Page 18 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
“I don’t like this,” I mutter, adjusting the sweater’s neckline. “I’m at a turning point in the book, and you’re essentially forcing me to go on a date with a complete stranger.”
“I’m encouraging you to expand your social circle.”
“By threatening to call in ancient favors and bribing me with tacos and nail polish.”
“Whatever works.” She grabs her purse and keys, clearly considering this battle won. “You’ll thank me when you meet him.”
“I’m going to thank you by haunting you after I die of boredom.”
The restaurant Maddie chose is exactly the kind of place that screams “safe first date”. It’s cozy but not too intimate, with twinkly lights in the windows and the kind of menu that has something for everyone. It’s the Switzerland of dinner venues, neutral territory designed to offend no one.
I’m mentally rehearsing my “nice to meet you, but I suddenly remembered I have an emergency” speech as we walk through the front door. The hostess barely has time to ask if we need a table before Maddie’s waving enthusiastically at someone across the room.
“There they are!” she says, like she’s just spotted long-lost relatives instead of her date and whatever poor soul got roped into this for the evening.
I follow her gaze to a table near the windows where two guys are sitting. One of them, presumably Maddie’s Sirus, is animated and grinning, the kind of person who probably makes friends with strangers in elevators. The other one looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else on the planet. Perfect.
As we get closer, I get a better look at my designated entertainment for the evening. He’s wearing a casual t-shirt, has dark hair that’s neatly styled but not overly styled, and the kind of posture that suggests either military training or really good manners.
My first thought is:Not my type.He’s too clean-cut, too put-together, too... safe.
My second thought is:But I like his watch.
It’s a simple, classic piece. It’s nothing flashy or trying too hard to impress. The kind of watch someone wears because they actually need to know what time it is, not because they want everyone to know they can afford expensive accessories.
He stands when we reach the table, which immediately earns him points for basic politeness that’s apparently rare enough to be noteworthy. When he extends his hand for a handshake, his grip is warm and firm without being the kind of bone-crushing display of dominance some guys seem to think is necessary.
“Harper,” he says with a small smile. “I’m Cole.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply automatically, falling back on the social programming that’s been drilled into me since childhood.
For just a flicker of a second, I catch something in his expression. Relief, maybe? Like he’s as surprised as I am that this interaction isn’t immediately painful.
“So!” Sirus says loudly, gesturing for us to sit. “Maddie, you look amazing. Harper, great to finally meet you. Cole’s been looking forward to this all week.”
I glance at Cole, who’s already settling back into his chair with the kind of careful neutrality that suggests Sirus might be embellishing just a bit. Maddie slides into the seat next to Sirus, immediately launching into conversation about something that happened in her sociology class, leaving Cole and me to figure out our own dynamic.
The silence stretches for exactly long enough to become noticeable before Cole leans slightly toward me, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“So,” he says with the hint of a smirk, “you’re the one I’m supposed to steal away so Sirus can have alone time with Maddie.”
I blink, caught off guard by his directness. “You don’t have to try too hard. I’m here under duress.”
His smirk becomes a full smile. “Perfect. Then we can make it look like we’re fulfilling our wingman duties while counting down until we can make a socially acceptable escape.”
Across the table, Maddie throws her head back and laughs at something Sirus said, completely oblivious to the fact that her carefully orchestrated double date has just resulted in me and Cole forming a mutual escape pact within the first five minutes.
This might actually be tolerable after all.
7
The Not-Date Date
Cole
Thesecondthehostessleads two women over to our table, my attention snags on the one who isn’t beaming like she’s about to meet her future husband.
Her name’s Harper. Her dark sweater fits in a way that’s somehow both modest and distracting, hair falling loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing the expression of someone mentally calculating the distance to the nearest exit.
