Page 11 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
HotRodLover: Math is the bomb. I could do it all night and never grow tired.
LuckySuit: All night long? That’s some serious numerical stamina.
I shimmy my shoulders back and forth. It’s like I’ve consumed ten energy drinks and I’m tossing the balls in a dazzlingly high arc. I am a most excellent spy.
HotRodLover: I once entered a multiplication marathon. I won.
LuckySuit: Impressive. How long did it last?
HotRodLover: Why, I thought you’d never ask. ;) Seven hours and ten minutes. I won a calculator. Have you ever done a marathon?
LuckySuit: Yes. Do you want to ask how long it was?
HotRodLover: As a matter of fact, I think I do want to ask that. :)
I reread my last reply. And the one before. And before.
My jaw drops.
I’m falling too far out of character. I don’t sound like Grams. I sound like me talking. Admittedly, Grams’s guy is kind of cool and interesting, and he’s passing all my screening tests. But I need to make sure I don’t sound too much like her twenty-eight-year-old granddaughter.
Or like I’m flirting with him.
Wait. Am I flirting with this guy? Maybe a little?
It’s kind of weird that I’m enjoying it.
I take a breath.
I’ll just go chat with ThinkingMan for a bit, so I don’t get too carried away with the charade again.
I toggle over to exit the poker app when LuckySuit replies, and my eyes pop wide.
LuckySuit: And might that be because you’re actually Kristen?
Busted. The balls tumble down.
6
Cameron
Someone turns up the speakers, and Panic! at the Disco takes over the evening air poolside.
Smiling to myself, I reread the conversation. I had a feeling, and I was right.
And I have to admit, I think Jeanne might have been onto something when she dropped her anvil-size hints yesterday at the car auction about her granddaughter being single. She clearly thought we’d be a good match, and maybe she had the right idea.
Kristen is one fiery lady, and I dig that.
I dig that a hell of a lot.
But I especially like honesty.
And Kristen’s showing it right now when she answers my question.
HotRodLover: Gulp.
LuckySuit: Would that be a yes?
HotRodLover: I think it’s patently obvious the answer is a yes. As in yes, I’m Kristen. I’m the scientist. I’m her twenty-eight-year-old granddaughter. I’m weirdly good at poker. I also did a multiplication marathon post-college, so you can call me a geek girl, but I’ll have you know I competed in Roller Derby in high school and college, so yeah, they balance each other. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
LuckySuit: Let’s talk about this Roller Derby. That’s seriously impressive.
HotRodLover: Hold on. We can’t keep talking. I can’t talk to you like this. I was simply trying to ascertain what your intentions were with my grams!
I spit up my drink. Seriously? I stare at the question on the screen. She seriously just asked me that? I crack up as I type.
LuckySuit: My intentions with Jeanne? That’s why you were working me over like a detective trying to shake down a perp?
HotRodLover: That’s exactly the effect I was going for. I see it worked.
I swear I can picture the bespectacled brunette perfectly—hands on hips, arms akimbo, chin up. Challenging me. And yes, for the record, she looks cute in the photo my mind just snapped. I don’t need Photoshop for her.
LuckySuit: Let me get this straight. You were slinging your litany of questions at me to determine if I’d be a good man to date your grandma?
HotRodLover: Of course. Someone has to look out for her. Family is important, like we were saying.
LuckySuit: Family is mega, super-duper, supremely important.
HotRodLover: So . . . ticktock. Intentions. What are they, mister?
She is too adorable. Too in your face. Too bold. And I like it.
LuckySuit: Let me lay things out for you. I have no intentions with her other than friendship. And there are many reasons for that. But one of them starts and ends with family—my uncle is interested in her! Which also means . . . wait for it . . . I’m not your Grams’s age.
She doesn’t reply right away, and as the indicator lights bounce around, I snap a photo of the darkening sky then take in my surroundings, enjoying how different Miami is from my current home in Manhattan.
I breathe in the salt air and the warm breeze. I hear someone splashing, and I wish momentarily that this life was mine. I take the time to savor everything that’s not New York City, from the pace, to the pools, to the waves, to the vast stretches of sand.
Most of all, to the mood. I do love the vibe of this tropical city. Especially now.
HotRodLover: So your uncle is the guy from the car auction?
LuckySuit: He runs it.
HotRodLover: He’s not an ax murderer?
LuckySuit: Not that I’m aware of.
HotRodLover: Because you’d know if he was? He’d tell you?
