Page 43 of Betting on the Best Friend
There’s so much skepticism in the way Charlie says the name that I laugh. “You’re fired as my cheerleader.”
“Just for your dates. I’m your number one cheerleader for anything else.”
His attention is already back on the computer, but it sends me out to my car with a smile, because it’s true. Charlie really is my cheerleader for everything. World’s most laidback cheerleader, yes. But whether it’s overhauling a library display or an intricate plan to make my best friend and my brother fall in love, Charlie is the first to nod and say, “I’m in.”
Everyone really needs a Charlie.
Alton needs a Charlie.
We’re fifteen minutes into our date, and I’m having a hard time getting him to talk about himself. He finally told me—after a lot of prodding—that he got an MBA at UT, something business guys usually volunteer without prompting.
It’s not that Alton is hard to talk to, but rather, every time I ask him a question about himself, I realize after a couple of minutes that he’s managed to answer vaguely and turn the question around on me.
When the server brings our drink orders—a lager for him and a blackberry mint mocktail for me—I stir mine and watch him, trying to figure him out. He’s cute. A solid eight, with sandy blond hair and brown eyes, a nice smile, fit without being a meathead, and around five-ten, so I don’t feel dwarfed.
He pauses when he realizes I’m studying him. “Uh oh. Do I have a booger?” He crosses his eyes like he’s trying to check for himself.
I laugh. “No, sorry. I was thinking.”
“About?”
About how I’m watching him at a detached distance, clocking details so I can report on this date to my friends. About how I’ve done this on every date so far.
I shrug. “About how you don’t answer any questions about yourself. We’ve been talking a lot about me.”
“Oh, that.” He sighs. “I don’t really work for a brewery. I’m a spy for a book banning group, here to psychologically profile you.”
I like the teasing glint in his eye. Maybe instead of watching my own date like an observer, I should try to be in it.
I lean forward with a serious look. “What kind of books are you trying to ban?”
“Gardening.”
I keep a straight face. “You don’t want people to learn about the birds and the bees?”
“Not the literal ones.”
“You don’t want anyone to learn how to grow their own food?”
He looks both ways before he answers in a low voice. “I’m with Big Ag. We’ve been increasing profits for years by manipulating food trends, like kale in everything, and making every food out of cauliflower.”
I gasp. “You’re with the bad guys.”
He makes a “keep it down” gesture. “Is it so bad if people get more vegetables?”
“I won’t be silenced. Riced cauliflower is just cauliflower.” I glare at him. “What a dirty trick.”
He hides a smile by coughing into his fist. “Yes, well, you aren’t the only one who thinks so. None of our latest tricks have caught on. Vegetable consumption has plateaued. We have to cut out all competitors. We’re going after the home garden market.”
“Shocking,” I say. “You’ll get our gardening books when you pry them from my mulch-covered fingers.”
He slumps slightly. “Foiled again.”
The rest of the lunch is good. By the time he insists on picking up the check but reluctantly agreeing to let me cover the tip, I decide this is officially my first decent date. I’m not sure we have enough in common, but I like his sense of humor, and when he asks for my number, I only hesitate for a second before I give it to him.
When I rejoin Charlie at the reference desk, he takes one look at me and says, “You had an okay time.”
“I did,” I confirm. “Maybe even a good one.”
