“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“The guy says he’s a professional baseball player and you don’t ask him for what team?”
“No, I just said, ‘That’s cool.’ I was playing it cool, acting like I didn’t care. That’s a bit of a strategy of mine with guys, if you must know. A girl should never seem too eager, especially with a pro athlete.” I attach a winking emoji.
“Ah, clever. The ol’ ‘I don’t give a shit you’re a major league ball player’ strategy. Clever. Works every time, I’m sure.”
“Well, it certainly worked this time, anyway.”
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“LOL.”
“Well, does he live in Seattle?” Josh texts.
“Why are we talking about my date?” I write.
“I need to know what I’m dealing with. Does he live in Seattle?”
“I’m pretty sure he does. His phone number is 206.”
“What’s his name?”
“Cameron.”
“CAMERON?”
“Correct.”
“Oh Jesus. Motherfucking fuck. Does he have dark hair? About six foot two? Looks like an ad for aftershave?”
“Yeah! That’s him. That’s what Sarah said! She said he looks like an ad for razors.”
“Motherfucker! That’s because he IS an ad for razors. Literally! He’s Cameron Schultz, Kat! Goddammit!”
“Yeah! Schultz! That’s his last name. Now I remember. You know him?”
“No, I don’t know him personally. I know who he is because he’s a fucking ALL-STAR! Kat, you’re on a date with the fucking shortstop for the Mariners!”
“Oh. That’s cool. Haha! Maybe I should have asked more questions.”
“Kat, this is my worst nightmare right now. You know that, right? I literally had this very nightmare last night,” Josh writes.
“Why is this your nightmare?”
“You know why. But I’m not gonna feed your ego and say it. I can play the ‘I don’t give a shit’ game, too. It doesn’t just work on professional ball players, it also works on gorgeous women who are used to men falling all over them.”
“Okay, well, as long as neither of us gives a shit, I guess I’ll go, then. I’m on a date with an All-star baseball player, in case you didn’t know.”
“WAIT! No. I take it back. I GIVE A SHIT! I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
I giggle. “Screw you, dude. I’m having fun. I’m on a date with Cameron Fucking Schulz. I’m sure he’s about to re-enact his latest razor commercial for me. Sexy!”
“Put your fork down. My Party Girl with a Hyphen’s not allowed on a date with Cameron Fucking Schultz. Hell no. Especially when I’m in the mood to celebrate my freedom. Tonight’s MY night, Party Girl, not that dickweed’s. Tell him to step the fuck aside and let a real man show you a good time.”
Those butterflies in my stomach just turned into bald eagles. I can’t think what to say in reply, so I just stare at my phone, freaking out.
“Kat, tell him you’ve had a family emergency. Or that you feel sick. I don’t fucking care what you say. Just end the date. I’m coming right now. THIS IS MY FUCKING NIGHT AND YOU’RE MY GODDAMNED PARTY GIRL WITH A HYPHEN!”
