“We’re here.”
She blinks, disoriented and adorable. “Already?”
“Let’s get you to bed.”
We head upstairs quietly. The dogs hear us and start their usual symphony of excitement, but April shushes them without a fuss.
As she heads to the guest bedroom, she pauses at the door. “Oh, and Clark? Stop beating yourself up about the game. You’re a great goalie. One bad night doesn’t change that.”
Then she disappears into the room, and I’m left standing in my living room at two in the morning, surrounded by dogs, smelling like diner French fries, and so completely in love with my best friend that I can feel it in my toes.
Where do I belong?
With April.
Where should I be?
With April.
The answer has always been April.
I just don’t know what to do about it.
I’m halfway asleep when my phone buzzes with a text.
Whitaker: Dinner tonight at seven in Omaha. Fancy place. Wear something nice.
I frown at the screen.
Oh. Right. The thing he mentioned before the game. I was so distracted by getting towed that I completely forgot.
Me: What’s this dinner for? Is it a work thing?
Whitaker: You could say that. Trust me, you’ll want to be there.
I stare at the phone, unease settling in my stomach.
Me: What did you do?
Whitaker: Made you a reservation at Amore. This could be the ONE!
Amore is a date restaurant. The kind of place with candlelight and a prix fixe menu and waiters who use “sir” and really mean it. It’s the place where engagement proposals are made.
Me: Are you ignoring the result of the last date you sent me on with Lyric? I’d rather have endured a root canal without anesthesia.
Whitaker: Just show up, Clark. This is good for your image. Great for your career. I’ll send you the details.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a photo of a woman. She’s objectively beautiful with the kind of smile that’s been professionally whitened and the kind of clothes that suggest she doesn’t throw on a hoodie in the middle of the night.
Whitaker captions it withHer name is Posh. Fashion influencer. Huge following. She’s excited to meet you.
Me: No.
Me: Absolutely not.
Me: I didn’t agree to this.
Whitaker: You didn’t disagree either. Look, I’m trying to help you here. You need to be seen with someone. Someone who makes sense for your brand. Trust me on this.
