Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,69

I made a fool of myself over that man, all for nothing. He didn’t even like women. He just didn’t know how to tell me he was gay. “He had the prettiest face I’d ever seen on a man. He was beautiful. Like a statue.”

Mitch’s jaw goes tight and he averts his head, staring off into space. He looks almost…jealous?

No. That’s crazy.

“And that’s it. I’ve gone on lots of dates. I’ve even gone on multiple dates with one man, but they never worked out. We just never…clicked.” My voice is full of sadness as I mourn the dating ghosts of my past. Some of those guys were nice.

Most of them were not. Meaning, my mourning period is very short lived.

“I guess my last relationship was in high school,” he says. “Danica Allen was her name. Cutest thing ever. Cheerleader to my football player. She had a great rack.” He pauses, sending me an apologetic look.

It’s fine. But I am definitely sensing a theme here.

“Danica was always down for a good time. And I don’t mean that in a nasty way. More like she just always knew how to have fun. We dated through football season my senior year,” he explains.

Now it’s my turn to be jealous. Over a girl who was in his life in high school. I’m being ridiculous. Danica is long gone.

So why do I feel the sudden need to pull pretty, fun Danica’s hair out?

“After Danica, and once I got into college, I just looked for fun wherever I could get it,” he says. “Always temporary fun. One-girl-after-another fun. I didn’t want anything serious. That wasn’t my thing.”

He gets quiet once again, and I know he’s lost in memories. Which is nice and all, but considering I’m still dealing with my jealous feelings, we need to keep this conversation moving.

“It’s been a long time then,” I say. My words seem to snap him out of his thoughts, and he stands at attention.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not one to do relationships.”

“That’s why I got on the app,” he reminds me. “I thought it might be a good place to find a serious relationship.”

“Right.” I nod, putting on a bright smile. I’m faking it a little, but he doesn’t need to know that. It’s weirdly awkward, talking about our past relationships—or lack thereof. Normally I’m feeling awkward every step of the way with a new guy.

This time, with Mitch, it was never awkward. The entire weekend has been awkward-free.

Until now.

Plus, his explanation about using the app makes no sense. They’re not where people normally go to find a serious relationship. Some are used for hookups only.

Well, whatever. I’m just glad I snagged him up before someone else did.

“Should we head to the store?” I ask.

“Let me get my shoes on and we’ll go.”

We relax a little in the car ride over. The supermarket that’s closest to his apartment building is teeming with cars and people. I guess everyone’s shopping on a Sunday afternoon. As we drive by the storefront, I notice there’s a giant display of beer that spells out Welcome, Raiders!

“I forgot that the Raiders moved to Las Vegas.” I turn to look at him, ready to say more, but I clamp my lips shut.

Wow. He looks—annoyed. Nervous.

Why?

“Do you work with any of those guys?” I ask.

“A few,” he says with a little shrug. “I’m going to drop you off right here, okay? I’ll find a parking space and meet you inside in a few.”

I hop out of the giant truck, staring after him as he roars away. I don’t understand what’s happening between us right now, but it doesn’t feel…right.

Shaking my head, I head into the supermarket, admiring the giant display of beer. Not sure what brand it is, but the twelve-pack boxes are black-and-white, perfect for a Raider display. They were able to switch the boxes around to spell out the words, plus there are black and silver balloons. It looks good. There’s a guy standing in front of the display wearing a black polo shirt with a tiny Raiders emblem on it, and he smiles at me as I walk by.

“You a Raiders fan, miss?” he asks.

“I prefer the Niners, actually,” I tell him, and he rests his hand against his chest, making me laugh.

“My heart is offended,” he tells me, but he’s grinning, so I know he’s teasing me.

“It’s a family thing,” I say with a shrug, as if that explains everything. “My dad loved Joe Montana.”

We chat a little bit more about football and I don’t