Page 6 of The Last Date

And I wouldn’t be taking her on any stupid date.

CHAPTER THREE

* Sasha *

“It’s about time,” my mother chirped, looking up from her crossword puzzle as I walked into the kitchen, following the scent of coffee.

“It’s Sunday,” I said. “I always sleep in until nine on Sundays.”

To be honest, I didn’t even know why I bothered saying it yet again. She was one of those people who were up at six am every single day, and thought it was horrific that the rest of the world didn’t follow her example.

Pouring myself a giant mug, the first quick sip burned my bottom lip a little.

Then I froze, staring out the window. Just thinking about Oakley made my bottom lip tingle.

It was stunning how he kissed me without kissing me. Touched me without touching me. Made me want him without giving me any way to contact him. After all of the boring guys I had been forced to interact with, at least he was wildly different.

“How was your date last night, Sasha?”

“Fine. But we won’t be seeing each other again.”

As I sat down beside her, my mother’s face fell. “Oh, no. That’s a terrible shame.”

“Not really. He’s a nice guy, he’s just clearly not the one for me. I’m also clearly not the woman for him, so we actually had a nice dinner.”

“Don’t you worry, dear,” she said, reaching out to pat my hand. “I have someone else lined up for you this Saturday night.”

“No.”

She shook her head as if I were joking. “Just one more try, for me.”

“Absolutely not,” I said, the touch of steel into my voice sounding unnatural. “I’ve been playing your game for over a year now, and I’ve had it. At the very least, give me a few months off.”

I didn’t have the energy to truly fight with her about never again dating from her endless pool of setups, but thought that perhaps the idea of taking a break would be reasonable.

Her pale pink French manicure tapped against her antique floral teacup. “I don’t like the thought of you going out to parties or anything with strange people around,” she said. “So if you’re not going out with men I select, I don’t think that you should be going out at all.”

“I was going to go to Sarah’s to watch a movie on Friday,” I said, “But she has some event with her parents that night. Maybe we could switch it to Saturday.”

She nodded approvingly. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

My mom absolutely adored Sarah, not just because she was the daughter of a prominent heart surgeon. Sarah an

d I had been study buddies all through high school and university, so Mom was convinced that Sarah was a good influence. Although I was studying art history and theory, and Sarah studied English literature, with some French and Spanish, we were interested enough in each other’s courses that we managed to quiz each other.

My dad shuffled into the room, looking every bit like he was up quite late drinking scotch. I watched as he peered into the refrigerator for a bottle of sports drink that wasn’t there.

“Sit down,” I said. “I’ll make you the magic potion.”

He slumped into a seat, nodding. “This is why you’re my favorite daughter.”

Of all of the stupid dad jokes I’d heard over the years, that was actually my favorite. Mom always made a huge deal about the fact that she nearly died in childbirth, as if it were my fault. Obviously, I should be eternally grateful for existing.

A dark doorway in my mind sometimes creaked open and asked whether my father was truly disappointed that he didn’t have a son that he could train to take over his businesses someday. It was extremely clear that I wasn’t interested.

Since I was the only one to carry on the family name, or traditions, or whatever they were focused on at the time, I was always overprotected, and corrected. Apparently good, upstanding girls don’t go into the arts, and were supposed to prefer something “more stable”.

Jumping up, I grabbed a huge glass and mixed orange juice, vitamin powder, protein powder, and a pinch of salt. Stirring it thoroughly, I placed it in front of my father.

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