Page 10 of The Dating Proposal
I listen intently as Hot Guy begins detailing his tactics, talking with his hands, moving his body back and forth, up and down a bit to simulate the way Mario has to keep up with an unpredictable rope. This guy has the kind of arms that women driving cars slow down for, the kind of physique that turns a gal into a gawker. The way his T-shirt falls just so tells me all I need to know about the abs that lie flat beneath.
I remind myself to pay attention, because it’s rude to simply stare at his washboard belly instead of his face, especially when his face is so very lovely too. I’m an equal-opportunity gawker. I nod as he shares his gaming secrets, and hope I’m not visibly salivating.
I’m not a gamer geek, but I adored retro games growing up, since my parents used to take Julia and me bowling on Saturdays, and the Silverspinner Lanes boasted all the original arcade games like Q*bert, Frogger, and, of course, both Pac-Mans.
Last year, I took to the console after Todd left. Games passed the time, but they also distracted me. I got lost in their worlds and was able to escape from mine.
“What other games do you like?” Hot Guy asks, and something about the question startles me. Maybe because it’s so normal, and he seems legitimately curious. Then there’s the simple fact that we’re having a conversation in the middle of an electronics store.
“Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly,” I say with a completely straight face.
He picks up the cue easily, raising an eyebrow as he asks, “Clue?”
“Of course. And it was always Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick.”
“Interesting. Because Miss Scarlet was pretty wicked with that rope in the ballroom, if memory serves. What about Chutes and Ladders?”
“Let’s not forget Candy Land either.”
“What was your favorite candy destination in that game?”
“The vintage game, right? Not that new King Candy imitator?”
“As if I’d even be talking about that game,” he says playfully.
I’m about to answer when he puts his hands together as if he’s praying and says in a whisper, “Please say Ice Cream Floats. Please say Ice Cream Floats.”
I laugh with the kind of mirth I haven’t felt in a while, the kind that radiates through my whole body and turns into a huge grin. “Of course. I wanted to live in Ice Cream Floats.”
“I was all set to build a chocolate and licorice home in Ice Cream Floats. And this reminds me that I need to stock up on the classic games too. But I don’t think they sell them here.”
“I came here because Gadgets, Gizmos, and Geeks is closed, and that’s the only place nearby that actually fixes hard drives.” I put on my best sad face. “I was the victim of a cat hard-drive attack.”
He pretends to be taken aback. “I’ve heard of those. How awful.”
“It was terrible. Fur, claws, and metal everywhere.”
“My condolences. Hopefully you at least caught it on camera so you can post it on YouTube?”
I snap my fingers, aw-shucks-style. “If only.”
“Next time.”
“Or perhaps next time I will do a better job making sure the hard drive is out of his reach.”
He shrugs confidently, quirks up his lips. “Can I see it?”
“Um, sure.” Does he have a thing for broken hard drives? I reach into my bag where I have the drive and show him the silver device with the cracked end.
He surveys the damage. “I can fix it.”
I give him a quizzical look. “Seriously? You can fix a hard drive? Do you moonlight as a computer-repair guy?”
“Not exactly. I can fix pretty much anything.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Want me to try?”
I study his face, trying to figure him out. “You really want to?”
“I do. Yeah,” he says, as if he’s digging the prospect of repairing the damaged device. “I really enjoy that kind of challenge. It’s kind of like a game to me.”
But I don’t want to hand over a hard drive to a total stranger. “Actually . . .”
He smiles, raises a finger. “And I bet you probably don’t want to give your hard drive to a total stranger.”
I shrug, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. But you can’t be too careful.”
“I hear you completely. But this is simple. And . . .” He inches closer, reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and dangles his keys. Is he going to take me for a ride? “I have the tools right here.”
I blink, surprised. “What?”
He waggles the keys, and I spy a tiny little tube that looks like it holds screwdrivers.
“You carry computer-repair tools with you?”
He smiles casually. “You never know when you might need them. I also carry a Swiss Army knife. I read 101 Things a Navy SEAL Knows.” He glances out the window of the store at Chestnut Street, teeming with pedestrians. “And I also know the café next door makes a killer espresso. I’ll fix it while we get a cup of joe.”
