for him.
I glance down at my menu to hide my frown. One more hour, tops. I can survive sixty more minutes.
Tracy’s lips pull into a thin line. “And for your side, sir?”
Mike turns to his mom again. “Do you think getting a baked potato will make me look bloated?”
I can’t tell if this is for real or if I’m getting Punk’d. I know that show was canceled forever ago, but maybe it got rebooted just for this moment. Because this guy can’t seriously ask his mom for her opinion on everything.
“You already worked out twice today.” Susan tilts her head. “I think that should be fine, just no butter or sour cream.”
Practicality and plain potatoes. Sounds perfect for my man, Mike.
There might be people out there who enjoy plain baked potatoes and, I mean, good for them. But I don’t choose to live in that kind of sad existence.
“And for you, ma’am?” The waitress looks to Susan.
“I already told you.” She crosses her arms on the table. “The steak special to go with my red wine.”
“Right, of course.” Tracy doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. I wish I could have her attitude right now, but my fear of any form of conflict wins out.
“I want it well done. And a side salad, no dressing.”
“And for you?” Her face softens as she looks at me. It makes me want to break out into song. We’re all in this together, Tracy.
Normally, I’d order steak frites, but today I think I’ll try something new in spite of my tablemates. “Could I get an order of the crab cakes you mentioned and a loaded baked potato.” I look directly at Mike as I say, “Extra butter and sour cream.”
Mike averts his gaze as his mom pops her lips. “That’s a choice.”
“A delicious one.” I take another sip of my drink.
“You know what I always say.” Susan reaches over and boops Mike’s nose. “A moment on the lips.”
“A lifetime on the hips,” Mike finishes.
I take a deep breath while Tracy shoots me a sympathetic look. “I’ll get your order in right away.”
Thank goodness for Tracy.
When she walks away, Mike raises his wine glass of apple juice and swirls it around under his nose before deeply inhaling like he’s a connoisseur of juice de là apples. He takes a sip and dramatically smacks his lips before finally saying, “That’s a good one. Definitely not your average juice box.”
A laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. I grab my napkin and hold it over my mouth, attempting to hide my outburst with a fake cough.
Susan turns to me with a grin that looks just as fake. “You really should get that cough checked out, dear.” She swirls her wine in the exact same motion as Mike did his juice. Even their mannerisms are identical.
I lay the napkin back on my lap. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Mike turns to his mom. “Is it too forward to compliment her on a first date?”
“Every woman loves being told they’re beautiful.” Susan sits ramrod straight in her chair, her chin turned up haughtily. “You compliment me every morning.”
If I was feeling bold, I’d tell her, Trust me, lady.
I’m not jealous of this giant man-child complimenting you every day.
He’s clearly delusional and not able to make his own life choices while you just enable this wild behavior.
I want nothing to do with either of you.
He can continue living attached to your hip, just like you want.
But might I recommend some therapy for your almond mom ways and attachment issues?
“Mom, don’t embarrass me.” Mike shakes his head and snickers before winking at me.
I press my lips into a thin line while Mike straightens his tie.
He shoots me a cocky grin. “Your dress is…wow.” His eyes slither downward, and I wish I could crawl out of my skin. Does he really think checking me out—in front of his mother, no less—is a good idea?
“Did you pick it out just for me?” he croons.
I’m glad I haven’t eaten anything yet because my stomach sours. I didn’t know it was possible for a man to be this oblivious and gross at the same time.
I’m not the kind of girl to cut a date early, but I don’t think I can sit here for another minute. Patrice will just have to live with the awkward encounters with Mike at work.
I pick up the napkin I have draped across my lap and wipe my mouth before dropping it on the table and grabbing my clutch. “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” I stand, and Susan jumps out of her seat.
“Oh, I’ll go with you.”
Wonderful. There goes my plan to climb out the window. Not a chance mother dearest is going to let me escape.
She only washes her hands while I hide in a stall and pull out my phone to send an SOS text.
Men come and go. Okay, really, they just go like an endless revolving door of terrible first dates.
But my friends have stuck around through it all.
One of whom just so happens to be Austin Bradford, the starting shortstop for our local MLB team, the Louisville Mustangs.
And he’s also the best baker I know. I’m really grateful he had an early home game today, because that means he’ll probably be at his house, waiting for me with a fresh batch of whatever he felt like whipping up today.
He’s been there for me after every terrible date, ready to supply a listening ear and his newest sweet creation.
He’s too good for this world. Austin is somehow masculine while being the most thoughtful, caring man I know.
It’s too bad he’s too focused on his baseball career to date. That he only sees me as a friend.
He’s finishing up his third year in the MLB this season, so he’s almost done with the pre-arbitration contract. I still don’t fully understand all the details, but from what I’ve gathered, it basically means he’s getting paid less without room to negotiate his salary.
Moving into next season, he should be able to negotiate that with the team.
And while players typically stay with their original team for the first six years, they can be traded at any point.
But he’s told me it’s especially common to be traded in the first three rookie years since it costs the teams less money.
With how well Austin has been playing, I’m terrified he’s going to call me one day saying he’s moving across the country. So, I guess it’s probably for the best that we’re only friends when there’s no guarantee how long he’ll play for the Mustangs. Even if I wish we could be so much more.
What was I doing before I started daydreaming about Austin…? I glance back at my phone screen. SOS text. Right, got it.
I tap his name in my pinned texts and type out a message.
ME
Are you home tonight?
He texts back almost instantly.
AUSTIN
Just pulled cookies out of the oven.
ME
You’re the most wonderful human I’ve ever met!
AUSTIN
I’d beg to differ.
ME
You bake.
You’re a pro athlete.
Dare I keep going?
AUSTIN
Only if you want to inflate my ego to the point where I can’t fit in the dugout.
ME
Impossible.
You’re too humble for that.
AUSTIN
And you think too highly of me.
ME
Not a chance.
AUSTIN
Since you’re texting me when you’re supposed to be on a date, I’m guessing it’s safe to assume it’s not going well?
ME
That’s an understatement.
AUSTIN
Do you need an out?
Just give me the signal and I’ll call and tell you there’s a gas leak at your house. Or your nonexistent beloved childhood guinea pig has passed away.
ME
Nooo, not Squeakers.
AUSTIN
May he rest in peace.
ME
CA-CAW!
AUSTIN
Was Squeakers actually a bird in disguise?
ME
Catch up, Slugger! That’s me giving you the signal.
AUSTIN
I’ve got you. Call you in five?
ME
Yes, please!