Page 10 of The Date

“I’ve never taken a Pilates or Zumba class, let alone instructed one.”

“Are you insane? You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m trying to tell you⁠—”

“Tell me what?” The words tumble out before he can finish. “That you have multiple personalities, and I had dinner last night with one of your alter egos called Brendan?”

When I hear him chuckle, I swear tiny red lasers shoot from my eyeballs. “There’s nothing funny about this situation, arsehole.”

“Who’s a pretty Polly?” Squawk. “Who’s a pretty Polly? Not you, arsehole.”

“Shut up, Polly,” I scream, losing my last shred of patience.

“Who’s Polly?” Not-Brendan asks.

“My parents’ foul-mouthed parrot that I’m two seconds away from putting on Gumtree with a warning label.” I puff out my cheeks. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and drop my head backwards in frustration. “I’m not sure which personality I’m talking to right now, but I already know I prefer Brendan.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Squawk. “Shut the fuck up.” Squawk.

Not-Brendan clears his throat. “If you and Polly—who sounds like they have Tourette’s, by the way—let me get a word in, I’d be able to tell you my name might not be Brendan, but I don’t have multiple personalities, I only have one. Last night was simply a case of mistaken identity. You sat down at the wrong table. I was supposed to be meeting a client, not a date.”

My mouth gapes open as I let his words sink in. “Hold on a second,” I say as my left eye twitches. “So you’re basically telling me I hijacked your business meeting, stole dinner, kissed you, and then lay in bed last night all swoony over a date you weren’t even on?” He barks out a laugh, and my nostrils flare. “This isn’t funny!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, still chuckling. “But you really did walk into a restaurant, sit at my table, introduce yourself as Rose, and proceed to have dinner with me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please stop talking. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to fake my own death and move to another country.”

“Rose, sweetheart.”

“Don’t you dare sweetheart me, you … you ... Not-Brendan, date-stealing imposter!”

“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think? It was you who approached me and sat down at my table.”

“And you let me!” I yell down the line. “You could’ve said, ‘I’m sorry, crazy lady. I believe you have me mistaken for someone else’.”

“I could’ve,” he admits.

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“The truth?”

“No, lie to me. Of course I want the truth. Are you even capable of telling the truth? Because I’m having serious doubts right now.”

“The truth is, initially I was mesmerised by your beauty. Then you launched into that story about your Grandfather murdering your Grandmother over chicken innards, and I found you refreshing. You seemed like a much more entertaining choice than a boring old business meeting.”

I throw my free arm in the air. “Oh, so I was purely there for entertainment value. Un-friggin’-believable.”

“No, Rose. You were there because I wanted you there.”

“Don’t,” I say. “No amount of sweet-talking will ever make up for what you did. Poor Brendan, the real one, thought I stood him up.”

“I’ll admit even I felt a tad bad for the poor bastard. He looked so dejected by the time he finally left.”

I gasp as my eyebrows jump so high they almost reach my hairline. “You saw him?”