Page 82 of Betting on the Best Friend
“Why aren’t you datingher?” A guy shouts out next.
They haven’t asked these questions after any of the other pitches, and if my cheeks were hot before, they’re flaming now. Poor Charlie. Of all people, why did he have to be put on the spot like this?”
Charlie shrugs and smiles. “I asked. She said no.”
The noise goes from lively to raucous.
“What? No, why—”
“You’re joking!”
“Why would she—”
Objections, questions, and a demand for a recount all fly. Not sure what we’d recount, but okay.
I look at the chaos then frown at Charlie, the man who told the crowd I don’t like chaos.
He smiles, and there is no apology in it. Instead, he holds up his hands as if to say,What do you want me to do about it?
Another question jumps from the audience, picked up and repeated by several women.
“Can we date him?”
“Want my info, Charlie?”
“I want your number, Charlie!”
One girl around my age stands and cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey, emcee lady. Can we get a pitch on Charlie?”
“Yeah, a pitch on Charlie!” another voice calls.
Within seconds, there’s a chant of “Pitch Charlie, pitch Charlie, pitch Charlie!”
The moderator hops up on the low stage and takes the mic from Charlie. “Everyone being pitched has to agree to it, so I’ll allow it, but it’s up to Charlie. Charlie, do you consent to being pitched?”
Charlie slips his hands in his pockets and looks at me. “That’s nice of y’all, but Ruby won’t have time to make a slide show.”
“I’ll give her the last spot so she’ll have until then to put it together,” the moderator says. “She can totally do it. Ruby?”
“Pitch Charlie, pitch Charlie, pitch Charlie!” the foaming masses scream. Or maybe, like, six well-behaved women.
I don’t want to pitch Charlie. I don’t want him going out with any of them. I want everyone else to go away and leave us alone. My roommates. This crowd. All of it. Let us get back to normal.
I find a smile. “Of course I’ll pitch him.”
“Then let’s buy you some time and get our next pitch up here!”
I don’t know if the applause as we leave the stage is for me agreeing to this or for the next pair coming up, but I smile at everyone we pass on our way back to our table where the women who joined us earlier eye us with curiosity.
“This is exciting,” one of them says to Charlie. “I’d date you.”
Charlie smiles and crooks his head at the stage as if he doesn’t want to interrupt the new person presenting.
This seems like a nice crowd, but as I scan it, I can’t imagine any of them with Charlie.
I don’t want to imagine any of them with Charlie.
Charlie is mine.
