Page 5 of No More Bad Boys
She drops me off to meet Troy at the theater.
He wanted to pick me up at my apartment, but I said no. It didn’t make any sense. His apartment is right next to the theater, so why should he drive over to my place and then turn around and drive right back there?
I spot him standing near the bank of doors at the theater’s entrance.
As I get closer, I realize he’s sort of dressed up—well, the college-guy version of dressed up. He’s got on khakis and a collared shirt. And he’s holding something. A flower.
Oh no. So it’s adatedate then. I look down at my shorts and Tech t-shirt. Well, too late now.
His face breaks into a smile. “Hi Cadence. How was your day? How were things at the TV station?”
I return his smile. “Good. It was fine. I worked outside a lot of the day. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to change.” I blanch at my own less-than-truthful statement, but then forgive myself. It sounds nicer than the truth—I didn’t really care enough to dress up for you.
“No. You’re fine. You always look great.”
He gives me the flower and leans in for a hug, making me also wish I’d taken the time to wash my hair when I showered after work.
What is wrong with me?
I clearly missed out on the girly-girl gene—Kenley got the whole portion of that DNA allotment to our family. I stiffly hug Troy back and we walk inside together.
“I know we usually split it, but I went ahead and got the tickets already—hope you don’t mind. I thought we could seeLove You More? It’s a romantic comedy.”
“Sure. That’s great.”
I’d probably rather see the space hero adventure that’s showing, but then looking at the life-sized standup display of its main star, a redhead with green eyes and a rogue-ish grin, I decidemaybe not.
The last thing I need is something else to lure my mind back to where it’s been returning all day—that brief encounter with Blake and his maddeningly good smell, his big hands, his smile.
“What did you say?” I ask Troy, realizing he’s been talking and I haven’t exactly been listening.
“I said I hope it’s good. I heard it’s really sweet.”
“I’m sure it is.” I smile at him as we enter the dim theater.
He really is a nice guy. A total beta, which is just what I’m looking for. Someone like my dad, who has that same easygoing, calm, undemanding demeanor I find so relaxing.
As much as I worknotto be like my mom, I recognize her intensity in myself. I can’t help it. So it makes sense to seek out a beta personality.
Troy and I are a good match.
He lets me choose our seats—middle-middle (halfway up, halfway in)—and the theater goes fully dark.
About twenty minutes into the movie, which goes way past sweet into sappy, Troy’s hand closes around mine on the armrest.
Though I feel nothing, save for the additional warmth of his skin and the scratch of a callous on his palm, I don’t pull away.
This is good. This is our third date, and it’s probably about time for some physical contact of some sort.
The couple on the big screen embraces and dives into a very enthusiastic first kiss. Troy’s hand squeezes mine a bit tighter. I glance over at him.
Maybeweshould kiss. Yes, probably. I should plan on that. If he doesn’t initiate it tonight then I will.
The thought doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t give me any anticipatory tingles either. I don’t really get thatever. I sort of suspect my friends who go on and on about sex are joking, exaggerating, or practicing wishful thinking.
Imighthave felt the beginning of tingles once—with my high school boyfriend Tyler.
He was three years older, blond and beautiful, a great kisser—and as it turned out, completely in love with Kenley instead of me.
