Page 6 of Meet Cute Reboot
I cross my arms and shift my eyes to the clouds. My anger dissolves into disbelief. “How did he do it? How did that jerk pull this off?”
“You think he set you up?”
“I didn’t even know he was in Charleston. How did he just happen to pop up inmydatabase? What are the odds of that?”
“One in one hundred?”
Sarah’s practicality during my crisis makes me want to explode into a multi-sentence word vomit, but I stop myself. She has a point. She’s technically correct. But how did Luke manage to become one of one hundred? That’s the question he’s going to have to answer after I punch him in the face on our “blind” date.
I did this to myself. I didn’t think through the launch strategy, its potential pitfalls, its unintended negative consequences. Granted, being matched with Luke Curtis on live television never would have come up in my brainstorming sessions. I thought he was still in L.A. What is he doing in Charleston andwhyis he cyberstalking me?
“Are you going on the date?” Sarah asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
Sarah chews on her lip while mulling over my question. “Your entire launch strategy revolves around you dating the first guy Cupid pulls up. If you back out, it makes it look like you don’t trust your app.”
I drop my arms to my sides and trudge to my car.
Everyone saw Cupid’s first choice, Luke Curtis. They saw him text me back. They know we connected. They know he accepted my offer.
I’m stuck.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Yeah, what?” Sarah says, with one hand on the passenger side door.
“If I don’t go on a date with Luke Curtis, my entire launch might fail. I have to go through with it.”
“It might not be that bad.”
“You haven’t seen me when I’m mad.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Not when I’mreallymad.”
Sarah shudders. “As long as there’s no blood involved, I think you’ll be fine.” We both get in the car. “And if there is blood,” Sarah continues as she straps in, “make sure to clean it upbeforeyou go live on Instagram.”
Chapter 3
Luke
The waiting area in Wetlands Restaurant is packed. Couples with reservations approach the host stand and are immediately shuttled to tables, while the rest head to the leather benches, resigned to their hour-long wait.
In our text conversation, Cassie said to meet here for our six-thirty reservation. I offered to carpool, but she declined. I’m not surprised. I don’t expect this evening to go well.
I practiced my story on the drive here, how I had an IT guy at Cassie’s investment firm add me to her database, how I had no idea Cupid would choose me. I hoped Cupid would, of course. That was the whole point. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
The more I rehearsed my spiel, the stronger my pangs of guilt became, and as I walked down the steps to the basement restaurant, the pangs became full-blown knives driving into my gut.
I have to come clean as soon as Cassie walks through that door, apologize for acting like a borderline stalker, call off thisdate, and ask her out for coffee in a few weeks like I should have done from the start.
Moments later, Cassie walks through the door while talking into her camera. She heads to the host stand, and the host—a short blonde girl wearing a white cotton oxford and a skinny black tie—points at me. Rather than meeting my eyes, Cassie pans her camera over and offers me her hand. “Hi, I’m Cassie Sears. You must be Luke.”
We shake, and I’m hypersensitive to the feeling of her skin against mine. If she feels the same electricity, she shows no indication.
“I hope you don’t mind, Luke, but you’re live on Instagram.”