“No, dummy. I came to ask you to set me up on a date.”
“Same thing. I got you.” He sets down his grading pen, picks up his phone, and starts scrolling. Every now and then, he stops, tilts his head like he’s considering, then resumes his scrolling. One time, he looks at me, then back at his phone, then mutters, “Too hot.”
“Who’s too hot? Me or the girl?”
Chase narrows his eyes at me. “Always the girl.”
Ouch.
His fingers pause, and he nods. “Okay, this girl’s perfect. She’s a video game developer at Stone Gaming.”
“How do you know her?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“Did you date her? How am I supposed to introduce myself to her? ‘Hey, you went on a date with Chase and now he’s passing you on to me.’”
“Sounds good.” He taps a few buttons on his phone. “Okay, I shared her contact with you.”
I shake my head, pull my phone out of my pocket, and check the message from him. The contact is complete with a picture of a cute girl with light brown skin, chin-length, dark brown hair, and black-framed glasses. “How do you have a picture of her on your phone?”
“There’s no way I’d remember everyone without a picture. I tell them I’m documenting our date. They fall for it every time.”
“You’re awful,” I reply. But I still pull up my messages app and start typing a text to her. What does this say about me, that I’m so desperate to plan a date I text the first person Chase sets me up with?
“What are you writing?” Chase asks.
“‘Hi, my name is Ryan and I’m friends with Chase Blackwell. He thought we’d hit it off and gave me your number.’”
“Give me that.” He swipes the phone out of my hand and furiously types away.
“What areyouwriting?” I try to grab my phone out of his hands, but he spins away in his chair and blocks me with his body.
“Come on, man,” I plead, pulling on his shoulder.
“Your surf muscles are no match for my gym muscles!” he cries out. And maybe he’s right, because he doesn’t budge.
Suddenly, he whirls in his chair, knocking me onto the floor. He holds my phone out to me. “Done.”
I hear giggles outside the office and turn my head. In my haste to talk to Chase, I must have forgotten to close the office door, and now there’s a gathering of female students watching Chase and me wrestle.
Well, I thought we were wrestling. Now I’m just on the floor.
I stand and brush my pants off, then stick my phone in my pocket. “Ladies,” I say, inclining my head to them and shutting the door.
“Don’t worry about them,” Chase says. “They’re always standing outside the door, hoping I’ll give them attention.”
I raise a brow at him.
“Which Idon’t,” he says firmly. “I’d never cross that line.”
“Good.” And I believe him. Chase might be the favorite English professor among the ladies, and he definitely goes on a ton of dates, but he’s still an honorable guy. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, asking him to set me up on a date.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, reminding me of the reason we were scuffling. The text.
I pull out my phone and read the new message.
Sounds great! I’d love to meet up. How’s Saturday night?
