But Jack bypassing my carefully laid bait seems to be becoming a theme. “Do you eat meat? Or are you more of a salad person?” He’s trying valiantly to pass this ridiculous retro test, but he’s definitely sweating.
“Surprise me. I trust your judgment,” I reply magnanimously, giving him absolutely no guidance whatsoever. It’s a challenge to keep a straight face, but I’m nothing if not committed.
Our waiter clears his throat expectantly, pen poised over his notepad. A faint pink hue’s started to bloom up the back of Jack’s neck, broadcasting his discomfort. It’s such a treat to see him squirm.
“She eats meat,” Greg offers helpfully, and I howl internally. “And you can’t go wrong with the crab cakes, she loves those.”
Damnit, Greg! I can’t decide whether to strangle him or thank him （since I did, in fact, want the crab cakes）， but seriously—can’t anything go the way I need it to? I want to stomp my feet under the table like a tantruming toddler.
As soon as the server leaves, Jack makes quick work of shucking his jacket （I was right; totally sweating）， then takes a long pull from the old-fashioned. “You caught me off guard there,” he admits in a low voice, setting his drink back down.
“What do you mean?” I am all puppy-eyed innocence.
“You don’t seem like the type of woman who’d want a man ordering for her.”
“That’s because she’s not,” Greg says flatly. He jerks abruptly and I’d bet money Christine just kicked him under the table.
“I am sometimes,” I counter.
“She is sometimes,” Christine echoes, shooting her husband a stern look. Greg makes a face at her in answer.
Jack’s unconvinced. “You just seem more, I don’t know . . . independent.”
I nod like this is a novel observation I’m considering for the first time. “Sometimes it’s just nice to not have to think for yourself, you know?”
I deliver the line flawlessly, but this one truly hurts coming out, like I’m regurgitating a cactus. This isn’t me! I want to shout to the restaurant at large. If you’re overhearing any of this drivel, please disregard!
Jack considers me thoughtfully. “Actually, I do know. Decision fatigue is very real when you run a business. I have to make a thousand different decisions every day, and by Friday? Forget it, I can barely remember my own name.” He leans back in his seat and flashes me a grin. “How about next time we switch and you can order for me? It’ll be like menu roulette.”
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Why can’t Jack just react how I need him to even once?
I somehow manage to gin up a smile, but behind my polite veneer, I’m seething. Also, suspicious. No man could successfully dodge every single trap I’ve laid for him, could he? Has he somehow discovered what I’m up to? That’s how it works in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, right? Both Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson falsely assume they’re the only ones doing the double-crossing. Maybe someone’s tipped him off and he’s trolling me with these letter-perfect responses. Maybe Nat’s a double agent!
It’s about here I realize I’m losing my marbles.
“Ooh, Cass—awkward couple at four o’clock.”
“Hmm?” I’m so lost in my paranoid delusions that I completely missed what Christine was saying.
“That couple over there,” she says impatiently. “What’s their story?”
Ah. Jack tilts his head at me quizzically.
“It’s sort of a party trick of mine,” I explain to him. “I can tell you the backstory of every couple in here—who’s on an awkward blind date, their professions, et cetera.”
“It’s her superpower,” Christine boasts.
“It’s just something silly I do for fun,” I clarify, feeling a little self-conscious now. “It’s more of a writing exercise than anything else, just to get the creative juices flowing.”
He looks intrigued. “Alright, let’s hear it. What’s the story with those two?”
I purse my lips, observing them for a moment. “First of all, definitely a first date.”
“How can you tell?”
“Stiff body language, for one. And she’s got her interview face on. You know, bright-eyed, fake perma-grin. She seems more into him than he is to her, so I’d bet they matched on Bumble.” Jack looks lost. “You know, because that’s the one where the girl makes the first move?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never done any dating apps.”
“Never?” That shocks me. “How can that possibly be? Are we part of the same generation?”
Greg snorts. “Duh, because he’s Jack Bradford. He doesn’t need dating apps.”
Christine makes a gagging noise. “Should Cass and I leave you two alone? I swear, you’re more excited about him than you are about having hotel sex later.”
He thinks that over. “It’s a tie.”
Poor Jack is going red. “It’s not like that. I’m just weird about my privacy. I have a hard time trusting people. It’s much easier for me to spot someone with ulterior motives when we’re face-to-face.”
My pulse starts to speed, fast and furious.
“How can you be sure Cassidy doesn’t have ulterior motives?” Greg jokes, and a bead of sweat breaks loose from my hairline.
Jack laughs. “She made it very clear that my being the Brawler guy was definitely not a point in my favor.”
Greg gasps theatrically in my direction. “How dare you.”
We all laugh this time and my anxiety drops a notch.
“Anyway, I know my strengths,” Jack continues. “I’m much better in person than via text. Plus, it gives me a chance to deploy my own superpower.”
“And what might that be?” So sue me, I’m interested.
He wags his brows. “Cheesy pickup lines.”
“Oh, geez.” I ball up my napkin and throw it at him.
He catches it seamlessly, his grin only growing wider. “There’s a real art to it. You’ve got to pick a detail—her appearance, her job, something you know she cares about—and tailor it to her just so.”
“Did you fall for this?” Christine asks me, incredulous.
“No!”
“She would’ve, if I’d gotten the chance to lay one on her.” There’s a candlelight gleam in his eye as he looks at me, and I know he meant for me to catch his double entendre.
“You know, there’s such a thing as too cocky,” I tell him, and he shrugs like, Sorry not sorry.
“Let’s hear one now,” Greg eggs him on. “What would have been Cassidy’s pickup line?”
I can’t help myself. “Let me guess. ‘Are you a pickpocket?’？” Jack rolls his eyes and I flash him my widest smile.
“I don’t get it,” Greg says.
“Never mind,” Jack continues smoothly. “Knowing that Cassidy’s a writer, I might try . . .” He squints at me for a moment before taking my hand and staring deeply into my eyes. “Your eyes are like an open book, and I can’t wait to dive into this page-turner.”