Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
That seems to catch him off guard. “Not my type?”
I nod, waving my hand at him. “You’re you. Verified. Viral. Made of jawlines, chiseled abs and offshore accounts to hide your wealth. Why go to this much trouble for someone who’s merely average? You should be dating a supermodel or a pop star or something.”
He takes a beat before answering, eyes steady on mine. “Because I don’t think you’re average at all.”
I go still, my eyes locked on him suspiciously. That sounded genuine, but… no. No way he thinks that. This has to be a joke. He’s doing something so he can make a TikTok about it later to get views.
Lucky steps closer, the early-morning light catching the faint hint of stubble on his jaw. “Listen… WinnieTheNotWild… you’re smart and funny and I think your best friend might be a rabbit, which is as far from average as you can get. You record videos in messy rooms and don’t apologize for it. You talk about things people are afraid to say out loud and somehow make it feel like a hug. That’s also not average. That’s kind of extraordinary.”
My breath catches. God, he sounds so authentic that it hurts my heart. No man has ever said such kind things about who I am at my core.
“And yeah, I’m not technically average either,” he adds, holding up the bag. “But I think the fact I bring snacks has got to make up for that. I do forget where I put my keys. I once cried during a Pixar movie. And my family isn’t perfect either. My mom raised me alone. My dad skipped out before I was born. I’ve had to figure a lot out on my own. Maybe that’s not what you meant when you said average, but I promise I’m not as shiny as you think.”
I press a hand to my stomach because it’s fluttering again. Why the hell is he doing this to me?
Lucky shrugs, sheepish. “So I figured, what’s the harm in asking you to give me one shot? One date. As part of your experiment. If we’re a disaster, you’ll at least have new content.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, all my skepticism about this man’s intentions evaporating. I might be a magnet for awful dates, but I am a good judge of character. This guy seems to have it, and besides… I stalked his content as much as he did mine. His good-guy, happy-go-lucky persona doesn’t put on airs. I also read articles about him, watched video interviews. He’s consistently Lucky Branson if you peel away the whole professional hockey player gig.
He grins. “Was that a yes laugh or a ‘Please call security’ laugh?”
I sigh, grabbing the strap of my cross-body bag with both hands. “More like a ‘What the hell is happening’ laugh.”
Lucky lifts the paper bag again. “There’s a pudding cup in here.”
I groan. “What flavor?”
“Butterscotch.”
“Shit,” I mutter. It’s my favorite. I know I’ve eaten several on my TikToks.
“And a juice box.”
I’ve definitely had my share of those. “You’re really going for it, huh?”
He shrugs. “I believe in commitment.”
I study him for a long moment and consider my options. The way he’s standing there, smiling, patient, a little hopeful, I realize… I kind of hate how charming he is. I also kind of don’t.
Even though I think he’s a genuinely nice guy, there’s no way we can be a match. However, he would provide a nice control data point in my experiment. I decide to throw caution to the wind.
“Fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “One date.”
He brightens.
“But if you show up with a charcuterie board and call it snacks, I swear to God—”
He throws up both hands. “I promise. No meat folded like roses. Where should I pick you up? I’m thinking seven o’clock.”
I shake my head adamantly. “Sorry… I don’t share my home address with a first date. You could be a murderer or something.”
“I’m a public figure,” he exclaims with a lopsided grin. “I’ve announced to the world I’m seeking a date with you. If you end up dead tonight, I will be the prime suspect and I’m not willing to put my career at risk just to satisfy my murderous desires.”
I squint at him, holding back a smirk. “Have you ever killed before?”
He holds up the scout’s honor sign and shakes his head. “Cross my heart.”
I stare at him another second, then start a backward walk toward the school doors. “I’ll DM you my number. Text me later and we’ll discuss when and where the date will start.”
“You got it, Ms. NotSoWild.”
“It’s Shaw,” I say as I turn away from him.
“Winnie Shaw,” he says, as if tasting the sound of it on his tongue. “I like that.”
I don’t turn back, but I hear him behind me, humming what suspiciously sounds like a victory song. I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips, but I’m not about to let him know he amuses me more than anyone ever has before.