“We are ready when you are,” I tell him and he just smiles at me.
His blue eyes light up. “I’m always ready.”
I look down at the sheet of paper, avoiding looking at him longer than I have to. It’s inappropriate, to say the least. “Are you a morning person or a night owl?”
“Depends,” he answers to the camera. “If it’s a game day, then I’ll probably be a night owl, but other than that, I think I’m more of a morning person. Sort of get everything out of the way and then you can relax.”
I nod at his answer. “Speaking of relaxing, what do you do to wind down after a day at the office?”
He laughs at the question. “I’m a homebody,” he admits. “I’ve always been a homebody. I travel so much during the year with my schedule that any time I’m home, I want to be in my home.”
“What do you consider the perfect date?” I ask him the same question I’ve asked everyone else.
“That would depend, really,” he starts and I just look at him. “Well, it’s not just up to me. It’s a date, so it would also depend on what she wants to do.” My ears ring and the back of my neck starts to heat up. “If I want to take her to a restaurant and then a movie, that’s great. But if she wants to go bowling instead, it’s something I need to consider. If I would have to be spontaneous about the date, I would ask her questions about her likes and dislikes and then base it on that. I mean, what if I want steak and she’s a vegetarian?” He laughs. “That wouldn’t be a great date, would it?”
I nod, not sure I can say anything, the lump in my throat is bigger than it’s ever been. The idea of someone asking me what I like or what I would want to do feels so foreign. I look down at the sheet. The words look like they are all over the place as I try to get my heartbeat down to normal. I have five other questions to ask him, but I suddenly just need to get this over with. So I just go to the last question. “Why should these ladies bid on you?”
“Well.” He smirks. “Besides it being for a good cause”—he shrugs—“I have this amazing quality—I know useless information. Like the most random stuff. But it’s probably because I used to watch Jeopardy with my grandmother when I was younger. Now I just watch it with my cat. I actually have it set to record when it’s on.” I can’t help but chuckle at that information which makes him smirk at me. I see his leg move up and down nervously. “Secondly, I’m loyal to a fault, if you hate her, I hate her.” He shakes his head. “I’m kidding.” He looks at me and I can’t help but smile again. “You can cut that out.” I just shake my head as he looks into the camera. “I think I can converse well. I am a fun guy to be around, and I can pretty much guarantee you’ll have the best time. We’ll go on the date you’ve been dreaming about”—his eyes come to mine—“because I’ll let you choose what we do and when we do it.” My stomach feels like it’s going to my throat as he looks back at the camera guy. “That’s all I’ve got.”
He gets up and the sound guy goes over to him and unclips his microphone. I look down at the paper, wishing I could just walk out of the room and have a minute to compose myself. “If you guys are ever in LA, hit me up, I’ll get you tickets to a game.” I close my eyes, wanting to stop my ears from hearing what he says. He’s literally the nicest guy I think I’ve ever met. He’s humble and kind, and he is everything I thought I would want in a guy. It’s what I thought I had in my husband.
“Okay,” he says, coming to my side, “if that is all. I have to go and shower this sweat off of me.”
“Yup,” I reply to him, still affected by the past thirty minutes. “Thank you for your time.”
He nods his head at me and I turn mine, watching him walk out of the room and the janitor is there again. I see him stop Kirby, and instead of just holding up his hand and saying hello, like the other guys did, he actually stops to talk to the guy. He holds out his hand and shakes his hand and then poses for a picture for him. He spends a good five minutes talking to him before nodding his head and walking away.
“If that is all,” the camera guy says to me, “we’re done.”
“Yes.” I put my head back and smile at him, the fake smile I’ve become a professional at. “That will be all.” I grab my papers before I head back into the office, closing the door behind me, and collapsing in the chair.
eight
Kirby
I walk through the doors of the hospital and look down at the two cups of coffee in my hands. Each of them with a white bag that contains a muffin or a chocolate croissant. I’m making my way to the elevator when I look to the side and see Lexi sitting by herself at a table in front of the coffee area.
She’s got her laptop in front of her and her head is down. I should just go toward the elevator and ignore that I saw her. I should do a lot of things when it comes to Lexi, but instead of doing what I should do, my feet make the decision for me. Getting closer to the table, I see she’s wearing another pair of cream pants and a black shirt, but this one has big beige flowers on it. She has high heels on her feet, finishing the outfit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear jeans. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her not looking perfect.
“Hey,” I greet, once I get to the side of the table. Her head comes up and I see she has her earbuds in. She moves her hand to take an earbud out of her ear.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she says.
“I just said hey,” I reply, moving to the seat in front of her and sitting down. “What are you doing here?” I look around seeing some of the tables taken.
“Cheryl had a meeting with Dr. Visabell about the next fundraiser. I should have just gone home, but we are meeting with the event planner in about an hour to go over the final plans.”
“How excited are you for the day after?” I ask her and she laughs.
“I might not get out of bed,” she states. “It’s been so nerve-wracking, I can barely eat.”
I don’t love hearing that, she’s already so small, so I place the coffee down in front of her with the white bag. “Why don’t you take a break?” I urge her. “Keep your strength up.”
“I couldn’t.” She shakes her head, looking at the bag.
“Come on,” I push, putting the other bag next to it, “I dare you to pick one and eat at least half.”
She glares at me, a little bit of fire coming back into her eyes. “Fine.” She opens one bag and then the other. “Chocolate chip or croissant.”
