Page 10 of The Dating Charade
“Wait. How much of a risk are we talking here—”
The line, however, went dead before Cassie could finish her question.
4
Jett
Dear Jett,
Of course I remember you. How could I not, if you know what I mean? *wink wink*
How’s tomorrow night sound, 6:30 p.m.? Meet me at Girls Haven. I’ll be waiting outside. I’m up for anything you want to do. Surprise me.
Cheers!
Cassie
P.S. Skip the messages and text me at 865.345.6473 from now on. I think we can both agree this online dating site is for the birds.
P.P.S. If you have any of the following conditions—agateophobia, pluviophobia, thaasophobia, Russophobia, pupaphobia, are married and seeking an affair, alcoholic seeking more alcohol, a kleptomaniac, rude, or boring—text me immediately. Deal’s off.
P.P.P.S. I’m a sucker for old-fashioned chivalrous-men things. Bring flowers.
Jett read the message for the third time before tucking it into his pocket and pulling out his debit card. His eyes skimmed the row of colorful bundles before landing on an arrangement of white alstroemerias and Douglas firs mixed with pinecones and red berries, held together by a large, red satin bow. “That one,” he said and handed the man his card.
As he stepped back into his car, he couldn’t help feeling compelled to check the message yet again. Strange. Exceedingly strange. But despite getting commanded by his date to bring flowers to his date, the infraction wasn’t about to slow him down a minute. Perhaps she’d turn out to be crazy. It was quite possible the woman she was up close was a far cry from the perception he’d had half a lifetime ago. Even then, the extent to which he “knew” her was the daily crossing of paths in crowded halls between the bells of 1:00 and 1:05 p.m. He “knew” how she felt each day as he watched her mood show on her face, her joy as she laughed with another teammate over some shared story, the frustration when the halls were busier than usual and the bell was about to sound, the playfulness—oh, the pain he’d felt from February on through her graduation—as she clung to Peter Eckstut, wearing his football jacket and school letters. But the time he enjoyed seeing her most was on the court.
Back then, that girl could shoot.
Jett realized he was grinning as he turned his truck around the corner and saw her standing, as promised, on the sidewalk. As he pulled to a stop in front of her, a flurry of nonsensical, boyish fears dropped in and took up residence in his chest.
Aside from the frown on her face, she hadn’t changed one bit. A thin black jacket wrapped tightly around her, Cassie Everson stood—clearly freezing—on the sidewalk. Though he, too, wore a nice pair of jeans matching his black, button-down oxford shirt, she had underdressed him by a mile. The pink collar of a polo peeked out from above her jacket, and her orange-and-green Nikes met at the bottom of her skinny jeans. Her hair—or rather what he could see of it from the ponytail—looked darker than the picture, and more than a few strands were out of place, as though she had put it up hours ago and forgotten about it in the chaos of the day. She hoisted a large work bag full of binders over her shoulder.
In sum, the only item matching the level of attention he’d given to the evening was a simple pair of diamond studs twinkling behind wayward wisps of hair.
“Cassie?” Jett stepped out of his truck and, feeling more than a little silly, brought the bouquet of flowers with him. “It’s been a long time.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
He and his bouquet froze on the curb.
Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, and it was clear he hadn’t disappeared like a bad dream, she put out a forced hand.
“Hi, there. I’m Cassie.”
Slowly, he shook hers. “I know. I just said your name.”
She flew past his reply. “Look, I’m really, really, sorry to do this to you, but whatever you were told about tonight or—” her eyes flicked to the bouquet as though he was holding a python “—were planning isn’t going to work out after all. I’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes waiting on a friend. But apparently—” her eyes darkened, the same look he imagined on murderers just before they pounced “—that friend got the bright idea to send someone else instead. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I could put my best foot forward after the day I’ve had. Consider yourself lucky to be off the hook.”
She managed a weary smile, but her eyes seemed wary, as though half expecting him to fly off the handle at the news. And why not? It was certainly a punch in his gut to have the date he’d spent two hours cleaning his car for, put on uncomfortable clothes for, and bought absurdly overpriced flowers for barely take a glance at him before informing him she’d rather spend the evening alone than at a free dinner in exchange for conversation. Frustration, to whatever degree, was the normal reaction. However. This wasn’t any old date who was attempting to turn him down.
Jett paused, carefully putting together the facts. “So, let me just clarify here. You never wrote me a message. We never corresponded in any way.”
Cassie nodded.
