Darla’s entire world zipped to a stop.
Ohhh, damn. Operation insertion of foot into mouth: complete.
Mach was not like a super cool alternative way to spell Mark, but like the airplanes that went wicked fast… and a rockstar name.
A tickle of a memory about a guitar player itched at her brain. No, was he a drummer? Something about a musician setting up a publicity date… gah, when had she read that? All the days melted together, it seemed, when a girl was in the midst of a life catastrophe, the implosion of her relationship, and two different strains of gastroenteritis right on top of each other.
But just like that, all the dominoes fell into place.
"Am I on a publicity stunt date?" she asked, slower than entirely necessary. "With… you?"
That would explain the pictures and everyone staring and…oh, dear God.
A furrow likely formed with the intensity that her eyebrows fell smack together. She rarely allowed that to happen because it’d eventually leave lines, and if she had lines she wanted them to be laugh lines. Notwhat-the-fucklines.
He took a sip of his beer, then nodded. "Yeah. I, uh, sorta thought you knew?"
She closed her eyes. Then she opened them, hoping she’d wake up from a fever or something and this would all be a dream. But no, Mach was still there, and the server popped by with their drinks.
"This isn’t real," she confirmed. "Not a real date?"
"Not an actual maybe-we-can-make-this-permanent-someday date, if that’s what you mean."
"Clearly, I am an idiot." She pressed her fingers to her forehead. All the signs were there, and she hadn’t even noticed. Her face flamed; bitterness tasted like a lemon peel settling on her tongue. The bitter taste of believing that something real could come from online dating.
"I’m sorry," he said, and he sounded genuine. But she should be the one to apologize. She was the one who talked down about his band.
"I’m sorry you didn’t know it’s me you’re meeting," he continued.
"Dimefront music is so successful because it’s so good," she said quickly. "Ignore everything I said before this statement, yes?" She guzzled club soda through the straw. Set the glass down and then had to hold in a burp because… fizz and guzzling? Didn’t go well together.
Awkwardness rolled over them like a thick fog. She shook her head and reached for the club soda again. But, bad idea. Learned that lesson already. The server was right, she’d need something stronger with less carbonation to make all this go away.
"I think I’m gonna go." She snatched her scarf and her purse and started to slide from the—
"Hold up," he winced. "Please don’t leave now."
She frowned and then pulled her lips to the side. "Why not?"
"C’mon, it’ll look bad, and you didn’t even get to meet the band." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "I think Bax and Linx will be super interested to hear about your take on our music."
He was clearly joking with that statement, not being mean or anything.
"Um…" What did a person say in this situation? Was there a manual she should consult?
"You have a set soon, then?" she asked, ending her question on a sigh of surrender.
"Yeah." He nodded, keeping his eyes on hers and being way too chill about her embarrassment. Hard to be upset with a guy when he was being so nice.
"You’ve got a seat right up front with the other girls," he continued.
"Other girls?" Was he on multiple dates tonight? That’s about the only scenario that would make the whole night more cringeworthy. "There are more like me. More dates but not dates?"
He grinned like they were actually having a great time. He was so convincing he almost fooled her, too.
Then he lifted his chin toward the stage. "The other Dimefront guys have their ladies coming and, fair warning, they’re all about this thing happening tonight"—he gestured between them—"so be prepared for that."
Wait. Hold the freaking phone.
