Page 19 of Taking Sides

Okay, I guess he’s not going to finish that statement. I choose to take it as a compliment but honestly, with this guy I just can’t tell.

He must have already talked with the host because a young man waits with menus in hand, watching our awkward encounter.

“Ready?” he asks like he’s eager to do anything Conrad asks of him.

I nod and follow the host. Goose bumps dot my arms as I pass by Conrad. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous on a first date. I feel him step in behind me and we walk across the restaurant to a table in the back corner. It’s a Tuesday evening, on one of the warmest days of the year, so I’m not surprised to see a lot of people are out enjoying the weather.

Across from us another couple is out to dinner. They look much cozier than us. I’d guess fifth date, maybe more, but they’re still in the sweet phase where neither one of them is tempted to scroll their phone to kill time. In fact, I don’t even see their phones on the table. Impressive. Maybe it’s more like the third date, and it’s just going super well.

Conrad and I sit across from each other, and the host places the menus in front of us.

“Thank you,” Conrad says to him.

“Welcome.” The kid grins. “I’m a huge fan.”

Conrad doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, but he smiles appreciatively, and the host keeps gawking at him, awestruck. He backs away, not giving me another look. “Enjoy your meal, Shep.”

I fight a smile as I lift the menu, peering over it to see my date. Red dots his cheekbones and a muscle flexes along his jawline. He’s uncomfortable at the attention, but he must get it a lot. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

A framed jersey catches my eye on the wall behind him. A laugh slips from my mouth. Conrad’s eyes widen slightly, and he stills. “Is something wrong?”

I point above his head. He turns, and the second he sees his jersey hanging over his head, he winces. I think he mutters “Fuck” under his breath, but it’s too quiet to be certain.

The entire place is basically a shrine to local teams, so it isn’t surprising that his is here, but I can still tell he’s embarrassed.

“Do you want to go someplace else?” I ask. Sloane was right. This was the worst possible restaurant choice for our date. This place is more suitable for watching a game and slinging back beers.

“No,” he says quickly.

“Are you sure? I wasn’t thinking when I picked this place. I haven’t lived here very long, and I knew this was close to the rink.”

“It’s fine. Really.” His face is growing redder. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay.”

He glances over at me like it’s a difficult thing to do, but he holds my stare until it’s clear I’m not going to protest. Our server approaches, breaking the tension.

“Hello! Welcome.” She sets two waters down in the middle of the table. She’s chewing quickly on a piece of gum between her words. “Can I get you something else to drink besides water?”

I force a smile and let out a breath to release some of my nerves. This is ridiculous. I’ve been on dozens of first dates. Recently? No, but it’s like riding a bike, right? Images of riding Conrad flash through my head and now my face is flushing.

“Do you have Dr Pepper?” I ask. Or a bucket of ice I can throw over my head?

“Sure do.” She smacks her gum a few more times.

“Thanks.”

She jots it down on a pad of paper, then glances at Conrad. He shakes his head.

“Got it.” She slides the pen into her apron with her notebook and heads off in a way that indicates she’s a woman on a mission to spend as little time as possible at each of her tables.

When it’s just the two of us again, Conrad and I stare at each other like neither is sure how the other got here. First dates are always awkward, but the tension vibrating off this man is palpable. If I hadn’t been there when he asked me out, I’d think he was forcibly dragged here against his will. And unlike me, he seems content to sit in silence.

I can’t believe this is the guy my brother claims likes to run his mouth on the ice.

“So . . . how was your weekend?” My voice quivers. His anxiety is rubbing off on me. I wasn’t nearly as nervous about this date before I saw him again. My memory didn’t do him justice. His features are well-defined. High cheekbones, straight nose, chiseled jawline but all of it is softened somehow by the vivid blue of his eyes and the tousled blond hair. I thought I preferred dark hair, but I guess I was wrong.

“Good,” he replies with a nod of his head. “Yours?”