Page 39 of The Last Date

“You absolutely did! Do you really think that out of sixty-six dates, they were all going to be perfectly-behaved gentlemen ?”

Dad turned to Mom, whose hand was fluttering over her mouth. “Alison, is this true?”

“I have no idea,” she whispered.

“That’s because you never asked,” I snapped. “I took notes on every single one. At least half of them thought that since our mothers set us up, I must be easy, or desperate for an instant husband. It was pathetic and humiliating, and I honestly don’t know if I can completely forgive you for that.”

To my absolute shock and horror, my mother burst into tears.

“Go to your room, now,” my father ordered in a thunderous voice I’d never experienced before.

Racing up the stairs, I hid in my bedroom. I hadn’t been sent to my room like a child in years, but was thankful to be away from their raised, hysterical voices.

The shock of making my mother cry was like a slap across the face. She was always so reserved, so controlled.

I knew that I should have told her about those dates sooner, but the entire conversation was just so awkward that I avoided it.

How pathetic that it was easier to go on a crappy date with a stranger than have an uncomfortable conversation with my overbearing mother. Maybe I really was naive.

I instantly opened my laptop so that I could search for Oakley Eastman properly. The first dozen pages were all hits for his new restaurants, and something about one of his catering companies winning a big award six months ago. I kept scrolling back until I saw something very different.

My mouth fell open as I blinked stupidly at the screen. There was Oakley hosting a cooking show, where each dish contained a healthy amount of wine or other spirits. From the description, it was a real how-to cooking show, but it was also a comedy, since the host tended to get wasted. It was actually called The Falling Oak.

How unbelievably tacky.

Falling across my bed, I pushed the laptop away. My mind was swimming with so many thoughts at once it made me dizzy. Closing my eyes, I stretched out on the bed like a starfish, trying to ground myself in some desperate way.

No wonder Oakley hadn’t told me about his past. It was the sort of TV show that would be hilarious if you didn’t know the guy. I could definitely see college kids watching on Friday nights and drinking along.

No wonder my parents were so severely freaked out. The illusion of their perfect life would be in jeopardy if I were publicly linked with such a man. At least, it would be in their eyes.

Did I even care?

Eight years ago, I was clipping in pink hair extensions, and listening to music that would cause me pain today.

I had been mooning over stuck-up boys who, had they paid me any attention, would have treated me like a prize, then said nasty things about me to their friends. That had happened so often to my girlfriends that I completely shunned men until I was nineteen.

Now I was a completely different person. Someone could cycle through many different lifestyles in eight years.

I couldn’t imagine Oakley ever treating a woman with disrespect. It just didn’t seem to be in his nature. Maybe the embarrassment of being on a cheesy TV program didn’t even bother him.

Was it even right to judge someone on who they were before, compared to who they were now? I hadn’t seen Oakley drink at all when we were together. Even the night we met, when Dad’s friends were drinking beer and scotch, he hadn’t smelled of alcohol.

He always smelled so good. Slightly warm and woodsy .

I was torn between wanting to be angry at him for keeping such immense secrets that he knew would be problematic, and wanting to snuggle into his thick arms and ask about the Celtic tattoos.

Did I care about the notoriety of his show, or that it was in slightly poor taste?

Sitting up, I pulled my laptop closer and tried to find out why the show ended suddenly after just ten months. My hand clapped over my mouth as my eyes flew across the screen.

The information pressing into my brain was physically painful. His arrest record read like a made for TV movie. A stolen car, trashing a hotel room, public drunkenness.

I could fully understand the article about him slapping paparazzi that were trying to corner him. But smashing up a hotel room? That meant that he had a violent streak. Or at least, he used to.

Should I be with a man that even had that in him? Were my parents going to kick me out if I decided that he was the one for me? Would they disown me?

I knew that I was impossibly privileged, and had been sheltered all my life from the outside world to a large degree. But I wouldn’t care if I were living in a tiny apartment in a loud neighborhood if I was with someone t

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