Third Date (9 page)

Talkative Brad is quieter on the way back, probably thinking of his cheating ex-fianće. He walks me to my room.
 

“Thanks for taking me to the store,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sure. If you need anything else, just let me know. I’m down in room 612. And stop by the booth tomorrow. I’m handing out samples of oatmeal.”
 

An image of this big football star from my past handing out oatmeal makes me laugh.

He smiles. “You find that funny? Just wait till you see what they’re making me wear.”

“What do you have to wear?”

“You’ll see. Let’s just say I lost a bet. See ya later, Morgan.”

I go in my room and get ready for bed. I check my cell phone and see a message from Grant.
How’s Boston? Since you stood me up I went out with some guys from work. Not nearly as fun as you. Call me later. Grant.

Grant clearly likes me and I don’t want to screw this up, so I’m not sure what to do. Do I text him back? Call him? When he says to call him later, what does that mean? Tonight? Tomorrow? Later in the week? Why can’t men be clearer about this stuff?

I decide to text him back.
Boston is okay. Airline lost my luggage. I’ll call you tomorrow.

The message sounds fine in my head but written out on my phone it looks like I’m complaining or in a bad mood. How is that possible? How can words change meaning once they’re written out like that?
 

I go to erase the text but accidentally hit send instead. Dammit. Now my whiny-sounding message is traveling through cyberspace and I can’t get it back. Should I send another one, telling him I’m just in a bad mood from the trip? No, that would sound even crabbier. I decide to just go to bed and try again in the morning.

The opening session of the conference is in a ballroom at the hotel. Almost every chair is filled. I guess a lot of people are interested in learning about whole grains.

After sitting through a day of rather disappointing sessions on product formulations, I decide to skip the last afternoon session and meander through the expo hall. I’m curious to find out what Brad meant last night, so I seek out his booth. Unfortunately, at least 10 booths are handing out oatmeal. When I reach the last row of exhibitors, I finally see the name of the company where Brad works. The sign on the display says, ‘Haverson Foods: Making Wholesome Foods since 1912.’

As I’m reading the sign, I feel a plastic bowl being placed in my hand.
 

“It’s banana bread oatmeal. Our newest flavor.” I glance up to see a giant gorilla standing next to me. Well, not an actual gorilla, but someone in a gorilla costume.

“How’s the conference so far?” the gorilla asks.

I try to find an opening in the costume. There’s a small hole for the mouth and two for the eyes. I recognize those sparkly blue eyes from last night and can’t help but laugh. “Hey, Brad. Nice costume.”

“It’s hotter than hell in this thing. I can’t wait to get out of it.”
 

People are lining up to get samples from him.

“I should go. You’ve got a crowd here.”
 

“Wait. Let’s get a picture. Come here.” He takes my hand and leads me over to a large cardboard display that has a jungle scene on it. A photographer is set up in front of it.
 

“I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t know you,” Brad says.

“Do what?” I ask.
 

Before I get an answer, Brad picks me up like I’m the girl in King Kong and poses in front of the jungle scene.
 

“Smile or act terrified,” he says. “Either one works.”

I go with a little of both because I’m too shocked to do anything else.
 

He sets me down as if his actions were perfectly normal. “We’re having trouble getting people to do the photos so that should get them interested. Thanks for helping me out.”

“Can I get a photo, too?” an older lady in line asks.

He nods and motions the lady to the jungle scene. Brad nudges me with his gorilla arm. “See? Once one person does it, they all want to.” He points to a clipboard on the table. “Give them your email and they’ll send you a copy of the photo.”

“Um, okay.” I scribble my email down on the sheet.

“And Morgan, you’re coming to dinner tonight.”
 

I look up. “Dinner? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know anyone here, right? I mean, other than me?”

“No.”

“A bunch of us are going out tonight and I want you to come with us. I’ll stop by your room at 7. See ya then.”

He returns to the jungle scene and poses next to the lady, making gorilla sounds. The crowd laughs and other women start asking for photos.

