Page 14 of Movers and Fakers

“I told you I’m not interested in dating right now, Mom.” I grab the little ballet slipper pendant on my necklace. “I’m focused on dance and school and tutoring. I don’t have time to date.”

“That’s what I think the problem is, honey.”

I draw in a deep breath of autumn air and prepare myself for her well-meaning lecture. Andrea Driscoll is the queen of good intentions. She’s a great mom, and I wouldn’t trade her for anyone or anything, but she’s also more involved than I would like. Especially when it comes to my social life. She’s been trying to expand my circle of friends since elementary school. It’s never resulted in anything but embarrassment for everyone involved. Though I’m not sure if that’s her fault or mine.

I’ve never been great at making new friends. I’m not especially outgoing or exciting to talk to. Most people give up when they realize that.

“You really need to get out more. I don’t want you to look back on your college years and regret spending all your time working. It’s important to have balance,” she continues.

She said the same thing about middle school and high school.

“I live with three girls and we hang out a lot,” I remind her. “I’m sure I’ll end up at a few more parties this semester.”

Jasmine usually invites us to a few postgame parties during football season. I turn her down most of the time, but occasionally I come along just to appease her as well as my parents. It’s always too loud and sticky. I’ve never understood the appeal. The most fun I ever had was when Jasmine’s boyfriend, Shepherd, punched a guy for touching her. That was basically a year ago now.

“And that’s all great! But I still think you could stand to go out on a date or two.”

Hayes’s face pops up in my mind. I bat the pesky thought away with a scowl. Sure, I could go on a date with him, but it wouldn’t lead to anything good. He’d flirt the entire time, then end the date by trying to kiss me. I wouldn’t let him—because there’s no way I’m giving my first kiss to a guy like him—and he’d think I’m boring now that the chase is over. He’d probably void our contract and find someone else to tutor him, too, just so he didn’t have to see me again.

“I’ll think about it. But I’m not going on a blind date with your friend’s son,” I say in a firm tone.

“Oh, but he’s so darling, Rory. He’s going to be an engineer—or was it an architect? Either way, he’s very smart. Can I at least send you a picture of him? Maybe his number, too, in case you think he’s cute.”

“Do you remember the last darling boy you set me up with?” I ask as I push into my apartment building. “It didn’t go well.”

It was the last time I let my mom interfere in my dating life. She’d set me up with a different friend’s son. He was a football player, and we met up at a local restaurant. Except, when I got there, I found him with another girl. Apparently, his mom had set up a few dates for him and thought it made sense to double-book the nights he didn’t have practice or a game since he had so few days off.

“This won’t be like that at all,” she rushes to reassure me. “Michelle said he got out of a relationship not that long ago, so he hasn’t been looking, and she talked to me first.”

I weave through the lobby, passing crowds of friends having dinner or playing games at various tables.

“It sounds like he doesn’t want a relationship either, Mom,” I say, trying to mask the frustration from my voice.

“You find love when you’re not looking for it.”

“I don’t think that’s what that phrase means.” My tone is wry.

“Would you just look at the photo and think about it?” she pleads. “Your dad and I are worried about you.”

Guilt pricks at my heart as always in these conversations. She cares and wants the best for me. We just have differing opinions on what that is.

I press the button to the elevator and wait.

“I’ll look at it,” I sigh. “But no promises that it will lead anywhere.”

An excited squeal comes through, making me wince. “Rob, she said yes!” she exclaims to my dad. “I’ll send it right away.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say even though I don’t feel very grateful. “I’ve gotta go, though. I need to get ready for rehearsals.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Mom chirps. “I’ll talk to you later this week. Have a good rehearsal! I love you.”

“Love you. Tell Dad and Eric I love them too.”

She confirms that she will and then we hang up. Shortly after I step onto the elevator, my phone buzzes again. This time with a text. I open the photo of Layton against my better judgment. He looks … nice? He’s wearing a polo and khakis, smiling from his spot in front of a computer. If he has any muscles, they’re not visible in this photo. His hair is trimmed short and gelled up. There’s nothing inherently wrong with him, but he’s not my type. Though I suppose I’ve not dated enough to even know what my type is.

Again, I think of Hayes. And frown.

Why does he keep popping up everywhere I don’t want him to?