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)
Something tugs in my chest. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“I’m not a commitment-phobe or anything,” he adds quickly. “I just haven’t found someone who made me want to rearrange my life for them.”
“Ever been in love?”
He exhales. “Not yet. You?”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “Yeah. Once.”
He looks surprised. “Serious serious?”
I nod. “It lasted a couple years. He was a nurse. Kind, thoughtful, funny. The kind of guy who remembered my coffee order but forgot to take the trash out every week.”
“What happened?”
I keep my voice calm, but my fingers twist the fabric tighter. “He cheated. Claimed it didn’t mean anything, but I guess it meant enough to blow up what we had.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It was a long time ago. I healed. Moved on. Learned to buy my own damn flowers.”
“I love that song.” He watches me carefully. “That explains the dating challenge.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, a smile finally tugging at my lips. “It’s my way of choosing hope without expecting fireworks.”
Lucky’s expression darkens. “The guy sounds like an idiot.”
I smirk. “He was. But I learned a lot. Like how to spot red flags. How to not compromise who I am for someone else’s comfort. And how to block a number with terrifying efficiency.”
He laughs, but there’s a glint of something deeper in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or understanding.
The waitress swings by again, and we order—pancakes for both, bacon for me, sausage for him, and a shared side of hash browns.
“Okay… let’s see… what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”
Lucky raises an eyebrow, forkful of pancake poised in the air. “We’re doing worst-date confessions now?”
“Obviously,” I say. “It’s the foundation of my entire brand. Besides… you’ve seen all mine on TikTok.”
He laughs. “All right, but you asked for it.”
“I’m braced.”
He puts the pancakes in his mouth, chews and swallows, then dabs his mouth with his napkin. After setting his fork down, he steeples his fingers like he’s about to deliver a sermon. “So, a few years ago during the league’s summer break, I went out with this girl who seemed totally normal when we talked on the phone. My cousin set me up with her. She was pretty, smart, into dogs. Green flags all around.”
“Okay.”
“We meet up at a bar. She’s cute. Funny. Then she starts telling me how she’s really into spiritual alignment and aura energy.”
“Still not a deal-breaker.”
“No, not a deal-breaker. But then she pulls a crystal out of her bra and tells me my root chakra is blocked and that’s why I have commitment issues.”
“Oh my lord,” I wheeze through a laugh.
Lucky nods with an expression on his face as if he just bit into a lemon. “She tried to rebalance me. In public. By humming and pressing the crystal to my sternum.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I cover my mouth, laughing. “Did it work?”
“Oh, totally,” he says. “I left my body and hovered above the bar, watching myself order an Uber.”
I cackle. “That’s incredible.”
“To top it off, she texted me two days later to say she couldn’t continue seeing me because my energy field clashed with her rescue ferret.”
“I’m sorry,” I say between laughs. “A rescue ferret?”
He shrugs. “Apparently his name was Nimbus and he didn’t like my vibe.”
I snicker into my hand. “Even though you’d never actually met him?”
“She said my energy stained hers and transferred to him,” he says blandly.
I’m doubled over now, wiping my eyes. “That’s the greatest worst-date story I’ve ever heard.”
Lucky grins, proud. “Told you. High bar.”
“Well, I can’t compete with ferret-based rejection,” I say, raising my coffee in salute. “You win.”
He leans back with a smirk. “Honestly, I’ll take my chances with Buttermilk. I understand from your videos that he’s judgmental, but I like my odds better with him than an emotionally attuned ferret.”
I laugh again, but my brain short-circuits a little. He thinks he’s meeting Buttermilk. That implies he will be coming to my house. Me, inviting him in. Letting him into more than just this experiment.
And wow. Why doesn’t that feel as scary as it should?
Over the next hour, we cover everything from favorite childhood snacks to irrational fears. He tells me he once had a recurring nightmare about being tackled by a giant tiger mascot that bounced on its tail like Tigger. I admit that I still check behind the shower curtain before I pee, just in case.
It’s fun. Easy. The kind of morning that sneaks up and makes me forget I’m technically still part of a public social endeavor.
When we’ve both demolished our plates and the coffee’s nearly gone, he leans forward, fingers tapping the rim of his mug.
“I want to see you again,” he says.
My heart does a little lurch, but I play it cool. “You are seeing me.”
Lucky rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. A third date. Just us. No cameras, no commentary. Just… more of this.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, hesitating.