I’ve seen him hit on girls plenty of times over the years, seen the way he puts a little swagger in his shoulders and a little glint in his eye. Each time I’ve usually just groaned and rolled my eyes at his manwhore tactics, given up on hanging out with him for the rest of the night, and got on with things.
Except right now, watching as Owen sets his hand on the small of her back, urging her inside the building, the girl already turning her lips inward to hide how much she’s smiling, I’m feeling something. I don’t know what yet, but I’m definitely feeling something.
“You recognize her, right? Kate something-or-other. She’s a Victoria’s Secret model,” Tom says beside me, and I turn to see the boyish grin on his face. “Lucky guy.”
“Yeah. He’s going to have fun,” I say, trying to make it sound more like a joke than a realization.
“So are you,” Tom says, suddenly prepping his camera in a hurry. “Here comes your guy Brian. It’s show time.”
I steel myself, nod, and start walking toward my date—and at first, everything Agnes told me seems true. This guy is so perfect it feels like I’m stepping into a shaving commercial. Sun glistening from his hair and pearl white teeth. He holds out an arm of bulging bicep and I brace myself to be hugged by this man-mountain of beauty, who’ll probably steal a kiss too close to my lips. Guys that good looking usually do.
“Hello Margo,” he says, taking my hand and shaking it firmly, gently, but with the kind of warm strength that makes my knees go instantly weak.
“Hey,” I say, smiling brightly. “Nice to meet you.”
The hug doesn’t come; instead Brian pulls his hand back and keeps on smiling politely. “You as well. Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Um…yeah.” I freeze, unsure how to make this small talk any less awkward.
Brian just nods and clasps his hands behind his back. That’s when I realize: the handshake wasn’t a come-on. I suddenly feel more like we’re about to negotiate a small business deal than see if we’re potentially going to fall into passionate love with each other.
“Shall we head inside?” I say, turning away from him.
He glances at the camera and grins toward the lens. “Absolutely.”
Ten minutes later we have our clubs and balls and head out to the first hole, which is done up in a fairytale cottage theme. I glance around for sight of Owen and his date but don’t see them.
“So, Brian…” I scramble to get a conversation rolling, since Tom is following behind us with his camera and I’m painfully aware of how much is riding on the success of this first dating vlog. “Um, what is it that you do?”
“I’m in finance,” he says airily as we reach the first hole.
“Oh, like, stocks and stuff?”
“Yeah.” We stop, standing awkwardly for a moment around a thin strip of turf. Brian gestures at it. “Ladies first.”
I let out a deep breath and step forward, smiling. I put the ball down, and stand over it with the club, doing as good an impression of what I’ve seen other golfers do as possible.
“Got any tips?” I smile back at Brian.
“Sure,” he says. “Go short on Apple stock before the earnings report on Tuesday. Even if they hit estimates, enough people are gonna cash out for a dip—trust me.”
I look back at him, trying to keep my confused expression on the right side of polite.
“Um...I meant about the golf. First timer over here.”
“Oh,” Brian says, acting like I’m the one who didn’t get it. “Sure. Just try to hit the ball into the hole as best you can.”
I smile meekly, wondering if he just made a little joke, an attempt to put me at ease, though his blank expression doesn’t fill me with hope. Brian might be super hot, but from what I can tell, it doesn’t seem like he’s got a whole lot else going for him. Which is too bad, because I have no idea how I’m supposed to break this date down on camera with Owen later and make it sound even remotely entertaining. Hopefully Owen’s date is going better than mine. Or worse. Lots worse. That’d be very entertaining. Which would be good for the vlog.
I stare down at the ball and try to set myself, though I have no idea what I’m doing. I decide to do a few practice swings the way I’ve seen pros do, but I end up making contact with the ball on one of them, and it moves slowly off to the side of the lane, resting about six feet from where I’m standing, barely halfway to the hole.
“Whoa! That was bad!” Brian laughs, sounding genuinely happy for the first time since we met. Tom chuckles from behind the camera and I feel my cheeks flush.
“That was just a practice,” I say quickly. “Can I do that again?”
Brian doesn’t hear me over the sound of his own laughter, and before I know it he’s moved me aside and put his own ball down, knees bent and eyes focused like he’s on the eighteenth of the PGA tour.
I look up at Tom for support but he’s just moving slowly around as he tries to get the best shot.
“Have you played mini-golf before?” I say, trying to get a conversation going again.
Brian turns quickly and I almost detect a glare in his eyes, as if he’s irritated that I broke his concentration.
“Pah! Mini-golf? No…I play real golf. And I’m good,” he emphasizes, nodding his head slowly to drive the point home.
I try to think of the appropriate response to that, even though my first instinct is to laugh, but all I can come up with is a slow, forced, “Wow. Congratulations on that.”
Brian returns to his intense, championship-level focus, and after what feels like a long wait, takes his shot. The ball moves quick, smooth, and straight, slowing down a little just before it reaches the hole, before plopping with a satisfying ‘clunk’ into it.
“Yes!” Brian shouts, pumping his fist.
“Well done,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Did you see that?” Brian says, but his eyes aren’t on me, they’re on Tom—or rather, the camera.
Tom gives a thumbs up.
“I mean,” Brian continues, a little concerned. “Did you get that in the shot?”
I can’t see Tom’s face, but I can tell he’s exasperated by his voice.
“Don’t look at the camera, Brian. Just ignore us.”
I look at Brian, a flash of wounded pride on his face, and wonder if I might not be the star of this show after all. He marches over to the hole, picks up his ball, tells me to ‘mark it down,’ and makes for the next hole, a faux abandoned gold mine. I scribble a 1 on the score card and don’t even bother reminding him that I didn’t finish the hole myself as I pick my ball up and follow him to the next one. I can already see where this date is going, and the sooner we’re done the better.