Page 9 of The Dating Game

Grant flushes. “I was just keeping my options open,” he snarls. “Anyway, if you had a problem with that you should’ve said. Instead you took my words and used them to your advantage so you could make out with skydiving guy whenever I was away on business and not feel guilty about it. Meanwhile I’ve been busy working hard to secure us a financially sound future together.” I let out a bark of laughter. “Please, you really think we have a future together? Weare so incompatible. You call me Brooksie even though it clearly bugs the heck out of me. And you whoop all the time! No offense, but eighty-three-percent of those whoops are annoying. You forced me to go skydiving with you after I specifically told you I was afraid of heights. And worst of all: you don’t like to karaoke! Meanwhile I own a karaoke bar!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you're such a catch either,” Grant growls. “It’s been a real headache trying to keep you happy these last few weeks. You have no sense of adventure. Your idea of a fun night is coming to this stupid bar and singing the same songs over and over again. You’re in a rut and you don’t even know it. Sure you’re gorgeous, but your good looks are only going to get you so far with a guy, Brooke. Maybe I would’ve been able to commit to you exclusively if you’d demonstrated any of the qualities I’m looking for in a wife, but my gosh, you’re just so predictable. There’s nothing exciting about you. Boring. That’s what you are. Bor-ing.”

I stand there in total shock; his assessment of me stinging in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible from a guy I care so little about.

It’s not so much the wholeyou’re so gorgeous, but your good looks are only going to get you far with a guy.This would hurt more if I hadn’t heard it before, but I’ve been hearing that since high school. After all of these years the hurt has lessened to a dull ache.

But boring? Is that what I am? It sort of adds up. I mean, Sydney essentially pushed me into this bet because she too thinks I’m stuck in a rut. I bet she thinks I’m boring too.

In fact, I bet the real reason none of my relationships have lasted more than a month is because of me. Not the guys I’ve been dating.

Boring. I can’t believe it. I had no idea. But now that he’s pointed it out, I can see that he’s right.I am so incredibly boring.

“Woah, there, man, I think that’s enough.” Someone speaks from behind me, and I know without looking who it is. I can’t believe Will followed me out here. That he heard all of those horrible things Grant just said to me. First I vomit on him, now this. Talk about a nail in the coffin of any potential there was of the two of us ever being romantically involved.

There’s a reason nobody ever opens a first date with,Hi, my name is Brooke. I’m boring and may vomit on you at any point.These are things you want to hide from potential suitors lest they immediately turn tail and run.

“You. Of course,” Grant scoffs. “You just had to follow her out here.” He looks at me again. “And yet I bet you’re still going to try and tell me that there’s nothing going on between the two of you?” He shakes his head. “So predictable. I’m outta here.”

He turns to go. I don’t say anything. Don’t even open my mouth to try and defend myself. I’m still reeling from his judgment of my persona. Boring.

It even fits alliteratively. Sometimes as an icebreaker on the first day of dance class, I have the girls pick an adjective that both describes them and starts with the same letter as their first name. Usually I say Bubbly Brooke. But clearly that’s a misnomer. From now I’ll introduce myself as Boring Brooke.

Grant gets in his car and shuts the door. As he reverses out of the parking lot he rolls down the window and whoops loudly in parting.

I just stand there, unmoving. Numb from shock.

“Hey, Brooke, you okay?” Will appears in front of me, concern etched into his features. I blink stupidly at him. I can’t think of a single word to say in response. Not one. “Look,” he sighs, “I’m really sorry. I thought I was helping you, going up there, but…” he trails off, eyes drifting over to where Grant just peeled out of the parking lot. “Clearly I was wrong,” he finishes lamely.

I still don’t have any words in my brain. Can one’s brain spontaneously atrophy into nothing? Oh my goodness! I have no brain! I’m like the scarecrow fromThe Wizard of Oz.

The most boring character, mind you.

“Um, Brooke?” Will waves a hand in front of my vacant face. “Oh geez,” he mutters. “I feel really bad now. You must’ve really liked that guy.”

Whoop. Brain’s back! “P-uh, no!” I exclaim. “I didnotreally like that guy, thank you very much.”

“Oh.” Understandably, Will looks taken aback by my sudden, rather violent re-entrance into the world of speech. “Okay.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “Well, be that as it may, I hope you know that it’s okay to like doing the same—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” I put up a hand to stop him. “Hold that thought, because I’m fine. I don’t need you to try and do this whole comforting thing that I can sense you’re about to embark on. I’m a grown woman. I can handle a few insults aimed my way.”

Will studies me; his gaze entirely too perceptive. I attempt to look completely fine. Eyes: not widened or narrowed. Mouth: not smiling or frowning. Eyebrows: not raised or quirked. Nose: doing its usual nose thing.

“Okay,” he finally says. “My mistake.”

“Guess so,” I can’t keep a note of hostility out of my voice. Now that Grant is gone the reality of me having officially lost my bet with Sydney is sinking in. She won’t be going on five dates. And it’s all this guy’s fault.

Him and his stupid good vocals.

“Anyway,” I toss my hair in another attempt to seem totally fine, “I’d better get back inside. My sister is having a bit of a crisis. I should get back to her.”

“Your sister?” Will quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, actually. Luke came here to apologize and ask her to take him back.” He points over his shoulder toward the entrance to the bar. “Oh, and yup, looks like she accepted his apology because now they’re kissing.” He quickly averts his gaze, but I’ve swiveled around to see for myself. Sure enough, I can make out Hannah’s familiar blonde hair and gray jogging suit across the parking lot, locking lips with Pastor Luke Abbott. I told her she should put on something nicer to go out tonight. Not that Luke seems to mind her dressed down state.

Nope. He’s clearly thoroughly enjoying kissing my sister, and I have to quickly look away from them too lest the passionate image be burned into my retinas.

“Wait,” I say to Will, drawing in a steadying breath, “you know my sister? And Luke?”

Is everyone in my life a secret skydiver?

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