Page 73 of Class Act

“Hello?”

“I’ve been thinking, and I feel like maybe Shane was onto something,” he said by way of greeting.

“Shane? My blind date?” I asked.

“Yeah. So I’ve come up with a list of questions I’d like you to answer.” His voice was playful and open and . . . super flirty if I was reading this correctly.

I shook my head and giggled. “Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you’re a serial killer, but the background check I ran on you came up clean.”

At this I laughed. “Alright. But this has to be a two-way street. You have to answer some questions about yourself, too.”

He scoffed. “Sweetheart, I’ve been an open book since day one.”

I knew he’d said sweetheart the way you’d say it playfully to anyone, but it still made my toes curl under my sheets. “Agree to disagree. What’s your first question?” I actually heard a paper rustling, and I couldn’t help but tease him. “Do you have an actual list? I thought you were joking.”

“Of course I have a list,” he scoffed. “I looked it up online. This is serious business.”

“Exactly what position am I interviewing for here?” I asked in mock-seriousness.

“That’s yet to be determined. You’re either going to be my date or the lady who cleans the tires on my cars. It all depends on how you answer these very important and scientific questions.”

“I’ll bet you ask these questions to all the ladies.”

“Why do you think my car tires are so shiny?”

At that I laughed out loud, and he chuckled along at my reaction. Delighted, I squeezed my free hand into a fist and kicked my feet.

“Okay, well, I can’t wait to get started. I think.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat theatrically. “First, what’s your weirdest habit or quirk?”

“Oh.” I blinked a few times and chewed on my lip, trying to think what other people would find quirky about me.

“I’m worried that it’s taking this long to answer.”

“I . . . I don’t think I have any quirks. I’m really . . . normal?”

“Is that a question?” he joked. “Come on, everyone has their little quirks or habits that they think everyone else does but really no one else does it.”

“Okay. I, um, I tug at my shirt or smooth down my hair when I’m nervous.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“Great,” I muttered, feeling awkward.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Want to know mine?”

“Yes.”

“I have a watch, but I always carry it in my pocket instead of wearing it on my wrist. And before you ask, no, I don’t want a pocket watch, and yes, I understand that my phone has a clock on it. It’s a quirk, and I stand by it.”

“Does it have a watch band actually attached?”

“Yes. It’s blue.”

I giggled. “That’s weird, Ford.”

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