Suddenly my neck is warm, and my entire body tightens in response. I grip one of the key chains tighter between my fists. It feels too intimate viewing Bennett in this way and helping him decide what to wear.
I tilt my head, not committing to a decision either way. “It’s sporty,” I say vaguely. Now, if Owen wants an opinion on how to clothe himself, I might be willing to give it. Because Owen is my date. Bennett is not.
“So your dad loves baseball?” Bennett asks, following up from before.
I avert my eyes from the top that’s still pressed against his body. “What? Oh. Yeah. He writes low-budget horror flicks. Some of his past films are The Green Monster and Field of Nightmares. Have you heard of those? He’s still trying to write a movie that will earn a cult following.”
Bennett looks amused. “I sadly haven’t, but they’re now on my list.”
One of the sleeves has fallen across his chest, and in this brief moment of not being put together, he looks so boyishly handsome that I almost can’t handle how adorable it is. “You going to buy that or something?” I ask, probably coming off more flustered than I intend to.
Bennett slings the jersey over his arm. “I think so. I don’t know who this player is, but it feels right to blend in.”
I feel the corners of my mouth turn upward. “That’s the team spirit,” I say playfully.
“You want one, too? We can match.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m good. Baseball was an astute choice,” I say, considering its environment for first dates. “It’s a fairly quiet game that allows for small talk, it has the best stadium food, and there’s a good view from most seats. I’ll admit I’m impressed.” I look up at Bennett with an approving smile.
Bennett’s lips form a straight line. “Actually, Owen chose this.”
“Well done, Owen.” I push down on the head of a bobblehead and nod along with it. “Or was it because of the profile matching? At least he read what I wrote. Let’s hope that’s a good sign.”
Bennett plucks the bobblehead out of my hands and replaces it with my ticket. “It’s time for you to get to your seat. And remember, keep an open mind.”
I march down the steps toward my seat and find a man already seated. My heart pounds nervously when I see him. The idea of meeting him was easier as a concept, but a real person in front of me makes this uncomfortably real. I make eye contact with who I think is Owen and say his name in a question form. He nods and stands. He’s maybe four or five inches taller than me. We’re luckily on the outside of the row so I can make a quick escape if need be. I extend my hand for a shake, and he mimics my movement.
“Is that seat good for you? I’m happy to switch,” Owen says as I secure my spot on the aisle. I tilt my head to get a better look at him. He has bright blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and fair skin covered in pale freckles.
“I’m fine here, thanks,” I say, noting his manners. I enjoy the expansive view from the seats. Two scoreboards stand tall across the field with the crisp mountains illuminated by the lowering sun behind them. Fans carrying food and drinks slowly occupy the multicolored pastel seats while music blasts around us.
I tap my knee self-consciously. Talking to strangers isn’t usually such a challenge for me. I could pretend I’m on a Singles Scouting. Nope. No. I’m here to give this an honest shot. Don’t think about business right now.
“So, what number date am I?” I finally ask, not being able to help myself.
Owen looks over, appearing confused. “Excuse me?”
“On ZodiaCupid. How many dates have you been on?”
“Oh! I’ve only been on a few. Everyone I’ve met through the app has actually been lovely. I just haven’t hit it off with anyone in the way that I’m looking for,” Owen says in a way that sounds rehearsed. He must be nervous.
“Sure, sure,” I say, dipping my head. “And you like the app?”
Owen narrows his baby blues at me. “You don’t work for ZodiaCupid, do you?” he asks suspiciously.
I successfully avoid letting out a laugh. “Definitely not!”
“What do you do then?”
“Right, you only know what’s on my profile,” I say. I consider lying again but instead try the truth. What have I got to lose? “I work in my family’s business. I’m actually the new owner of our matchmaking company that matches people based on their Chinese zodiac animal signs, too.”
Owen gestures in understanding. “Sleeping with the enemy. Nice.”
“What? No!” I recoil back into my seat. “I’m just testing out what’s available now. Why limit yourself, right?”
“That’s what they say,” Owen agrees.
I shake my head. “That’s what who says exactly?” I tease.
“Just people,” he answers frankly.
“Oh. Okay.” I scan over the crowd, looking for good people-watching opportunities. “Did you want anything to eat or drink?” I ask after a particularly long stretch of silence.
“I can get it,” Owen says, starting to stand.
“No! I’ll do it. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was contemplate my food options. Who am I kidding? That’s my favorite thing to do now,” I say with a tongue-tied laugh.
“Okay, then, I’d love a beer, please,” Owen says. “It was a long Wednesday. And I had a big lunch so I’ll skip the food.”
“You sure?” I ask. “They have Dodger Dogs here! Where else can you get that?”
“That’s basically just a branded hot dog,” he says, clearly not sharing the same enthusiasm over baseball food.
I sigh. “You’re probably right.”
“Please, let me treat.” He pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet, reconsiders, and then adds two more twenties to the pile. “I remember stadium food being expensive.”
“It’s one of the tastiest scams,” I say. We share our first laugh, and suddenly I’m caught off guard. ZodiaCupid matched me not only with someone compatible, but with someone I’m not completely miserable being around. Awkward, but not miserable. It’s still early.
With a stack of money in hand, I scurry up the stairs and find Bennett in his new jersey waiting at the top.
I clutch the sixty dollars to my chest in surprise. “Can you stop doing that? It scares me every time.”
Bennett leans against a pole with his arms crossed. “I’m just standing here.”
I jerk my thumb toward the field. “Shouldn’t you be out there? Your teammates are depending on you.”
He smooths out his jersey. “I’m doing my daily autograph round,” Bennett says with a smile.
“You’re making me nervous! Do you need to be creepily watching from the top of our row?”
“Just making sure you’re okay,” he says.
“From the guy…you matched me with?” I ask. “Oh, right, you don’t do background checks on your users, so for all we know, I could be rubbing shoulders with someone who burgles or texts while driving!”
Bennett’s shoulders shake when he laughs. “That’s the worst you can think of?”
“I’m the one who has to mingle with the shoplifter for the next nine innings,” I say. “I’m not letting my mind go to darker places.”