Rose handed Faith half of the tickets. “Here we go!”
Chapter Two
SCOTT
Friday date nightwas not on the agenda. Neither was being auctioned off as some animal shelter raffle prize. I was supposed to be in the office completing the numbers on the Smith case. I straightened my suit jacket sleeves and tried to not fidget. You never know when you might meet a potential client.
Professionalism is key.
Nothing about my current situation was professional.
This was ridiculous, even if I was helping James.
I looked over at him with his floppy ears and chuckled. The man was all action, no forethought. If he wasn’t my only friend since high school, I would've dropped this whole ordeal, like I often do.
According to this month’s financial magazine, “Social sacrifices often must be made in pursuit of greatness.” My mother believes I take the advice too far. But I was here now for James, and that would make her happy.
Last time James asked out a woman, he was in a chicken suit saying, “I've been CHICKEN you out.” That woman and hercollege roommates had shamed him on social media for weeks. We were currently on a strict no-costume policy. So, when James texted me the photo of himself in a dog costume with ears, a tail, and a shirt that said, “I WOOF YOU” in front of the fall festival entrance, with a thumbs up and a message that said, “wish me luck,” I rushed from work to save him from himself and his big gestures.
Well, I tried. I at least convinced him to turn the shirt inside out, but the tail and ears were apparently non-negotiable.
Anna, who oversaw the fundraiser for the animal shelter, laughed as she flipped his ear out of his face. Seemed like she didn’t mind them.Strange.
What I minded was when they needed more volunteers, and somehow, I ended up auctioned off for some ridiculous blind date.
I watched the other men on the flatbed trailer. They were flexing and showing off. That just wasn’t my style. I often found those types to be more show than substance, anyway. I re-adjusted the paper that was safety pinned to my shirt. I couldn’t seem to get it to lie flat across my chest.
Should I take off the suit coat? And do what with it, lay it in the dirt? This was my favorite jacket, the suit coat would have to stay.
I watched as Anna pulled the ticket for the first man. James started jumping with excitement, his dog ears flapping with the movement. You would never know that the man is a genius. He was the only one in our high school who scored higher on the SAT than me. Also, I was pretty sure he got a C on the final in advanced calculus so that I could be valedictorian. He said he must have failed and never cared for the label anyway. Now he's a computer genius, and jumps between small businesses, saving their financials and investing in all the right things. The man is loaded. Even in dog ears and a waving tail, he is the best guy I know. He is an amazing friend. One I don’t deserve with how often I drop off the face of the earth with my studies and workschedule.
Which is why I don’t just run off the flatbed trailer. I owe James more than this.
The auction continued down the line, each contestant receiving screams of excitement when their date was picked. I looked down at the paper safety-pinned to my chest, the number 106 written across it with a sharpie.
I wondered if I would get one of the old ladies with a cane. It didn’t matter who it was. I was here for James and nothing romantic. Romance takes time, and that was something that was not in the plan for at least two more years. If it all went according to plan.
Not if, when.
Anna hollered 106, bringing my attention back to the present as she reached into the bucket and pulled out a red ticket stub.
“520402.”
I watched as a dark-haired woman in high leather boots clapped. “That’s me!” she shouted, and then shoved the ticket at her friend in a faded jean jacket. “Well, I mean it’s her.”
With a woman on either side, they began pushing my date toward the stage. She looked like she might throw up. Well, that didn’t improve one’s confidence. I adjusted my tie, making sure it was straight.
She had long straight brown hair, red Vans shoes, a Beatles t-shirt under her jacket, and was barely over five feet tall. She was cute, not my usual type of woman in a business dress and hair in a tight bun, but cute.
I lowered my hand to help her up on the platform. Her hand shook as she placed it in mine. I was no muscle man like the guy down the line, but my hand dwarfed hers.
My twin had used his six-foot frame and large palms to become the basketball captain and most popular guy of our high school. Mine were used to push up my glasses on my thin nose as I led the debate team to victory.
Not nearly as sexy.
The top of her head reached my chest and her hair smelled fruity, like apples maybe.
I leaned down close to her ear, so I didn’t have to shout over the crowd. “Hey, I’m Scott.”
