I sit in the back of math class Monday morning and do some real-life math figuring on a scratch sheet of paper. My teacher’s talking ratios when I realize that even with my weekend win we are still short on rent and bill money. Way short. Not to mention I still owe Cass $100 bucks. I’m a million miles away, and people and teachers around me are the equivalent of static radio background noise. There’s a test I didn’t study for waiting on my desk when I get to Spanish. I look around and everyone else is cranking out answers. I look back and stare at the paper, but I really don’t care. I’d rather be at the casino. I think about Nate and playing poker.
I avoid Cassidy, again, and make it through the day and after-school practice without talking to her. I get the feeling Cassidy’s beginning to distance herself from me too, and right now I’m okay with that.
I want everything about high school and cheer to go away.
__________
A second date with Nate is just what the doctor ordered. He tells me it’s a surprise and to dress comfortably. I put on a loose fitting cotton dress (a two dollar bargain from the Goodwill), look in the mirror, and decide it’s perfect. Periwinkle-colored cotton and it’s the perfect length to show off my thighs. I pull my hair back in a messy bun, and I try hard to look cute in a “comfortable” kind of way. I do, however, deviate from comfortable and put on my new boots because they are just that fabulous.
We meet at a gas station, because I tell him my house is too hard to find and it will make things easier. I go weak in the knees when I pull in and see him waiting for me in his SUV.
I strap my purse across my chest and bend down where he can’t see me so I can squirt some body spray on my neck. Mango and watermelon. He walks to me first. Opens my door, and reaches in to give me a kiss on the cheek. Thank God I thought to remove my algebra book from the passenger seat.
“Wow.” Nate looks me up and down when I step out of the car. “You look great.” He reaches in for another kiss on the cheek. “You smell great too. Maybe we should just forget what I have planned and . . .” He laughs. He’s testing the waters, and I’m already in the pool.
“So where are we going on this mystery date?” I grab his hand and we walk toward his Tahoe.
Just like last time, it’s this overwhelming feeling of excitement when he opens the door for me and I step into his leathery man cave of a car. He walks around to his side, gets in, and starts the car, and I’m ready to go anywhere with this boy. Guy. Man-boy . . . or whatever he is.
“Well, it’s a surprise. You’ll see when we get there.” He starts the car then pulls out into the traffic. The music adds to the mood, set at a perfect volume where we can still talk about things like bands, sushi (I do my best), and some of the regular characters in the poker room.
He makes his way to the highway and merges on in the most masculine way possible. I fantasize that we’re leaving town. And will be gone for a very, very long time.
“So I want to know more.” Nate reaches for the radio volume knob, and turns the music down just a tad.
“More?” I ask.
“Yeah. More . . . about you. Like your job. Where you live. Your hobbies. Your family . . . You know, more about you.”
I pause.
Hobbies. I can do hobbies.
“Well, I don’t really have time for many hobbies. I watch cooking shows sometimes. I like to cook.”
“A hot chick who likes to cook? Must be my lucky day.”
I leave out the part that I could lie on the couch and watch Bobby Flay smoke salmon all day, but a grilled cheese and bowl of cereal are basically the only things on my menu.
He’s intrigued.
“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”
“Hmmm.” Think. Think.
Think.
“My favorite thing to cook . . . Hmmm . . .” I try to think of something impressive that I can pronounce correctly, and the inside of our refrigerator makes an appearance in my head. Milk. Cheese. Juice and butter. “I like to cook fish a lot. Salmon, tuna, trout.” (Tuna, as in canned, but we’ll leave out that little detail as well.)
“Impressive.” He says, then moves onto the next subject. “So what do you do at the tag office?”
Tag office? What is he talking about?
I scrunch my eyebrows and continue looking forward.
“Didn’t you say you worked at a tag agency or something?”
I’m going to have to start writing this stuff down.
“Oh, yeah. I thought you said rag office, and I was like, what?” I reach for a piece of gum in my purse. “I just do tag stuff. You know, car tags and boat tags and stuff like that. Pretty boring, actually.”
I make a mental note that I grill tuna steaks and hate my pretend full-time job.
“So where are we going?”
