The Hating Game
“Yes. So many people lost jobs; I was lucky to keep mine. Even if it’s meant staying in the same role. I lost my best friend.” I make it sound like she’s dead now.
“Chief of operations will look pretty impressive on your CV, especially at your age.”
“Yes.” I breathe, imagining it in Arial font. Then I imagine it on Joshua’s CV, and the delicious daydream turns sour. “I’m preparing a presentation for the interview. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I haven’t been in the position to be as influential as I’d like. The timing’s always been off. I want to set up a formal project to get the backlist into ebook format. Repackaging the whole book, covers, the works. I think getting this new role will give me the leverage I’ve been lacking.”
“Sounds like you’ll be needing lots of support in terms of cover design. Keep me in mind,” Danny says. He rummages in his pocket and gives me his new business card. A lady at the next table looks at him sideways like, What a douche.
He signals for the check and hands over his credit card.
“Oh, thank you,” I squeak awkwardly and he smiles.
We walk to my car. “Sorry I talked so much about work.”
“It’s no problem. I used to work there, remember. So. This is it. Your car.” Danny stops, frames his hands around the car. “It’s incredible.”
“Isn’t she?” I lean on the door. “Free at last, free at last.”
“Did you just quote Martin Luther King Jr. in relation to your car?”
“Um. Yes, I guess I did . . .”
He bursts out laughing. “Man, you’re awesome.”
“I’m an idiot.”
“Don’t say that. I’d like to kiss you. Please,” he adds courteously.
“Okay.” We lock eyes. We both know this is it. The moment of truth. Either Danny blows my mind, or I have to pump u
p Josh’s ego.
We look like a pretty little Valentine’s card. The road is slicked with rain; a streetlight rings us in white. My red party dress is the focal point, and a man with the angelic white-blond curls is bending me back a little, his pale blue eyes dropping to look at my mouth. His height means we clinch together perfectly.
His breath is light and sweet from his dessert, and his hands spread respectfully at my waist. When his lips touch mine, I implore myself to feel something. I wish on every single shooting star overhead. I pray for the first dizzying kick of lust. I kiss Danny Fletcher again and again until I realize lust is never coming.
His mouth tips mine open a little, although he keeps his tongue in his mouth like the gentleman he is. I put my hand on his shoulder. His frame, which looked so fit and muscular at first glance, feels as light and insubstantial as chicken bones. I bet he couldn’t even lift me off the ground.
We both pull back.
“Well.” My hopes are absolutely dashed and I think he knows it. He studies my face. It was like kissing a cousin. All wrong. I want to do it again, to be sure, and when I move forward he takes a half step back and drops his hands from me.
“I enjoy spending time with you,” he begins. “You’re a great girl.”
I finish his sentence for him. “Can we just be friends, though? I’m sorry.”
His face shows disappointment that he didn’t get to say it first, relief and a little slice of irritation that makes me like him less.
“Sure. Of course. We’re friends.”
I take my car key out. “Well, thanks for dinner. Good night.”
I watch him walk away, his hand raised in farewell. He flips his car keys into his palm, his stride a little slow. An expensive meal exchanged for a bad kiss.
Well, you win the Kiss Competition, Joshua Templeman. I was afraid you would.
A tiny thundercloud is brewing inside me. This was a limp, dull, waste of an evening.
But the worst part? If Joshua did not exist, it would have been a fine date by my standards. Perfectly agreeable. I’ve had worse dates and far worse kisses. Even though the chemistry wasn’t ideal, we could have built on it. The only opportunity I’ve had in recent memory and it was ruined.