Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 40-Dirty Little Secrets

Bradley and I met for our date at Lucky's. While I was ready to throw my squishy, infatuated heart at him and tell him to keep it safe, I wasn't ready for him to accidentally meet my family.

"Hey," I said, walking up to where he sat at the bar, carrying on a bright conversation with Pat. The two of them were laughing over something. When Bradley turned to me, he grinned, his hazel eyes lighting up.

"Hey, girl. Ready to go? You look amazing."

"Oh, thanks. And yeah, I'm ready," I said, forcing nonchalance when I felt like I'd just been punched in the gut. His easy nicknames and blithe smile stole my breath. "Of course."

He held out a fist for Pat. They bumped fists in a manly departure. Pat sent me a thumbs up once Bradley's back had turned, and I smiled. Without Dad here, having Pat's approval meant just as much. Bradley's cell phone chimed as we walked out of the restaurant, then twice more in rapid succession. He ignored it.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, looking to his pocket. "Do you need to answer that?"

He waved it off. "It's just my friends."

Another chime.

"Sounds like they need you."

He pulled his phone out and silenced it. "They're just being idiots."

"Is this about the game you're missing tonight?" I asked. He stopped walking.

"Uh, yes. But . . . no. My friend Tyrone is playing in a basketball game tonight for March Madness, which is why I originally drove out. But this date is way more important."

I smiled, flattered despite myself. "That's really nice of you, but why don't we just go to the game?"

"Seriously?"

I shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because I'm taking you on a date."

"Fine, we won't stay the whole time. Just make an appearance, chest bump your buddies, and then we can go."

He looked at a watch on his left wrist. "I have reservations at Jim O'Leers at seven. It's six thirty now."

Jim O'Leers? I thought, my eyes widening. I'd never been to that restaurant, but if I remembered correctly, cost at least thirty dollars a plate on the cheap end. A quick glance at our less-than-formal clothes confirmed that he'd either forgotten to tell me to dress up, or he hadn't done that much research.

We were off to an interesting start.

"So we'll stop by the game really fast," I said, brushing thoughts of fashion aside. "Jim O'Leers is by the campus."

He opened and closed his mouth, studying me with narrowed eyes. "I . . . that would be awesome. You sure?"

"Definitely."

"Wow. Well . . . great. You're awesome, Lex. There aren't many girls that would be so cool."

To my mortification, my cheeks flushed a bright red. "It's not a big deal, really."

"Not a big deal to you, maybe," he said, motioning to an old clunker car a few feet away with paint-chipped doors, which looked like they could fall off at any time. I thought it could be older than me. "Forgive my ugly steed. It's old and smells like football. Oh, come around to the driver's side. The passenger door doesn't open. Sorry. You good with climbing across? Okay, we'll make this stop at the game fast, I promise."

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Forty five minutes later, the annoyed glare of an extremely haughty butler stared both of us down. No doubt he resented the smell of popcorn and pretzels lingering from our visit to the basketball arena. My new jeans—while awesome and slenderizing—looked extremely out of place at Jim O'Leers amongst dressy cocktail gowns and polished shoes. Not to mention Bradley's flip-flops and cargo shorts.