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."
_____________
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.
"What do you mean you gave my reservation away?" Bradley asked, thumping his finger on the table. "I'm only a few minutes late, and I called ahead to—"
"Forgive me, sir, but restaurant policy states that if you have not arrived within ten minutes of your appointment, the table is given to another." He motioned to a queue of people waiting in line. "You are more than welcome to put your name on the wait list."
Bradley glanced over his shoulder and let out frustrated breath.
"Let's just go," I said quietly. "Really. We'll find something else."
"Fine."
He put a hand on the small of my back to steer me back into the warm spring night. "Sorry, Lex. I should have left the game earlier. Tyrone was just on a roll, and I wanted to talk to him at the break."
"Oh, it's fine."
We approached his beat up car in silence. Bradley reached into his pocket for his keys and stopped. He patted his front pockets, then his back, and finally looked through the windshield with a groan.
"Damn!"
A shiny set of keys sparkled in the ignition. When I tugged on a door handle, it wouldn't budge. Bradley hurried around the other side of the car, but his had been locked. He slammed a fist onto the roof and pressed his forehead to the edge of the car.
"You've got to be kidding me."
While I felt bad for his pathetic state, I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of my chest, welling up with the realization that Bradley—Mr. Perfect himself—wasn't actually perfect at all. He looked up when I giggled. I giggled harder, and then leaned against the car and laughed. His eyes narrowed.
"I'm glad you can find amusement in this," he muttered, punching the car again, his eyes brewing into a stormy hazel. "I even left my wallet in there. Our first date and I've made it a bloody disaster."
I calmed my hilarity. "So let's walk."
"Walk?"
"Yeah. You use two feet. Put one in front of the other. We'll find some food."
"Where are we going to go?" he asked. "I don't exactly see you carrying a purse and my wallet is locked in the car."
"Well, no. I didn't think I'd need one. But that's all right. We'll find something." I looked at his car. "And a locksmith."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Despite the fact that I didn't have any cash either, I grinned, elated with a sudden idea. "Don't worry. I got this."
____________
After calling a locksmith from my cell phone—and finding out it'd be at least two hours before he could meet us at the car—Bradley and I started walking. Twenty minutes later I stopped at a white gate.
"Here it is," I said, spreading my arms. "My new favorite place to eat."
He studied it with curious skepticism, having shaken off most of his bad mood while we walked. "It's a grass tiki hut."
I laughed. "Be adventurous. It has great food. My friend Megan introduced it to me. You should try their smoothies. C'mon. Cooper will let us eat and pay later."
To my relief, Cooper did remember me, and when I explained the situation, promised the food on the house. "Any friend of Megan . . ." he said, trailing off, and I wondered what kind of history they had that I didn't know about yet.
Bradley, looking a little like a defeated puppy, sat behind his strawberry and kale smoothie while island music tinkled in the background. "Listen, Lex," he said, leaning forward. "I'm sorry. I really wanted this to be a great date."
"It is a great date."
"No it's not." He rolled his eyes in a good natured way. "We missed our reservation, I dragged you to part of a basketball game, my keys are locked in my car with my wallet, and now we have to bum food off of a hippie. This is not how I pictured it going. I won't blame you if you never answer my phone calls."
"Phone calls?" I asked, stirring my own smoothie.
"Yeah." He fiddled with the straw, pumping it up and down in the pink drink. "Once I leave. How else are we going to keep in touch? Facebook messages just aren't going to cut it anymore."
A little flame curled inside my chest, making me smile. "Oh, yeah, of course. I . . .I just . . . I didn't think you'd want to keep in touch."
My voice shrunk with the admittance. Somewhere deep in my head had been the idea that tonight was our only night. Cooper brought a plate of organic, non-GMO, Jamaican jerk nachos with locally raised shredded chicken in front of us. I smiled my thanks. He tilted his head, shot me an encouraging wink, and bowed away.
"Not keep in touch?" Bradley asked. "Are you kidding? Lexie, you're the most chill, easygoing girl I've ever met in my life. If this night had happened with Tami then—"
He broke off with the snap of his jaw shutting, pressing his lips into a firm line. My eyebrows rose. Tami?
"Secrets in the closet?" I asked, feeling a sudden empathy. I had my own skeletons rattling deep in hidden places, though mine tasted like chocolate bon bons.
"Man, I'm on a roll tonight," he said with a self-deprecatory sigh. "I can't do anything right. Should I just tell you all my dirty secrets since your friend is paying for our dinner, and you had to walk to a tiki hut just to get a meal?"
I smiled. "Ex-girlfriend?"
His face softened. "Yeah. She was a . . . a nightmare."
I leaned back. "Spill," I said, plucking a nacho off the plate. "I have all night long."
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