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Authors: Kate Perry

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BOOK: Project Date
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Yummy.
I cleared my throat and tried not to stare at certain parts of his body that were eye level from my seat on the ground. “Um, hi.”
He chuckled. “Hi.” Then he nodded toward the game. “You play soccer?”
“Oh, no.” I couldn’t help it—I sneaked a look at those certain parts. I wasn’t disappointed. “Chasing a ball isn’t my thing. I’m just here to cheer on my best friend.”
“Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”
“Go ahead,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why.
Rio dropped to the ground next to me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “It was nice seeing you the other night. Barry should bring you by more often.”
Ha! Barry would love that. “Actually, Barry and I aren’t dating.”
For the moment
, I added silently. But I figured I should be honest with Rio because Barry might talk to him.
“Really?”
Was it me, or did he sound kind of happy about that? I turned to look at him and, sure enough, he watched me with interest, kind of like he was wondering what I kissed like.
Okay, that might have been projection on my part.
I cleared my throat. “So how long have you taught at the gym?”
Rio didn’t seem to notice how lame my attempt at conversation was. He smiled and said, “I started teaching eight years ago, when I moved to Portland. I met Barry about that same time.”
I ignored Barry’s name and asked, “You didn’t grow up here?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We lived in Germany until I was ten and then Connecticut. My dad was career military but he retired and took a post teaching at West Point.”
“Oh.” I perked up. The military part was unfortunate, but my parents thought teaching was a noble profession. “What does he teach?”
“History of warfare and battle tactics.”
Oh. Somehow I doubted they’d find teaching the art of war noble. “What made you move out here?”
“I followed a woman.” He smiled ruefully.
The thought of him liking someone enough to move across the country with her didn’t sit well with me. Which totally didn’t make sense. I frowned. “Barry never mentioned your girlfriend.”
Not that Barry mentioned anything about any of his friends, but Rio didn’t have to know that. I was just fishing for information.
“No girlfriend.” He gazed at me for a drawn-out moment before he turned back to watch the game. “Lisa just needed me to help bankroll the move to Portland. I broke up with her shortly after the move once I realized what was going on.”
Ouch. I winced in sympathy, unable to imagine anyone using a guy like Rio. Aside from being absolutely drool-worthy, he was smart, attentive, and interesting. He did seem a little under-motivated in his career, but no one was perfect.
“And I’ve dated since, but I haven’t found anyone special.” He flashed me that look again.
What did it mean?
Before I could ask him, he got up and dusted his shorts off. “You should come by the gym sometime, Phil. Ask for me.”
“Uh. Right.”
He smiled. “I hope I see you.”
Frowning, I stared at him as he jogged away. Was that a pickup, or was he just drumming up attendance for his lessons?
“Too bad he isn’t the right kind of guy,” I murmured, because I wouldn’t mind him teaching me a thing or two.
I shook my head. I should have kissed him—surefire way of getting over this infatuation. He probably kissed like a fish. But as he faded in the distance, I had a hard time making myself believe that.
Chapter Five
Biggest Mistakes of My Life: The Annotated List
1.
Selling the ’67 Mustang I rebuilt in high school to pay for college—too bad I only attended for one year
2.
Not kissing Aaron Jackson while I had the chance, even if he liked Daphne better
3.
My prom dress—what kind of crack was I smoking??
4.
Turning down the job offer from pre-IPO Google—dumb, dumb,
dumb
5.
Going out with Ian
6.
Dumping Barry prematurely
I was in purgatory, and I had no one to blame but myself. And maybe Matt because he was the one who introduced me to Ian, though I felt fairly certain he’d deny all responsibility.
“Hey.” Ian nudged me. “Want some?”
I looked down at the basket of pretzels he offered and shook my head. “No, thank you.”
He turned to his left. “Want some?”
George, Ian’s friend, nodded and grabbed a fistful. “Thanks.”
Ian acknowledged the gratitude with an upward jerk of his chin before turning around. “How ’bout you?”
“Yeah. Thanks, man.” Chili, another one of his friends, took the outstretched basket and tipped it to pour some directly into his mouth. He chewed, downed half his pint, and belched so loud my beer glass vibrated.
Why he and George arrived with Ian, I had no idea. I asked Ian out for a drink. It never occurred to me that he’d bring friends. Idiot friends at that.
George slammed his pint down on the bar. “I’ve got a joke for you guys.”
I smothered a groan in my beer. Not another one.
“Two old ladies are standing outside their nursing home smoking when it starts to rain. The first lady pulls out a condom, cuts off the end, covers her cigarette, and continues to smoke.
