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JACK
Sophie, as usual, was as pretty as a moonbeam. And I, as usual, was a bloody arsehat. Just seeing her made my heart pound, but knowing that other guys were going to try to hit her up for a date made my head throb. The fact that I’d ignored her for almost an entire month made me want to smack myself with a hammer. I hadn’t wanted to ignore her. I felt like I had to. I’d needed to test my mettle and seeing her now made me realize my mettle was a bunch of cowardly crap. I’d (stupidly) thought I needed the time to be sure about the whole L word before I made such a big commitment. Thing was, my heart had committed a long time ago. It just took time, and misery, for my head to follow. Bottom line, I needed to kick my own ass.
I never should let this much time go by without seeing her. Bloody hell, what if she thought I didn’t want her anymore?
Think, O’Donlan, think. Maybe... What if... Hmm. There might be a way that I could fix things so that this whole speed dating thing worked in my favor.
While the men were milling about in the shade, nametags in place and waiting for instructions from Bailey, I decided it was my civic duty to help them along a bit with their dating material.
Naturally, I made sure to point Sophie out to each guy.
First up was Milo the Motormouth and his Bulldog, Abby. He was the quintessential rich kid with below-average smarts which he put to good use by mindlessly riffing on fashion, all things Broadway, and the Royals. Conversation starter for Milo: She’s gone native. It’s scary down there. Smells like Sea World. (Yes, I’m a pig, I know it, but only when it comes to the possibility of some guy dating the woman I’d probably marry someday.)
Second up was Wes the Rock Star and his Pointer, Styx. Wes had big white teeth in a face full of badly applied self-tanner and hair that looked like someone’s over-watered Chia pet. I wanted to punch him within the first ten seconds of making his acquaintance. Conversation starter for Wes: Her toenails are so long they click on the floor. I mean really long, as in she can swoop from the sky and snatch dinner from a lake. (I added a second one in case he actually liked the first one) Two words: fart fetish. Make sure you rip off a few.
Guy number three was Touchy-Feely-Todd and his Rottweiler named Score! The dude couldn’t keep his hands off himself. He kept rearranging his stuff, scratching his package, or checking his shave. He sounded like Al Bundy mixed with Archie Bunker. Conversation starter for Todd: She’s a hooker. Make sure you offer her money. And grope. She loves that.
Lucky number four was Sheldon the Muscle Bound Doodad and his Schnauzer, Zelda. I didn’t need much for this guy, he was too busy flexing his biceps and admiring himself. Conversation starter for Sheldon: She eats like a T-Rex. Lock your fridge. Oh, and she steals mirrors. I smirked as the last one sailed right over his empty head.
Five was Eugene the European Eureka! And his Beagle, Plato. I couldn’t quite place his accent but he would’ve looked suave if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked more like a surprised cat meme after it had just been goosed by a Disney Prince. Conversation starter for Eugene: She just got out of the slammer. Double homicide. Caught her mafia husband having a French maid for breakfast. Wink, wink.
Roger the Righteous Dude was number six. Along with his Bloodhound, Boner. Which, considering the red eyes, lack of focus, and awe-inspiring electric blue dreads that would make Bob Marley envious, his dog probably should have been named Stoner. Boner the Stoner. Stoner and Boner? Maybe I should arrest them both. Nah, let Sophie have her fun. So, okay, this guy was definitely going to need an extra boost. So, conversation starter for Roger: Moles under that dress. Hundreds. Maybe thousands of them. Then, in case he forgot the first one, I added a couple more, doubtful that he’d remember a single thing I’d said. She’s also really proud of her new breasts. Make sure to stare. And, oh! She also loves a British accent. Make sure to say words like bugger off, rubbish, jolly good, and cheerio!
And last was Kramer and his Dalmatian, Cosmo. I had nothing. Kramer (other than ripping off Seinfeld for his name and his dog’s) seemed like a decent guy. And that worried me. I couldn’t find a single thing wrong with him. He seemed normal, but much worse than normal was that he was also nice. Great. A nice, normal, probably decent guy was my worst nightmare. Crap. Okay well, I’d give it my best shot. Conversation starter for Kramer: She’s nearly deaf. Talk loud. Better yet, sing. She’s Italian.
Meanwhile, I was keeping eye on the beautiful dark-haired bohemian woman gesticulating wildly. Since her hands seemed to have run amok, I hoped she didn’t poke someone’s eye out by accident. She seemed happy, though, talking to the other women, and my heart did a funny bumping thing in my chest.
Bailey had finished with the women and had just stepped over to give the males a head’s up on what was next. As a sister, she hit me up first. I, of course, was still watching Sophie. Bailey saw who I was looking at and said, “That’s a pretty amazing woman you’ve got there. I hope you’re not being a dumbass about things.”
“No comment,” I said, because that’s exactly what I’d been. Which Bailey probably already knew and now felt it was her sisterly duty to make me suffer a bit more than I already was.
“Does she make you want to be a better man?”
“No. She makes me want to be a better dog. I mean, have you met Max? She really, really loves him.”
“Aye, that she does. She really, really does. He’s one lucky dog.”
“Maybe she’s lucky that he loves her back.”
“Lucky, is she? I suppose we’ll see about that.” She raised an eyebrow at me in that challenging way only a younger sister could do that made me want to scratch my head and argue at the same time, only I wasn’t quite sure what the argument was. When I didn’t respond right away, she sighed and asked, “So. Did you ever come up with any dating type questions or are you here just to appease me?”
“Of course I have questions. Do these jeans make my butt look big?” I gave a peek at my backside.
“Indeed they do.” Bailey dimpled. “You ask that and some nice lady is going to kick that butt. Then you’re going to get your hard head whomped and you’ll wind up having to arrest her. Maybe just skip to asking if they have a handcuff fetish.”
“Are you implying I have a handcuff fetish?”
“No, not implying. Fairly sure you must. It’s probably a cop thing. Besides, I’ve seen some of the things Buttercup has hidden under your bed.”
“I’m not discussing my sex life with my sister.”
“What’s your next question?”
“What’s your second favorite ‘F’ word?”
That got me a punch on the arm. “You can’t ask that. What if her first favorite ‘F’ word is fine?”
“Okay. How about, ‘Do you plan on losing a bunch of weight before the marriage, only to inflate like an airship after we say our vows?”
“At which time, I hope she’d ask the same of you. Jack O’Donlan, you are a pig and a lost cause.”
“Not really. I’ve just finally discovered I have no intention of dating anyone other than Sophie. I guess the only questions I’d ask are, “Is your name Sophia? No? Get lost. Are you Italian? No? Get lost.”
Bailey patted my shoulder. “Took you long enough.” And she walked away smiling.
#IBurnedMyDatingManual
#MaybeIt’sAGuyThing
#CauseIt’sSureNotMaybelline