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)
“ENTP,” she tells the camera with mock seriousness.
“Serial killer,” I confirm, drolly.
“But seriously… we had a lot of fun, and I want to thank Lucky for a great evening. I didn’t once think about absconding out the bathroom window.”
“I had a great time too,” I say. “Any man who says Winnie is refreshingly average deserves to be banned from dating—and probably slapped by someone’s grandma.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Winnie says, pulling away from me and offering a curtsy.
I give a flourishing bow. “Of course, my lady.”
When I straighten, Winnie reaches for the phone to turn off the recording, but I stop her cold when I ask, “When can we go out again?”
She freezes, hand outstretched, and slowly turns her head my way. “Go out again?”
“Yeah… it’s clear we both had a great time. So why not?”
Her gaze cuts between me and the camera. “Well, because… this is an experiment and I have to compare data, which means I have to date other guys. I wasn’t planning on doing a second date with anyone. This whole thing was meant to be kind of lighthearted.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to date other guys?”
She nods. “I think I should. For the data.”
“Ah, the heartbreak of science.” I turn to the camera, wink at the audience, and then pin her with my most smoldering look. “I think it’s short-sighted not to consider a second date.”
That catches her off guard. She blinks. “You do?”
“I think we had fun. And yeah, I’m not average. But neither are you.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m so average and you’re a hockey god.”
“That’s true. I am a hockey god. But you talk to a rabbit on camera, drink three kinds of tea before noon, and got recognized in a grocery store for a video about your failed Hinge date with Ghost Emoji Guy. You’re not average. You’re electric.”
She turns back to the camera. “He used the word electric. You guys heard that, right?”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge.
She doesn’t. Just smiles at me in that way that feels like maybe I’ve won something.
Then she looks at the camera one last time. “So, yeah. One date down. Many left to go. This one? Not terrible.”
Then she stops the recording and shoves her phone into her purse. “You ambushed me,” she accuses, but there’s no heat to it. In fact, those very full lips twitch as she tries to hold back a smile.
“Yes, I did.” I nod solemnly. “Also, I accept my not-terrible status with honor. And kindly repeat my request for another date.”
She tilts her head, lips puckered with curiosity. “You really think I’m electric?”
“Statistically, yes. Emotionally? Maybe.”
She smiles again—small, but real—and turns for her door. “Good night, Lucky Branson.”
“When can we go out again?” I press.
“Good night, Lucky,” she repeats, sliding her key in the lock.
I reach out, grab her wrist and give it a gentle tug so she turns to face me. She lets out a small gasp of surprise.
“I didn’t get a good-night kiss,” I say, reeling her in closer.
“Oh, but… you… I’m not sure…”
Her stammering is adorable and I ignore every bit of it. Putting my hand behind her neck, I bend and brush my lips across hers, feeling victorious when she sighs in a melting sort of way.
When I pull back, I squeeze her neck and ask one more time, “Will you go out with me again?”
Her eyes are half open, glassy, but she nods. “Yeah… okay.”
Grinning, I draw away from her. “Good night, Winnie Shaw.”
She mumbles something and disappears inside.
I walk back to the Tahoe smiling like a lunatic.
CHAPTER 8
Winnie
The end-of-day bell blares through the kindergarten wing, and the classroom erupts like a bottle of pop after a single Mentos has been dropped into the top. Backpacks are already slung over tiny shoulders, art projects flapping from overstuffed folders, and half the kids are mid-hug as I herd them toward the dismissal line. By the time I walk the last straggler out to the carpool loop, the hallway smells like Goldfish crackers and dry-erase markers, and my brain feels like it’s been through a glitter tornado.
Only then do I make my way to the break room, where I foolishly hope for a minute of peace. My day isn’t over yet, but I’m going to take a tiny break with my giant water bottle, a half-eaten string cheese, and the hope that no one is in the mood to talk.
I am disappointed.
“Oh my god, Winnie!” Kelsey exclaims, already perched at the table with a yogurt and too much energy. “Start talking before I combust. That TikTok last night? You looked like you were one swoony sigh away from falling in love.”
I’d managed to avoid this all day because once you start supervising kids, you really have no time for anything else. Alas, I knew Kelsey would pelt me with questions as soon as she could.