Page 23 of Lucky
“Brutal.”
She turns back to the phone.“Anyway, the date was… surprisingly fun.”
I nod, drape my arm over her shoulders in an easy, affectionate way.I wait for her to stiffen, but she doesn’t.“She didn’t walk out on me even after I admitted I own matching luggage and know my Myers-Briggs type.”
“ENTP,” she tells the camera with mock seriousness.
“Serial killer,” I confirm, drolly.
“But seriously… we had a lot of fun, and I want to thank Lucky for a great evening.I didn’t once think about absconding out the bathroom window.”
“I had a great time too,” I say.“Any man who says Winnie is refreshingly average deserves to be banned from dating—and probably slapped by someone’s grandma.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Winnie says, pulling away from me and offering a curtsy.
I give a flourishing bow.“Of course, my lady.”
When I straighten, Winnie reaches for the phone to turn off the recording, but I stop her cold when I ask, “When can we go out again?”
She freezes, hand outstretched, and slowly turns her head my way.“Go out again?”
“Yeah… it’s clear we both had a great time.So why not?”
Her gaze cuts between me and the camera.“Well, because… this is an experiment and I have to compare data, which means I have to date other guys.I wasn’t planning on doing a second date with anyone.This whole thing was meant to be kind of lighthearted.”
I raise an eyebrow.“You’re going to date other guys?”
She nods.“I think I should.For the data.”
“Ah, the heartbreak of science.”I turn to the camera, wink at the audience, and then pin her with my most smoldering look.“I think it’s short-sighted not to consider a second date.”
That catches her off guard.She blinks.“You do?”
“I think we had fun.And yeah, I’m not average.But neither are you.”
Her eyes narrow.“I’m so average and you’re a hockey god.”
“That’s true.I am a hockey god.But you talk to a rabbit on camera, drink three kinds of tea before noon, and got recognized in a grocery store for a video about your failed Hinge date with Ghost Emoji Guy.You’re not average.You’re electric.”
She turns back to the camera.“He used the wordelectric.You guys heard that, right?”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge.
She doesn’t.Just smiles at me in that way that feels like maybe I’ve won something.
Then she looks at the camera one last time.“So, yeah.One date down.Many left to go.This one?Not terrible.”
Then she stops the recording and shoves her phone into her purse.“You ambushed me,” she accuses, but there’s no heat to it.In fact, those very full lips twitch as she tries to hold back a smile.
“Yes, I did.”I nod solemnly.“Also, I accept my not-terrible status with honor.And kindly repeat my request for another date.”
She tilts her head, lips puckered with curiosity.“You really think I’m electric?”
“Statistically, yes.Emotionally?Maybe.”
She smiles again—small, but real—and turns for her door.“Good night, Lucky Branson.”
“When can we go out again?”I press.
