The clock showed a quarter until noon. Our workout wassupposedto wrap up at eleven, leaving me plenty of time to shower and freshen up for my coffee date at noon with Olivia. Parker had other plans; he’d kept me as late as he possibly could because he clearly got off on torturing me.
On the other hand … I guess I couldn’t complaintoomuch, considering I single-handedly ruined the guy’s summer.
I ran as fast as my weary legs would carry me across the parking lot and jumped in my Porsche 911. The turbocharged engine roared to life, and the tires screeched in protest as I peeled out, eager to make up for lost time.
Thankfully, my hustle paid off, because I made it to the Arts District in the nick of time. I stepped into the quaint cafe Olivia had chosen and took a look around.
I pulled out my phone and texted her. “Hey, I’m here. Where are you?”
I had no idea what she looked like, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t here. Everyone here looked like they didn’t want to be bothered.
While I waited for her reply, I stepped up to the counter and ordered a large Americano, a Cuban sandwich, a grilled chicken salad, and a protein shake. After I paid, I checked my phone—she still hadn’t replied, so I texted her again.
“Everyone here looks like a hipster. Are you a hipster? Please say no.”
Because the last thing I needed was to bring a girl with an ironic haircut and problem glasses into Mr. Capuano’s house …
But Olivia didn’t reply. In the meantime, I grabbed a table and waited. The staff brought me my food, which I immediately started crushing, thanks to a gnarly post-workout appetite.
I was halfway through my meal, and shestillhadn’t replied. I started to worry she was ghosting me.
“Hellooo? Olivia?”
But relief came a minute or two later when my phone vibrated with a new text.
“Hey, sorry, I’m running late,”she wrote.“Just got out of a thing. But I’ll be there in a few minutes.”She followed up with another quick text. “P.S. Not a hipster.”
“Whew!” I texted back, laughing. “No worries about running late. I just wish I’d known. I would’ve showered.”
“Ew! What are you, a stinky basement dweller? Please shower before you go out into public, Dakota! Especially if you’re meeting someone!”
“Lol. No I promise I’m not that. I just rushed over here after a brutal gym sesh.”
“Again I say, Ew!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” I said, giving her the eye-roll emoji. “So what do you look like? Wanna send me a picture finally so I know who I’m looking for? Or will you be keeping what you look like a mystery until we finally meet?”
“All you need to know is that I’m wearing a button down blouse and khakis.”
“Mystery it is, then. I’m calling it now: you’re either drop-dead gorgeous or a bridge troll. No inbetween on this one.”
“Wow, Dakota. That’s unbelievably rude.”
I hit her with the ROFL emoji. “You just called me a stinky basement dweller a minute ago.”
“Yeah, because you admitted you didn’t shower,”she said with a crying-laughing emoji.“So if I’m not looking for a creepy weirdo who just crawled out of his mom’s basement, who or what am I looking for?”
“I’m a stud. Tall and handsome. Can’t miss me.”
“Uh-huh. Riiight. You know you shouldn’t hype yourself up so much, right?”
“Why not?”
“Because high expectations often lead to massive letdowns.”
“Story of my life.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
