I smile awkwardly. He clears his throat, glancing around at the other tables. My gaze shifts to Elena’s table, where she’s telling her potential date about her job as a librarian.
“Oh, they brought notes. That’s cute.” I laugh, turning back to Jeremy just as he places a clipboard on the table.
I tilt my head. “Did I miss a memo?”
“No, it’s your answers.” He runs a finger down the page, stopping mid-way before looking up at me. “Says here you’re into dino erotica. What type of dino?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry.” He pulls a piece of paper off the clipboard and hands it to me. I take it, too stunned to refuse. The words blur for a moment before I register what’s on it.
It’s the questionnaire. But instead of my answers, it has his.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, horrified.
“So, do you?—”
“Look, Jesse, was it?” I cut him off.
He frowns, tapping his name tag. “Jeremy.”
“Right, Jeremy. Look, that paper isn’t me. I was drunk when I filled it out and thought it would be hilarious to send to a friend but accidentally submitted it instead and—” I stop, swallowing hard. “Let’s just say it’s not a great indication of what I actually want.”
He tilts his head, squinting slightly. “So, you don’t like dino erotica?”
A bubble of hysterical laughter rises before I can stop it. “No.”
His face falls.
Oh my God. Is dino erotica a thing? I THOUGHT I MADE IT UP! How is it a thing? Is it like furries? Wait, do I even want to know?
“That’s really disappointing because?—”
The airhorn blares, cutting him off, followed by Lolly shouting, “Time! Swap around, Speedy Singles!”
Jeremy shuffles off toward the front of the line as the guy who had been talking to Elena sits down at my table. He places a clipboard on the table and slides his questionnaire toward me.
“So, you’re a fan of llamas?” he chuckles. “You know, I always thought the first L was an I. Used to call them ill-amas. Silly, huh?”
I force a smile.
This is going to be a long night.
EIGHT
JOSH
If nothing else, tonight is doing wonders for my creativity. I scribble another note on the back of one of the questionnaires, grinning to myself as the woman across from me drones on about her eight kids.
“Are you even listening?” she asks, her tone sharp.
“Yeah, sorry.” I set my pen down and focus. “Did you say they go to school?”
“Oh no, they’re all homeschooled.” She plays with the straw in her glass, swirling it in a way I assume is meant to be seductive. Unfortunately it results in liquid splashing over the side of the glass.
“That must keep you busy—planning lessons and whatnot.”
She laughs, tapping my hand. “No, silly. The trainer takes care of that.”
