Page 39 of Big Stick Energy
“Wow,” Zoe says. “It’s almost mind-blowing how you’re the least romantic person I have ever met.”
“Accurate. But I have my reasons. You’ve heard my stories.” I always tell Zoe about my worst dates, because they’re so entertaining.
“They’re notallfrogs,” she insists. “I finally found my prince.”
“Of course you did,” I say, just to keep the peace. I don’t point out that she had a terrible, soul-crushing relationship with someone else first.
Or that most of us never find an off-ramp from the dating express highway. Devoted men are rarer than quiet moments at a Legends game. I’m happy for Zoe that she doesn’t understand that. But we don’t all have her luck.
“This is going to make the wedding interesting,” she says. “And just think—you’ll have someone to slow dance with at the reception. Maybe that’s why Eric decided to make you his fake girlfriend.”
“I doubt it.” In the cool light of day, I’m still pretty confused about why Eric pulled this ruse. Tessa can be annoying, for sure. But how annoying could she have really been in the five minutes I’d left him alone?
“What are you wearing to the wedding? Should I brace myself for a fashion crisis?”
“Possibly? I need to look ravishing enough to annoy my sister, but I don’t want Eric to think I’m trying too hard. I need to play it cool.”
As if that’s possible. Last night I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time smiling up at the darkened ceiling of my hotel room, remembering the serious crease in the middle of Eric’s forehead during our silly dance number. And the weight of his hand on my waist during our cha-cha.
And the scent of his cologne at close range.
“If you need a shopping buddy, I’ll… suggest someone,” Zoe says.
I crack up. “Can’t bring yourself to walk into a department store, even for your best friend?”
“As if I’d be any help. If it’s not workout gear or a skating costume, it’s pretty much a mystery to me.”
“I love you anyway.”
“And I am grateful. Gotta go! Chase and I are going to the gym together.”
“So romantic,” I tease.
She drops her voice. “He looksreallygood sweaty. And pumping iron always puts him in the mood.”
“Go on, then,” I snicker. “I have to finish getting ready for brunch.”
We hang up, and I put on some music and finish my hair, until Eric’s name lights up my phone with a text. My stomach flips right on cue.
Eric:Congratulations on our win, Darcy.
Darcy:Do you mean the dance-off?
Eric:Of course! Don’t you have a text from Tessa? She told me herself.
Darcy:Nope.
Eric:Well, that’s weird.
Darcy:Is it though? Tessa hasn’t texted me in a decade.
It’ssolike her to text him and not me. But who cares? I called it—we won the contest. My gimmicky idea probably helped us by, say, 10 percent. But the other 90 is all Eric—everyone wants to cast a vote for the handsome professional athlete. That’s just how the world works.
Eric:Well, maybe it isn’t that weird, because she also asked me if the Legends might need a social media manager.
I nearly drop my mascara wand in the sink.
Darcy:OMG, did you tell her no? A thousand times no? My job is hard enough without her smirking at me every day.