“The second lady asks her what that is. Lady One says it’s a condom and that you can get them at the drugstore.
“The next day Lady Two goes to the drugstore and announces to the pharmacist that she wants a box of condoms. The guy’s embarrassed—she’s friggin’ eighty years old—but he delicately asks her what brand she’d like.
“The old lady says, ‘I don’t care, sonny, as long as it fits a Camel.’”
Can we say junior high? But the three of them high-fived, laughing it up like it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard.
It seemed like I should make an effort to get to know Ian (and, consequently, his friends). The only way to make any headway with them was to play along. So I said, “Guys, I have a joke for you.”
The sudden silence was deafening.
Mental shrug. They’d be believers after they heard my joke. I was already grinning just thinking about it. “How do you keep a programmer in the shower all day?”
Ian scratched his head (the most he’d reacted to anything I’d said all night—already this was a success). Chili and George exchanged frowns and then simultaneously asked, “How?”
“Give him a bottle of shampoo that says lather, rinse, and repeat.” I started laughing even before I finished the punch line. Oh, I cracked myself up. I stuck my hand in the air, ready for my high-five.
When nothing happened, I wiped the tears clouding my eyes and looked at them to see what the deal was. They all gaped at me like baboons.
I frowned. “Get it? Lather, rinse, and
repeat
.” They were programmers, for God’s sake—they should get it. I waited for it to strike them.
Nothing.
George coughed. “I’ve got another joke for ya.”
This time I did groan, but they didn’t hear me over the eager exclamations from Chili and Ian.
“Three dickless guys walk into a bar—”
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for lightning to strike me now before it was too late.
Having no vision affected my hearing because I completely missed the middle and end of George’s joke. Thank God. I opened my eyes in time to see the three guys chortling and exchanging high-fives. Again.
That was when I noticed Ian’s stained T-shirt had a hole in the right armpit. The hole itself didn’t bother me. (Though he knew he was going on a date with me. Couldn’t he have worn a clean T-shirt without any holes?) What disturbed me was the pale skin I saw through the hole. No hair.
I choked on my beer.
Chili whacked me on the back. “Ease up there, man.”
I nodded my thanks, not bothering to point out he had the wrong gender.
My mind whirred. The fact that Ian had no armpit hair bugged me. Big time. I forgot all about getting the guys to high-five me and instead thought about Ian’s armpits. Did he shave them or wax them? Why?
And how could I surreptitiously find out? I felt insanely curious about his preferred depilatory method.
George draped his arm over my shoulder. “So, Marta—”
“Mena,” I corrected automatically.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. You ever had cybersex?”
Cybersex was a favorite topic with these boys. It’d taken me only five minutes in their company to figure that out. It wasn’t a big surprise though—I was beginning to suspect that none of them had ever touched a woman who wasn’t inflated. “Can’t say that I have.”
“I’ve been thinking of making a suit you slip on that’s connected to software on your computer. Say there’s a woman you like—” George frowned. “Well, not
you
. Unless you’re into that sort of thing?” he asked hopefully.
“Ah, no.”
“Oh.” He looked crestfallen for an instant before he continued. “Well, she has the software on her machine too, and she can control your suit through her console. Kind of like online gaming, get it?”
Chili shook his head in awe. “That’s genius, man.”
“What about the woman?”
They all gawked at me.
I shrugged and picked up my glass. “Why doesn’t the woman get a suit too? I wouldn’t want to play along if I didn’t have a suit.”
“You’d play along?”
George’s question was a little too eager, so I was careful about how I answered it. “No. I just mean that if a woman did want to play along, she should have her own suit.”
George’s face scrunched up. “I’ll need to think about that.”
What was there to think about? It was logical. But I just rolled my eyes and signaled the bartender for another beer.
“My company can distribute the software if you want,” Ian offered.
George beamed. “Really?”
“Sure.” Ian held up his hand for a high-five.
Here was my chance. I leaned closer to the bar. If I got low enough, I was sure I’d be able to see through the hole in his shirt.
Shit—it was too dark. I wondered if I had a pen light in my purse.
“Dude, you okay?”
I looked up to find all three guys frowning at me. I tried to smile like there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. “Of course.”
They didn’t look like they believed it. They kept glancing at me while they discussed the details of their virtual sex suit.
I snorted as I picked up my glass. Like I was the weird one here.
When they started debating what color to make the suit (guess what color Chili wanted), I decided it was time to make a move. “So, Ian.”
Ian jerked and glanced up like a deer in headlights. “Huh?”
I smiled coquettishly. “Besides marketing cybersex suits, what do you like to do?”
