Page 52 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
“Why are you standing here with me, then?”
“I don’t know. That’s a good question.” I swallow hard, my throat burning.
He sighs, shaking his head. “Olivia, you’re doing it again.”
I sigh. I don’t fight the truth this time. “I know. I’m sabotaging it. Because I’m afraid.”
“And you like this guy. So, woman up and un-sabotage it.”
6
Herb
The morning brings no more answers.
Only a gigantic question mark when I check my phone and find zero messages from her.
Then again, I didn’t text her either.
I don’t need to have her reject me again. Doing it to my face last night was all I needed, thank you very much.
Still, the clinical part of me wants to understand what went down.
As the sun rises, I dribble a basketball on the court in Central Park then send it soaring into the net.
“And then she just left,” I tell my buddy Malone, a fellow vet.
“Admittedly, that’s not an ideal ending to a date.” That’s Malone for you. Straight up and to the point. He grabs the ball and whooshes it toward the net.
I snag it on the rebound. “It was literally the definition of a perfect date. Then she said, ‘I’m so tired, and I need to go.’ Boom. She was gone.”
“Ah, now I get it. Sounds like she didn’t want to see your sorry ass naked.”
I roll my eyes. “My ass is spectacular, clothed or naked.”
He shudders, like he’s watching a horror flick. “Don’t tell me anything more about your ass.”
“I’m just saying, it’s a gold-standard ass. She was checking it out.”
He covers his ears. “Stop. Make it stop.”
I shoot the ball, watching it arc into the net. “Anyway, that’s that. She made it clear. There’s nothing more that’s going to happen. I’ll just move on.”
He grabs the ball, stops, and stares at me. “Wait. That’s your takeaway?”
“Well, what should it be?”
“You like this woman, you had a great date, she turned sleepy at the end, and your conclusion is you should just walk away?”
“You said sleepy time isn’t the ideal ending to a date.”
He taps his chest. “I did, and it’s not, because sexy time is the ideal ending to a date. But just because you didn’t get there doesn’t mean you stop shooting the basketball.”
“I should throw a basketball to get to the sexy times?” I’m thoroughly perplexed.
“No. But here’s the thing. You like her, you had chemistry, and you had one weird moment. Dating is weird. It’s like when you put a sweater on a cat and they don’t know how to walk.”
I furrow my brow. “Pretty sure Olivia knows how to walk.”
“But you might need to help her take off the sweater.”
“Man, your analogy game needs work. Are you saying I need to undress her?”
“No. Well, not yet. But soon. What I am saying is you need to try again.”
I crack up, clapping him on the back. “Wow. I didn’t get that at all from the cat sweater analogy.”
“Just try with her. Give it your best shot. Let her know what you want. The worst that’ll happen is you’re back out there on the dating circuit, putting sweaters on cats.”
Maybe, just maybe, he’s right. Maybe I should try to decipher what happened, because that really was the perfect date. And I don’t want to give up this time.
7
Olivia
Later that day, I track down my matchmaker. We have lunch, and I tell her what happened.
“I really messed up.”
Evie pats my hand. “No, sweetie, you didn’t mess up, you got nervous. People get nervous. That’s what happens. The question is—where do you go now?”
“I want to see him again. I think he’s the one.”
She beams. “I believe that too. But you’re going to have to make it clear you’re not a runner. That you’re a stayer. Because I’m pretty sure he wants you to stay.”
“Does he?” Tingles sweep through my body.
“The two of you are meant to be.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you believe in that? That people are meant to be together?”
“I do. Now you need to do what you should have done last night.”
And I don’t wait. I whip out my phone at lunch, dial his clinic, and ask to speak to Dr. Smith.
Evie beams the whole time, the proud matchmaker.
“He’s with a patient right now. May I take a message?” The man on the other end of the phone asks.
With a smile, and a belly full of nerves, I give him a message. “Can you please tell Dr. Smith that it’s Olivia and I would like to know if he would want to work on my checklist at Madison Square Park tonight?”
“I’ll give him the message.”
Evie claps.
I set down my phone, catching a glimpse of a message icon in the status bar. With butterflies fluttering, I click it open. It arrived fifteen minutes ago.
Herb: Hey, Olivia, so I’m not really sure what went wrong last night, but I’d like to try again with you. If you’re up for it, maybe we can meet at Madison Square Park after work.