Off the highway there’s a beautiful sunset on a small lake with sailboats. Never in my life did I know that a single sailboat existed in Oklahoma. “Are we on Northside?” I ask.
He laughs, “Yep, we’ve been traveling north. You know, Lake Hefner. Haven’t you been here before?”
Um, no.
“Well, yes.” Of course, all twenty-somethings have been to Lake Hefner, and that would include me.
Nate pulls off the highway and crosses an overpass to navigate his way into a parking lot. There are a few restaurants, nice restaurants, and the parking lot is full. I feel like we’re out of town in a faraway place, but it was only a twenty-minute car ride. There’s an outdoor band setting up on a big lawn area, and I can’t believe this place is twenty minutes from where I live.
“I love it out here,” I say, “it’s so beautiful.” We get out of the car and I wonder if we’re headed toward the gourmet Mexican food restaurant or the steakhouse.
Nate grabs my hand, and we walk in silence through the parking lot. Then, he starts walking toward the boat dock, and I think we’re going to go sit on the park bench for a little while before dinner. How romantic.
When we get to the end of the boat dock he looks down at my boots.
“Those are cool boots. And you’re smokin’ hot in them and all, but you’ll probably want to slip them off.”
Two thoughts on this:
1. He thinks I’m smokin’ hot in my boots.
2. Why am I taking them off?
He waits, and I just give him a blank stare . . .
Water sloshes up on the sailboat we’re standing next to, and he nods toward it.
“What?” I ask.
“Take your boots off, and let’s go.”
“Oh my gosh. This is yours?”
He smiles and nods toward my boots. “Yes, it’s all mine. Now let’s go.”
Is this a dream? I’m standing here in designer boots about to board a sailboat with a twenty-two-year-old pit boss. Basically the complete opposite of my real life. I wait for a purple dragon to drop from the sky to confirm this is definitely a dream as I start to take off my boots.
It’s embarrassing because as cute as my boots are, they are an absolute pain to get off. It usually takes me at least five minutes to get them off. There’s no way to make this graceful or attractive. I sit on my butt, and Nate reaches down to help.
We begin the struggle.
“This is so embarrassing.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. Personally, I kinda like it,” Nate laughs as he acts like he’s looking up my dress.
I pull on my dress to make sure I stay covered as we wrangle around. It’s a full-fledged tug-o-war before both boots come off. I’m glad we’re outside in the open air so hopefully the stinky boot-sock smell doesn’t reach his nose. He helps me onto the boat, and off we go.
It’s straight out of a Jennifer Aniston romcom. Nate pushes off the dock, rolls up the sleeves on his shirt, then grabs the oars. The sun is setting, the water makes perfect lapping noises against the boat, and Nate’s muscles flex every time he rows. For a good while, we don’t even speak. He just rows away from the noise of live music and couples eating on patios. I look around at the beautiful scenery and get a better understanding of what it means when people use the word “surreal.”
He stops rowing for just a moment so he can point at two ducks. “Ha! Look. They’re on a date too.”
“They are! How cute,” I laugh. The fact that Nate observes two ducks on a date makes me melt.
“I wonder if he’s nervous.”
I cock my head and watch them for a while.
“No, he’s not. She’s a nervous wreck, though. Look at her.” We watch the ducks swimming around. I love that this conversation is so senseless. I love that for the first time, in a really long time, there’s a part of my life that seems easy.
“I bet she needed a night on the town, what with the eight kids and all,” he adds.
“Nope. I bet it’s their first date. He’s wondering about first base.”
Nate cocks a smile at me then looks away. He rows toward the center of the lake until the noise becomes faint. A breeze begins to blow my hair around, and Nate lets go of an oar and brushes a strand behind my ear. He rubs his hand over his own shaved head.
“Sorry, my hair’s getting all messed up.”
I laugh. I laugh at everything he says. I couldn’t dream up a more romantic, fun date if I tried. It’s perfect. Everything about Nate is perfect, and when it all comes to an end for the night, we make it to first base. Okay. Second. Rounding second.
That night, before I fall asleep, I decide two things:
1. It would be really easy to fall in love with Nate.
2. I don’t have time for cheer.