He blinked several times. Then he shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Uh. Cool.” I hoped my smile didn’t look sickly. Maybe he was into martial arts. “What do you think of Jet Li?”
“Dude, I never fly,” was Chili’s response. George and Ian nodded in agreement.
Okay, maybe I should try another joke. My last one didn’t pan out, but I had one that was sure to get a laugh out of them. I started to chuckle just thinking of it. “How many programmers does it take to change a lightbulb?”
All three guys goggled at me.
“Two, in case one leaves in the middle of the project.” Laughing, I slapped my hand on my knee. Freakin’ sidesplitting, I tell you. I was sure to get a high-five for that one. Looking up, I put my hand in the air.
The guys were staring at me with puzzled expressions on their faces. Then Chili said, “Dude, programming jokes are lame.”
George turned to the guys, stroking his chin in thought. “I think the cyber suit should be purple.”
“Why purple?” Ian asked.
“Because the sexiest man on earth is Prince and his color is purple.”
I found logic in that, so I knew it was time for me to call it a night. Ian obviously didn’t want to engage, and I flirted with insanity for a second by considering asking George or Chili out.
“Guys, it’s time for me to head out.” I slipped off the barstool. “Good luck on the sex suit. I’ll see you around.”
George clapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, Mona, we’ll take you home.”
Chili nodded. “No prob, man. It’s like on our way.”
I wasn’t sure how he knew that since I hadn’t told them where I lived. “Thanks, but it’s not necessary—”
“Get off your ass, Ian.” George cuffed him on the back of the head. “Your date wants to go home. Be a gentleman.”
“Yeah, man.” Chili nodded again.
Ian frowned at his friends. “She can make it home on her own.”
Oh, the chivalry. Be still, my heart.
“Quit being a dickhead and let’s take the woman home.” George pulled Ian off the barstool and lugged him out of the bar. “Didn’t your mom teach you anything?”
“Really, guys. I can make it home on my own,” I said, dragging my feet after them.
George shook his head. “The streets aren’t safe.”
Portland was hardly Harlem, and I was a third degree black belt. But they (George and Chili) were so intent on taking me home, I figured I’d just go with it. I didn’t relish waiting for a bus anyway.
They shoved Ian in the back seat. I followed. George drove and Chili sat shotgun.
George cranked the ignition and turned around. “You guys can make out if you want to. We won’t look.”
Chili nodded enthusiastically. I wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with the making out part or that he wouldn’t look. I thought the former.
I bared my teeth in a smile. “That’s awfully thoughtful.”
“Yeah, and if you want to take your top off, that’s okay too,” George added.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmured.
Ian scooted closer to his door and gripped the handle like it was a life preserver.
The ride home was abnormally quiet. I was conscious of George’s furtive glances in the rearview mirror, as if he was hoping to find Ian and me groping like teenagers. Ian glared at me accusingly and hugged his door harder. Chili didn’t bother with subtlety—he faced backward for the first ten minutes until it became apparent nothing was going to happen.
I sighed. In a deeper, Richard Dean Anderson voice, I said, “ ‘You may not believe this, but there have been times when I’ve had a lot more fun in the back seat of a car.’”
Chili whirled around. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had whiplash in the morning. “Dude, you into MacGyver? MacGyver rocks. When I grow up, I want to blow shit up with soy sauce.”
“Admirable goal,” I said.
“You know when he disarmed a missile with a paperclip?” Chili shook his head reverently. “My favorite episode, man.”
George shook his head. “Nah. The best episode was when he rode a casket like a jet ski. Bitchin’. I never get to do shit like that.”
Ian spoke up. Finally. “MacGyver’s the man.”
George stuck his hand over his shoulder. Chili and Ian stretched to meet him, but they paused short of touching and looked at me.
I shook my head. “I’m not taking my clothes off.”
Chili rolled his eyes. “Dude, get your hand up here.”
“Oh.
Oh
.” Finally. I leaned forward and the four of us high-fived.
It was as satisfying as I thought it’d be. Except for their sticky palms. But I’d wash my hands when I got home. For now, I just basked in their unexpected acceptance.
 
“I’ve come to a realization.”
“That you should stop chatting before Dwight kicks you out of class?”
I crossed my eyes at Matt as I bowed to him. I figured the bow, which we do before we spar, negated the disrespect with the eye thing.
“Real adult there, Doc,” he said, also bowing. “You want to go first, or you want me to?”
Usually the highest rank goes first. Since Matt and I are the same belt, we arbitrarily decide who gets beat first. This evening I was feeling magnanimous, so I volunteered.
BOOK: Project Date
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