I walk off, confused by what just happened. So Brad’s making plans for me now? I didn’t even say yes. Guess a guy like him doesn’t take no for an answer.
 

I’m actually glad he invited me. It’s better than sitting in my room all alone and ordering room service. It’ll be good to get out. And truthfully, a small part of me wants to spend more time with Gorilla Man.

***

At 7, Brad knocks on my door. I open it and see him there and get that fluttery feeling in my stomach. I think it’s just because he’s so damn hot. And that smile. I swear it’s contagious. As soon as I see it, I smile back.

“Hey. You ready to go?” He’s wearing jeans and a button-up shirt.

“Aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“The place is just down the street. I don’t need one.”

We take the elevator down to the main floor and meet up with his coworkers in the lobby. There are about 12 of us and we all walk down to the restaurant together. The place is an Irish pub near the Financial District.
 

We’re seated at a long wooden table that’s big enough for our entire group. Brad sits next to me and introduces me to everyone. I feel kind of out of place. I’m better one-on-one than in large groups.
 

“Thanks for coming tonight.” Brad puts his arm around me as he says it and leans in close so I can hear him above all the noise. I don’t think he’s making a move. He’s just one of those outgoing, touchy-feely type of people.

“I don’t think you gave me a choice.” I say it jokingly.

“It’s better than sitting in your room all night, right?”

“That’s true.”

The people at our table are getting louder and he leans in even closer so I can hear. He’s so close I can smell his cologne. It’s exactly what I would pick if I had a guy to buy cologne for.

“When you want to leave, Morgan, just let me know. I’ll walk you back.” He takes his arm away, but I don’t want him to. I like it there.
 

“So how do you guys know each other?” A guy I now know as Jeff asks the question. He’s sitting across from Brad.
 

“Morgan and I went to high school together. I was two classes ahead of her.”

“What was this guy like in high school?” Jeff asks me.
 

“I didn’t really know him that well. We hung out in different groups. He was in the football crowd. Homecoming king. All that.”

Jeff looks at Brad. “No shit? Homecoming king? You never told me that.”

“It isn’t exactly something you bring up at a Monday meeting.” He takes a drink of his beer.

“What other dirt do you have on him, Morgan?” Jeff asks. “I bet he had a ton of girls being on the football team.”

“Yeah, he had his pick of girls.” I look over at Brad. “A different one every night.”

Brad shakes his head. “Not every night. Maybe every weekend but—”

Jeff slams his hand on the table. “Damn, you’re one of
those
guys? I hated guys like you. Taking all the girls from guys like me.” He motions to Brad and me. “Did you two date?”

The question makes me laugh. “I don’t think Brad even knew my name. I was kind of quiet in high school. Kept to myself.”

“I would’ve dated her if she would’ve let me,” Brad says casually.

I almost choke on the beer I’m drinking. I cough it down, trying to breathe.
 

Brad pats my back. “You okay, there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I clear my throat. “You were joking, right? You didn’t seriously want to go out with me?”

“I did. I had a huge crush on you back then.”

Jeff holds his beer up. “Isn’t it funny how people don’t know that shit?”

He swigs his beer, then continues to ramble on. Meanwhile I’m replaying Brad’s confession in my head. The star football player had a crush on me? How is that possible? It’s not like I was ugly in high school. I somehow made it through those years without acne or braces. But I was very shy and didn’t exude any kind of guy-welcoming vibe. My dates were few and far between. I was a late bloomer and I know that kept the guys away. With me, they had to put in time and effort just to make it to second base. I made it clear that third base and home runs weren’t an option. As soon as that news got around, I didn’t get asked out much.

As the night continues and the beers keep flowing, people get up from the table and hang on each other as they belt out Irish tunes. I notice that Brad stops drinking after three beers. And given his size, those three beers didn’t affect him at all. He’s the only sober person at the table. Even
I’ve
had too much to drink.
 

