“How’s your day going?” pops up on my phone from Finn.
“Good! On my lunch break. How’s yours going?”
Bonus points for Finn. He doesn’t tell me, he shows me. A photo comes through, and oh my, Finn at the gym is lethal. In a snug black T-shirt and gray gym shorts, he gives me a charming grin that’s framed by scruff along his masculine jaw. Behind him is a mirrored wall and I zoom all the way in to enjoy the reflected rear view. This is not a man who skips leg day. Or ass day. If that is a day. I’ve not seen the inside of a gym in...well, ever. I’m by no means a couch potato, but I also didn’t leave the mayo off my cheeseburger. Or my fries.
“Impressive,” I type back. “While you’re busy working out, I’m busy working on this.”
On impulse, I snap a photo of my food and send it.
“Mmm...you’re making me hungry.”
His three m’s cause me to shift in my chair. Maybe I do need to get laid.
“Have you picked the place yet?”
“Working on it. I’ve narrowed down my choices and will let you know soon.”
He clearly can’t tell I am a bad-liar-grown-up through text, finishing the conversation with an adorable smiling emoji. Part of me wishes I’d let him plan the date. The pressure to find somewhere out of the ordinary very nearly ruins my appetite for more mayonnaise. Until a man, wearing a Colorado Avalanche hat, sits at the table across from me. Ah-ha! Hockey. I’m trying to do things I wouldn’t normally, and Finn is obviously an active person.
It’s perfect. Thank you, stranger.
My appetite is saved.
To say I’m on the verge of hyperventilating is an understatement. I hate that stranger. What’s better than being a spectator, I had thought. Being on the ice, I had thought. I’d had the brilliant idea that we’d learn to play a game of hockey. With nothing but our first names and an email address I’ll likely get coupons on for the next decade, I was able to secure our spots for Stick and Puck at Sport Zone.
It’s just that in all my excitement, I’d sort of forgotten I haven’t ice-skated since eighth grade.
So as I stand outside waiting for Finn to arrive, I’m resisting the urge to cancel. I’m going to make a fool out of myself in front of someone I want to like me. For the first time, my brain is percolating with dating tips instead of history facts. The internet article I found said a study came to the conclusion people determine attraction within three seconds of meeting. That’s astounding. How can you decide that in such a short amount of time? People become more attractive as you get to know them. There are nuances to personality that contribute to attraction and—
Forget all that, apparently the study is true. I am definitely attracted to the tall, lean body dressed in jeans and a black button-down shirt striding toward me at a brisk clip.
“Chloe?” he asks as he approaches.
His voice is smooth and rich enough to make my bones putty.
I smile and internally squee. “Yep. Finn?”
His broad shoulders relax. “Thank God you didn’t catfish me.”
“Catfish you?”
He’s the one who looked like a magazine fitness model. But pictures did not do this man justice. Blue eyes peer at me from behind black frames and I may have just discovered a Clark Kent fetish.
He smirks. “You could’ve been scamming me. People do crazy things. I know someone who met a girl who had a whole stock photo family.”
“Really? Well, I guess that gives a whole new meaning to a picture-perfect family.”
While his eyes do a sweep of my body, I can’t help but wonder if I passed the three-second test. Since the date is casual, I opted for my favorite skinny jeans, a French-tucked plaid shirt, and heeled boots. Charlotte approved but said to “show the man some titty,” because she is a classy bride-to-be. So at the last minute, I slipped open a few buttons to reveal a provocative glimpse of cleavage.
Her suggestion worked, because his glance lingers on my breasts just a tad longer than appropriate. Sweet. I passed. God, he probably has abs under that shirt that’s clinging to him. If this date goes well, I might get to lick them at some point. Very exciting prospect.
“No scamming here. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
He laughs and it, too, is perfect—low and husky. “No.”
“Phew. Then again, I’m sure they all say that.”
“If you’d feel safer, I can text my driver’s license to one of your friends?”
Maybe he’s joking, but it actually would make me feel better. “Would you mind?” Okay, I know that probably kills the mood. But better the mood than me, right? I may have inherited Granny Mae’s penchant for one-liners after all.
He reaches in his pocket and removes a silver clip holding some money and a few cards. Within a minute, Charlotte now knows who to come looking for if anything happens.
“Thank you, Finn,” I say. “This is all kind of strange, huh?”
“Stranger things have happened, I’m sure.” He gives a sexy head nod toward the sprawling building behind me. “So, what are we doing?”
His brows rise as I explain what tonight will entail.
“Wow. Very cool.”
Another study showed that remembering snippets about a person is not only flattering but also shows interest. I give it a go and hope I don’t sound like a stalker.
“I gathered you were athletic from your profile, and you said you like winter, so I thought this would be fun.”
These date-studiers are onto something. His gaze locks with mine with what can only be interpreted as awe. “I’m impressed.”
“Ready?”
“Are you?” he challenges in a way that makes me feel as if he’s not really talking about the ice. Which, of course,
