My Favorite Hal-Night Stand - Christina Lauren Page 0,61

so.”

I dig around in the mental fracas, searching for something to anchor to here so I can craft a decent reply, but Daisy continues before I’m capable. “Anyway, I tried this IRL thing and it’s so easy to, like, talk online but then being here in person and you’re like—ahh!” She mimics being surprised, with wide eyes and a round mouth. “Like you’re so hot.” She takes a giant gulp of her rosé and then speaks after a rushed swallow, “But also sort of quiet?”

I feel like I’ve been run over by the train in this wreck, and it takes me a second to register that this time she really is expecting me to speak. “I’m quiet?”

“Are you? I mean, you seem quiet.”

“I’m not usually. Just . . .” I let the thought fade out. I’m floundering. I’ve never had to put someone at ease so . . . actively. I almost want to just tell her maybe we should try this another time.

“Brandon was the talker in our relationship,” she says, her face glowing pink. “Or, I mean when we were alone we both talked, but when we were out he did the talking and it was sort of nice. Not that I don’t like to talk. I do. I’m just bad at it.” She laughs at herself, and then looks helplessly down at the table, maybe like she might find a Xanax there. “Obviously.”

“You’re not bad at it.” Holy shit, I could not sound more disingenuous if I tried. Gesturing to our menus, I ask, “Should we take a minute to figure out what we want to order?”

Daisy looks quasi-mortified. “Sure.”

The two minutes that we peruse the menu in silence are torture. Absolutely the most awkward, loaded two minutes of my life. I can feel the pressure building in Daisy, almost like she’s going to explode without conversation happening.

The waitress comes to take our order, and afterward Daisy immediately excuses herself to use the restroom. I am praying that she’s texting a friend to help get her out of this date.

I pull out my phone, texting Chris.

Zero chemistry.

What?

With Daisy. I mean, it’s immediately clear why she’s single.

God, that sounds terrible.

I just mean—she’s incredibly nervous and talking a lot about the ex.

Man seriously? That sucks.

She’s hot. But there’s just no vibe at all and she’s so nervous it’s weird.

OK gotta go.

I expect her to be right out, but I wait a couple of minutes, then five. Our waitress brings bread, and I absently nibble a slice, waiting.

Another few minutes pass, with no sign of Daisy.

With twitchy fingers, I reach for my phone again. Other than a final message from Chris, a simple Later, there’s nothing. No emails. No voicemails. My thumb hovers over the IRL icon.

I open it, drawn to the red 1 beside my inbox.

It’s from Catherine.

Slowly and covertly, I scan her latest message. It’s long and personal—and a little rambly—but once I finish it, I go back and start again.

It’s like word vomit, but even so it’s pretty fucking endearing. Am I really this hungry for such bald honesty? Probably a little. I love my friends, but sometimes feel like we don’t go very deep, and whenever I read a message from Catherine, I feel like I’m gulping down water, or shoveling chips in my mouth. I devour it.

“Reid?”

I look up, and the schmoopy grin on my face cracks, fading. I’ve been sitting here reading a message from one woman, on what I’m pretty sure is visible as the app where I met this woman, and I have no idea how long she’s been standing at the side of the table.

With her purse slung over her shoulder.

Quickly, I stand, too. “Daisy. Are you okay?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not feeling great. I think I just got myself so nervous about tonight.”

I look for the lie, but don’t find it. Anyway, if she wanted to lie she probably would have said her friend needs an emergency pickup, or her dog had a seizure.

“What can I do to help you feel less anxious?” I ask her, and I can’t tell if the urge to calm her is because I was busted reading a message from Catherine, or because she looks so genuinely vulnerable. “I get it, I do. I’ve been out of the game for a while, too. But I’m the same guy you’ve been talking to online.”

“You’re the same guy who’s been talking to a lot of women, I guess.” She nods to the phone still clutched in