“I’m really sleepy.” I rest my head on Brad’s shoulder. He doesn’t hear me because he’s talking to some guy a few seats down from us. The door to the bar swings open as people start to leave, causing a wave of frigid air to surround me. It makes me shiver and I move closer to Brad to steal his warmth. He notices and puts his arm around me. In my drunken state I find myself leaning even closer to him and laying my head on his chest.
 

“Morgan, I should take you back. They’re gonna stay a little longer.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He gently peels me off him and helps me with my coat. When I get up, the room is spinning and I grab Brad for support.
 

“I don’t normally drink like that,” I say as we’re walking back. “I only had a few beers so I don’t know why I feel like this.”

His arm is around my shoulder, keeping me steady “You’re like 100 pounds. I think it only takes one beer for you.”

“It must take 10 for someone
your
size.”

He shrugs. “Depends on the size of the glass. But I don’t drink much anymore. I drank enough in high school and college to last a lifetime.”

We get back to the hotel and go up to our floor. He waits for me to get in my room but I can’t get the sliding key thing to work.

“I’ll do it.” He takes it from me and opens the door, then helps me into the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Stop by the booth. We’re giving out granola bars.”

I don’t want him to leave. Is it because I’m drunk? I catch Brad at the door.
 

“How about a goodnight kiss?” I close my eyes, waiting for it.

“Get some sleep, Morgan. I think you had a little too much to drink tonight.”

And then he leaves. Mr. Slept-with-Almost-Every-Girl-at-My-High-School rejected me. I couldn’t even get a kiss out of him. Not one lousy kiss.
 

***

Monday morning I sit through more boring sessions, taking notes because when I get back, my boss is making me do a mini presentation on what I learned. During one of the breaks, I go out in the lobby to check messages. As I’m scanning my work emails the phone rings.

It’s Grant. I totally forgot to call him. “Hi, Grant.”

“Hey. I didn’t hear from you yesterday. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have a chance to call. Sorry, I’m a horrible mentor. First I leave you there all alone and then I don’t call to check up on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I survived.”

“So did you have a good weekend?”

“I had dinner with some people from work. Nothing too exciting. What did you do last night? Anything fun?”

“Um, yeah. I went out with some people from the conference.” I feel kind of guilty for being with Brad last night. Why do I feel guilty? Grant and I have been on one date. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend. And I didn’t do anything romantic with Brad, other than ask him for a kiss, which I never got.

“I have to run to a meeting,” Grant says. “I just wanted to check in. But maybe we can talk later.”

“Sure. Have a good day.”
 

The afternoon sessions are grueling, especially the last one. The speaker is an old guy who reads every word on his slides in a monotone voice.
 

When it’s finally over, I race out of the room as fast as possible. I want to stop by Brad’s booth before it shuts down for the day. I get there in time, but someone else is handing out granola bars. A pretty young blond woman.
 

“Have you seen Brad?” I ask her as she hands me a bar.

“I think he left. I don’t know if he’ll be back.”

The people behind me are trying to get their free sample so I move out of the way. I walk around and scan the expo hall looking for Brad. He’s really tall. I should be able to see him, so where is he? Then I realize the bigger question is, why do I care? My mind should be on Grant, the man of my dreams. I should be back in my room calling him, not searching for Brad. As I’m leaving the expo hall, I hear my name.

“Morgan.” I turn to see Brad standing there in a black suit, white shirt, and dark-gray tie. Very hot. He comes over and puts his arm around me, leading me out of the noisy expo hall. “Do you want to have dinner tonight?”

“With your co-workers?”

“No, they’re going bar hopping and I don’t want to go. I just want to have a nice dinner somewhere.”

“That sounds good.”
 

“I have to catch up on some work, but how about 7? I’ll come by your room.”

“Okay.”
 

He turns to leave, but I stop him. “Brad, what’s with the suit?”

“Job interview. I just got back from it. It’s for a marketing job in Oregon. People from the company are here for the conference so they scheduled an interview. Saves them from having to fly me out there.”