“Yeah, if I wanted to. Easily.”
We were at the office door now. Through the glass, I could see my mom and William at the conference table, that week’s bride, Elinor Lin, between them. She was smart and gorgeous and had already had a dramatic, vocal meltdown about napkin holders. It was mid-June of my last summer doing this job. If I couldn’t sell cucumbers or sling coffee, maybe there was another way to endure.
“Want to bet on it?” I asked Ambrose.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“What about this,” I said. “For a set period, I agree to date the way you do, multiple people, no commitment. At the same time, you find one girl and see her exclusively. We see who bows out first.”
“Oh, it’ll be you,” he said confidently.
“We haven’t even set the stakes,” I said, offended.
“I’m very competitive,” he explained. “Okay, specifics. What’s the time period?”
“Three weeks?” I wasn’t totally sure, but I thought I saw him waver. “What, too long?”
“I was thinking maybe not long enough,” he replied. “If I’m going to commit, I need to really go for it.”
“Four,” I said.
“Seven. That will get us to Bee’s wedding.”
I had to admit, I was surprised. “Agreed. Other fine print?”
“You can’t just go on a couple of dates and call it multiple because that’s what it would be for you. If you’re going to be me, you have to be all me. Lots of dates. Like, every night.”
“Ambrose,” I said. “I have to work.”
“I work!” I just looked at him. “Let’s say you have to do at least three a week.”
“Three?” I said. “One.”
“Please,” he replied, looking offended. “Two or no deal.”
I sighed. “Fine. Two it is. And what does the winner get?”
“Hmmm.” He leaned against the door, rubbing his chin like it actually helped him think. “If I win, I get to decide who you go out with next. And it can be anybody, you can’t dispute or refuse, no takesies backsies.”
“Takesies backsies? What are you, twelve?” I said. “And what about if I win?”
“You won’t,” he said, again so confidently. “But if we’re talking hypothetical, that would mean I couldn’t be a one-woman man, so you also get to pick my next prospect.”
I stuck out my hand. “I have to admit,” I said, “I’m not totally sure why you’re agreeing to this.”
“Because you think I can’t do it,” he replied. “And it’s only for seven weeks.”
“After which,” I said, “you’ll go back to dating the entire town and getting drinks thrown at you.”
“While you,” he added, “will be stuck with the person of my choosing, demanding the origin of the glitter in your hair.”
We shook. It was a rare thing for me, lately or otherwise, to feel going into something that I already had an edge. But this time, I did. It was just dating, all beginnings, no endings. He was right—it did sound nice. And anyway, how hard could it be?
CHAPTER
12
“OKAY,” DEVON said, holding up his hand. “LEGIONNAIRES.”
As Tyler thought for a second, then jotted on his napkin, I tried to catch Jilly’s eye. But she was studying her water glass, or pretending to. “Got one!” he announced.
“No way,” Devon said.
“Yep.” Tyler cleared his throat, loudly. “REASONING LIE.”
“Nice!” Devon said, reaching across the table for a high five. The tenth, since I’d started counting soon after we sat down. Each one sounded a louder slap than the rest, but again, that might have just been me.
“My turn.” Tyler looked at me. “You want to get in on this yet? Run with the big dogs?”
When we’d first arrived at the table and found them deep in an anagram competition, I’d actually thought it was kind of cute. After it became clear they played this game with intense focus and pride riding on every exchange, I started to see it differently. Never before had I seen such smack talk over wordplay. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact they’d basically entirely ignored us.
“I’m good,” I said, taking another sip of the coffee drink I’d ordered to help me stay awake.
“Suit yourself. Are you ready?” he asked Devon, who was hunched over his own napkin, pen in hand. “To get your clock cleaned? Your ass handed to you? Your—”
“Just spit it out, Stevenson.”
“Okay.” Tyler grinned at me. “REVOLUTIONARY. Go!”
As Devon began scribbling, Tyler cackled, draining the last of the soda from his own glass with a slurp. When our waiter, a bodybuilding type, walked by, I watched Jilly’s eyes follow him. This time, she saw me watching her and mouthed an apology.
I just shrugged. Sure, the guys were kind of duds, but it wasn’t like anyone was groping me. And I’d gotten a decent dinner out of it, plus got to hang out with Jilly, something I was realizing I needed to do as much as I could before we both headed off to school in August. Not focusing on the dating aspect of, well, dating was actually a good approach. Who knew?
“Got it!” Devon yelled, hitting the table and making my fork jump. “UNTO REAL IVORY.”
“Nice,” Tyler said. Another five. “You girls have to join in! Unless you’re scared. . . .”
“You don’t scare me,” Jilly said flatly in response. She pushed out her chair. “We’re going to the bathroom.”
“All right,” said Tyler, then signaled to Devon to pick up his pen again. We were almost to the restroom when I heard one of them yell, “A THIGHBONE GROOM TOT!”
“Keep going,” she said from behind me, as palms slapped again. “Do not turn around.”
Once inside the restroom, I went into a stall, while she leaned against the sinks, contemplating her reflection. After a moment she said, “I can’t believe I picked these guys. Normally my judgment in these things is aces.”
“It was the sport coats,” I told her. “They blinded you.”
“Probably.” I heard the water running. “I’m just sorry for you. I finally convince you to go on a real date with me and this happens. Now you’ll never agree to anything again.”
I flushed, then came out to join her, pumping soap into my hands. “No, I will. My pride is at stake now, remember? Or at least for the next seven weeks.”
“Oh, right.” She fluffed her bangs. “I guess I have Ambrose to thank for that, huh? I finally got my wingman. Or woman. Or whatever.”
“And it only took our entire lives so far,” I told her.
“True. Watch, though: while you specifically aren’t looking for someone great, you’ll find them. I’m out here digging for years and you will just stumble over a gold nugget by accident.”
“Is that what you think is happening tonight?” I asked. “Because Tyler is no gold nugget.”
“I’m just saying there are types,” she replied. “Those of us who are always seeking, like me, and those who get found, like you. That’s why I think, no offense, that Ambrose might win this bet. He’s a seeker, too.”
“Who has to commit to someone,” I reminded her.