Page 9 of Biggest Player
Standing, I reached into my back pocket. Pulled out my wallet to retrieve a ten-dollar bill, then smacked it onto the center of the bar.
“Get yourself a drink.”
“Wait.” She shimmied herself onto a barstool. “You’re leaving?”
I rolled my eyes—I couldn’t stop it if I’d tried. “Uh. Yeah, I’m leaving. You didn’t think I was actually going to stay.”
Her flared nostrils told a different story. “What am I supposed to tell my friends, you asshole—I already told them all I was going on a date with a football player!”
Ergo, reaffirming my belief that she only wanted to go out with me because of my name and is worried about what her friends might think.
Strike four—which is more than baseball allows.
Ha!
“Great. Leave. It doesn’t matter anyhow. The Kissmet app has all my data,” Claire ranted, squinting her eyes. “They’re watching us, you know.”
But then, before I could formulate a response tothat, Claire did the one thing no woman has ever done to my face: she launched into a passionate monologue about reptilian overlords and government conspiracies, hands gesturing wildly, voice booming.
It was so . . . weird.
And so random.
Strike five was my cue to get out of there before I lost my damn mind.
In the comfort of my own home, my tense body relaxes, finally at ease.
I can breathe.
I can open my app and see if any of my matches have left messages first, since I haven’t had the chance. Now that I’m home, I can mark myself safe from my date with Claire and respond to people on Kissmet.
My mouth widens into a grin when I see a message from Margot, the woman I matched with before leaving for my disaster date.
Margot:
What do you think would get you laid more often: pretending to be a professional football player on a dating app, or being one in real life?
Whoa.
Feisty little thing.
My hackles are immediately raised.
Me:
No hello? Damn, girl, you get straight to the point.
I peel my socks off to get more comfortable as I wait for her response, wiggling my toes.
Ahh.
Margot:
I hate wasting time. Love cutting to the chase, don’t you?
Me:
Sure.
