and we can’t have you win. So instead I’ll make some stuff up.
“I made a New Year’s resolution not to take any shit this year. Don’t judge me for trying to stick to it.”
“I get it. I was rude and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off the way I did. Can we call a truce?”
“We can call a truce for as long as you can act like a normal person. So, maybe like five minutes or so.”
“I guess that’s fair enough.”
“I have an idea,” I tell him. “Why don’t we just try being normal for a little while? No Alpha or Boyfriend Designer talk. How about we just walk around on our date and admire the banging skeletons like normal people? We can discuss the other stuff later on.”
“That works for me.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Me too.”
We do our date thing—I have to admit, when he’s just being himself he’s really. . . can I call him charismatic and charming? It’s true. Separate from his whole Pack Leader persona, he has a presence and a confidence that’s really infectious. When he talks, I want to listen. When he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only person in the room. On top of that, he’s really funny, but in a corny way that wouldn’t translate to YouTube. Like, he’s made a bunch of really funny boner jokes during our skeleton-sex exhibit that probably no one in the world would find funny except me.
A few hours pass in what seems like only a few minutes. We take in all the debauchery the museum can give us, and then Conor takes me to a little Mexican spot that’s a few blocks away.
I’m surprised that I’m enjoying myself as much as I am, because I came in here angry and defensive. I’ve never liked the feeling of someone trying to force me to do anything, and that’s exactly how I’ve felt over the last few days. But he’s being nice, and I could literally look at him for days.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.
Conor
“I really don’t want to get white-girl-wasted right now.”
The Mariachi band is loud. But I don’t care. I’m here with the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
“I had a good time, even despite you doing your best Patty Hearst impersonation.”
“Shut up, I did not.” She jokes. “And it was actually fun.”
My ears perk up. “Wait, I’m sorry, what was that? It was what?”
“I’m not saying it again, so you can give that up right now. But I was ready for you to revert back to either trying something sneaky or being rude. Congrats on doing neither.”
What? You mean like staging an entire YouTube challenge that involves millions of our fans and a whole lot of infrastructure, only for the purpose of getting you to go out with me? That kind of sneaky. God, maybe I am a dick.
“I do have different sides to my personality, you know. I mean, sure, I may have made one boner joke too many, but they just kept coming.”
“That’s what she said.”
She cracks me up. I’m not going to lie, it was her face and body that drew me to her at VidCon, but I love her messed up sense of humor. The waitress brings us appetizers and some oversized margaritas. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. It’s so big.”
“It’s too soon for another ‘that’s what she said’ joke, isn’t it?”
“A little. I messed that up for you, I’m sorry. I think you need at least five-minute gaps between distasteful jokes.”
“Okay. Well, I’m under that, so we’ll just each think it to ourselves and laugh on the inside.”
She seems to be warming up to me. I can’t tell if she likes me also or finds me attractive. I know she thinks I’m this cocky asshole, but I’m not. I really can’t read if she’s into me or not. Every now and then she has a certain look in her eyes, a way she tilts her head and laughs, or some other small sign that maybe she doesn’t think I’m someone worth ghosting for a month, but then it’s gone again just as fast as it appeared.
“So I think it’s time to talk about those things I said I didn’t want to talk about.”
“But. . . what you just said makes no. . .”
“Yeah, I’m weird like that, you just have to deal with it. In my head it made sense, and that’s all that really matters at the end of the day. So we’re here,