Page 55 of Hard to Lose

A smile toys at the corner of his lips. “Yes, you did.” He takes a step closer, smelling of soap and deodorant and everything desirable that is Gunner.

When he left earlier after our morning romp, the last thing I expected was for him to return for the date I joked about last night.

And now he’s here, looking like that, and all the work I have stacked on my desk—the work I desperately need to do—can suddenly be dealt with later.

“I have work to do,” I say.

“Ah, yes. The daunting thesis from our brilliant graduate student. New York University has a genius in their midst.” He gives me a half-cocked smirk that makes me want to snuggle in against him as a means to soothe the lie. “Should I call you Dr. Kincade, then?”

“No. Please, no,” I sputter, my cheeks heating and head shaking. I never realized until this moment how ridiculous the thought of me being a psych major was.

The last thing I like to do is to delve into my own mind and issues, let alone someone else’s.

“Come play hooky with me.”

“I have work to do,” I repeat half-heartedly.

“It’ll be there later.” He takes a step toward me.

“You don’t have anything with the boys today? The bar?”

“No, to the boys. Yes, to the bar.” He shrugs. “So, see? We’ll spend our day together and then we can have that space—that Chase doesn’t do people time—tonight.”

“You have this all planned out, don’t you?”

“Indeed, I do.” His smile is like a little boy’s as he steps up to me. “Don’t I get brownie points?”

“I think you’ve already been cashing in your brownie points.”

“Brownie points are overrated,” he says and then smothers my laugh with a kiss.

* * *

“I should have warned you that I’m a horrific painter,” I say, looking across the table between easels at Gunner.

“That makes two of us. I mean, she’s talking about fan brushes and techniques, and I’m over here just hoping that my painting will look better than a kindergartener’s.”

Paint a portrait of your date or something that you associate with your date.

That was our instruction when Gunner and I took seats across from each other amidst ten other couples here at Brushes ‘N’ Booze. It’s a modern barn on the outskirts of town, with enormous canvases lining its walls. They are bright and colorful—animals, flowers, everyday items—and they make the place feel artsy.

Dotted around the floorspace are tables where two easels and chairs sit across from each other. The date table, as our host, Mimi, called them.

“So we’ll get started in a moment,” Mimi says in her way too cheerful voice and adjusts her red horn-rimmed glasses. Her funky, personal style definitely reflects in the atmosphere she’s created here. “But I wanted to run over the gist of our event. It’s called speed painting with a little Brushes ‘N’ Booze spin on it. You have an hour to finish your painting.”

“It’s timed?” Gunner laughs out incredulously, and the sound makes me feel so much more at ease knowing he’s already struggling like I am.

“This was your idea.” I point my paintbrush at him and smile.

“And in the theme of date night,” Mimi continues, “we’ll stop every five minutes for a random trivia question for you to answer about yourself to allow your date to get to know a little more about you.”

Both our eyes widen at one another and we snicker. Neither of us knew about this component of the event when we decided to attend.

“Could be interesting,” I say with a playful lift of my wine glass.

“Let’s not hope they don’t play truth or dare,” he says, “or I’m in a whole lotta trouble.”

“Are your truths that damning?”