Lara told me over and over that I should have brought more clothes with low-cut necklines and much higher hemlines if I expected to get some attention, but when we reached the lobby and I saw the rest of the women, I was glad I decided to stick with my comfort zone of more demure attire. The other ladies had definitely decided to put out fresh bait; there was no way I could compete with most of them. So I laughed it off and pointed out that I was wearing heels, which I seldom did because I was tall enough already and most guys didn’t like to look up at their girl.
Lara looked like a chic city lawyer on her time off, with a tight skirt and fabulous eye makeup, and I sort of regretted not letting her do my makeup. I’d gone with simple, since I figured there was no need for a bait and switch if I actually met a guy who seemed like a good match. I couldn’t keep up the bombshell makeup and wardrobe for more than maybe three or four days, because then I’d no doubt be back to comfortable dresses and skirts, easy no-iron blouses, and jeans and T-shirts and flats.
The first round of speed dating, starring the men who’d signed up for the service, took place at a nice restaurant with a large private room a few blocks from the motel. Joyce herded us onto the bus for the short trip, which was probably a good thing based on the skyscraper heels some of the ladies wore. I let Lara and pretty much everyone else get off the bus first, hesitant and feeling suddenly shy. This was all so far outside my comfort zone that my hands started to shake and my knees knocked together. It would all be okay. I just needed to remember it was an adventure and, at worst, it would be over in three days.
So I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and figured I needed to have a little fun with it. No one knew me there except Lara, and she wouldn’t tell if I pretended to be someone else for the night.
The whole front of the restaurant was crowded with guys, most of them smiling respectfully as we filed in, and the feeling of being a zoo exhibit returned. Lara preened and made eyes at several of them, and I laughed at her as we walked into the back room. At least thirty tables for two had been set up, along with a free bar in the corner, and an equal number of well-dressed men also waited.
Joyce clapped her hands and beamed at everyone. “Ladies, pick a table. Your cards are on the table. You’ll have five minutes to talk to each of our handsome gentlemen, then the gentlemen will rotate to the next table. Mark down on your card whether you’d want to see more of each gentleman, and he’ll do the same. That way we can assist on making matches later at the cocktail party. Go ahead and get a drink or three—ladies first!—and we can get started.”
Lara linked arms with me and headed for the bar. “Three or four, I think she meant. This is so exciting!”
“You got it, babe,” I said. I kept a smile on my face as we ordered drinks and she led the way to two tables right next to each other in the middle of the action. We didn’t want to be first or last in the lineup, apparently, although I couldn’t figure out why that would matter. We’d be the first and last conversation for someone, no matter where we sat.
But Lara had done this before and clearly had a strategy, so I went along with the plan. My hands started shaking again as the first guy sat down across from me and introduced himself, and I sipped more of my drink to get some liquid confidence. Then I took a deep breath and waited for the bell to ding, signaling the start of the first five minutes. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
An hour later, I was completely, utterly exhausted. It was more draining than a full day in the classroom. Small talk after small talk, the same trivial details exchanged with at least thirty different men... My cheeks started to hurt after twenty minutes, though several of the guys made me laugh, and I grew more flushed as the drinks kicked in and the room grew warmer and the twentieth guy complimented me on something.
Everyone got tipsier and waiters circulated with finger foods and hors d’oeuvres. The tension in my chest finally eased and I could laugh a little easier, chat more naturally, and generally started to have fun. There were several men who’d piqued my interest; they all seemed kind and steady and had good jobs, liked family, and were interesting to talk to. I didn’t feel a spark with any of them, but sometimes that took time.
My feet started to ache a few hours in, and the balls of my feet burned as I balanced on the unfamiliar shoes. Maybe heels hadn’t been a great idea. The liquor went to my head and I knew I was at my limit for the night. Lara was still going strong, so I took a timeout and found a quiet corner in the back of the restaurant’s bar with a comfortable chair near the rack where everyone had left their coats. I winced as I debated sliding my heels off, since I wasn’t entirely sure I could get them back on.
Heels had definitely been a bad idea.
I fiddled with my phone and debated whether I could walk back to the hotel on my own. I didn’t want to take Lara away from the fun and it didn’t look like Joyce would send the bus back for just one person. And I definitely didn’t want to be the bummer sitting in the corner.
I was just gathering my strength to stand up again and brave the couple of blocks of walking when I looked up and saw him through the crowd. A tall guy with dark hair and chocolate eyes, a hint of scruff on his jaw and a strong nose. Those eyes hit me like a tidal wave, surrounding me with electricity, and his head tilted just slightly as he watched me. I’d never seen anyone so handsome and rugged in real life, or even in magazines. He should have been a Hollywood star instead of a rancher or oilman or whatever he was in a small town in the middle of nowhere.
Every inch of me flushed warm and my heart tried to break through my ribs as he started to walk toward me. I wasn’t ready for him. I knew I wasn’t ready and I’d had too much to drink and I was exhausted and couldn’t possibly be cute and funny and outgoing enough for a guy like that. But I sucked in a breath and tried to smile, even with my aching cheeks, as a weird sense of calm settled over me. It would be fine. It would be great. He seemed—perfect.