Page 3 of The Little Black Book

“Well, maybe the timing is rightnow,” I say, setting his phone on the table and sliding it toward him. “You’re a good guy, Sam. Smart. Good looking––”

“You think I’m good looking?” he cuts in with an eyebrow waggle.

“And funny,” I say, ignoring his question. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t have found romance, if notlove, by now. Maybe you’re doing something wrong.”

“Wrong?” he asks, his hand flying to his chest in an exaggerated motion like he can’t possibly believe what I’m suggesting.

“Are you picking your nose at the dinner table?” I ask, and a laugh barks out of him.

“I only do that in the privacy of my own bathroom.”

“Ugh, too much information,” I groan.

“Hey, you asked.”

“In the hypothetical sense,” I say, faking a full-body shiver that has Sam bumping his shoulder against mine. “What about your breath?”

“What about my breath?” he counters, cocking his head to peer at me.

“Do you pop mints or chew gum before dates? Stay away from anything with garlic or onions during dinner? Only order coffee with dessert if she does?”

“My breath is always minty fresh, thank you very much,” he says, sniffing the air like I’ve offended him.

“Well, it has to be something, Sam,” I say, and he drops the pretense to meet my eyes again.

“I have no idea. Maybe I’m just meant to be alone.”

“Bullshit,” I mutter, and he smiles. “Do you talk about your exes?”

“Nope.”

“Mention comic books, action figures, or your mother?”

“No,” he says, laughing again. “Do guys actually do that?”

“You’d be surprised,” I mumble, then shake my head and lower my voice. “Tell me you don’t talk about sex, your penis, or any ofherbody parts on a first date.”

He doesn’t even answer me. He just giggles like a third-grader and murmurs, “You saidpenis.”

“Well, I guess we have our answer. Childish potty humor is your problem,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You know I only get this way with you, Zoey,” he says, grinning, then the smile drops. “I don’t know why nothing has worked out for me. I wish you could be there…”

His words trail off, his eyes widening so much, I can almost see the wheels turning in his brain.

“What?” I ask, dreading his answer as his face lights up.

“You should come on my dates with me.”

“What?’ I repeat on a laugh. “I’m not into three-ways, Sam.”

“Pity,” he says, then shakes his head to negate the joke. “Seriously, though, if you sat nearby and observed the dates, you could tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Like a wing-woman?” I ask, tilting my head in question.

“Kind of,” he says, leaning forward with excitement shining in his features. “But instead of helping me score dates, you’d be helping meduringthem. You’d have a clearer view from the outside looking in, and see things I might miss. Red flags. Missteps. Mistakes I’m making and don’t even realize.”

“I don’t know, Sam. That seems…weird. And dishonest. And honestly, a little skeevy. I’m no voyeur.”

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