The Beach Pointe Community Center was like every other such building in small town USA—a nondescript brick containment unit, complete with a gym floor, a kitchen, and an insane amount of folding tables and chairs. Your basic all-purpose event space. And tonight’s event, according to the changeable letter sign with the arrow made of light bulbs, was June 1 – SPE D DATING. An E may have been missing, but the community center’s purpose for the evening was loud and clear.
“Shit,” Jesse muttered, pulling into an empty space on the street. His jackass brother had set him up to be humiliated in public. No way was he going in there.
He shifted to reverse and started backing up. A red Ferrari pulled up beside him, window rolled down.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Jack said. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“You can’t expect me to go in there.”
“Yes, I can. I saved your ass. You wouldn’t want me calling up Mrs. Donner to tell her the way things really went down, would you?”
“You wouldn’t,” Jesse muttered.
“Want to bet on that?
“Okay, okay. Fine.” Jesse pulled back into the space and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.
Jack was dressed to the nines in a tailor-made charcoal gray suit and a royal blue tie, his dark hair sleeked up like that rich guy in Fifty Shades of Jerks or whatever it was. He joined Jesse on the sidewalk. A couple of women in short skirts walked stiffly by in heels they probably reserved for nights like this. They eyed Jack like candy. He flashed a winning smile at them both. They giggled and almost fell over themselves. Of course, they would flock to him—he reeked of free-flowing cash. Jesse, on the other hand, wasn’t impressing anybody in his jeans, worn boots, a gray T-shirt, and an old blazer he’d borrowed from Sylvester.
“This is stupid,” Jesse said, turning back to the truck.
“No.” Jack grabbed his arm. “Come on. We had a deal.”
“Deal or no deal, what’s a rich son of a bitch like you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be schmoozing at the country club or something?”
“Are you kidding? A bunch of unhappily married cougars on the prowl isn’t my idea of a good time. This is the perfect place to browse the single lady merchandise. Having you tag along with me will let them think it was your idea, not mine, and there’s the whole ugly by comparison thing. Makes me even more attractive. Plus, I’m bored. Need to change things up a bit.”
“You sound like a dirty politician. Don’t you want to settle down? Have a family?”
“Hell no. What’s the point? A decade of misery if you’re lucky, then a lifetime of alimony and child support.”
“Not if you find the right woman.”
“Hate to break it to you, but the whole true love thing is for Disney movies. Loosen up, take a girl home, have a good time, and let her go. No strings attached.” Jack dragged him up the concrete steps.
Before they reached the door, Jesse stopped him. “Hey, listen. I’ve been seeing a counselor.”
Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Really? Since when?”
Like Jesse, his brother’s experience with counseling was bad at best. It hadn’t helped their parents to stay together and seemed to make things worse.
“Doesn’t matter, but I need to apologize for…the stuff that happened back then.” Jesse couldn’t force his mouth to utter a more detailed apology. Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, staring at the sidewalk so his brother didn’t see.
Jack sighed, crushing someone’s still-lit cigarette butt with his shoe. “I don’t really feel like dredging this up now. Let’s just go in and forget you ever mentioned it, okay?”
Jack pulled Jesse through the metal door before he had a chance to respond. He figured Jack would be the biggest challenge on his list. It might be the one name he’d never cross out. No matter now. They were already getting the head-to-toe eye sweep from a group of women nearby.
The place smelled like cheap cologne and desperation. There was no turning back now unless he broke free and ran for his life, which he shelved as still being a viable option if the night went up in flames. Inside, a small crowd of twenty and thirty-something men meandered about with drinks in hand. A few women hurried for booths set up around the perimeter of the room that reminded Jesse of temporary tax prep stations you'd find in a department store. Each had an eight by ten sheet of paper with a number taped to the outside. The partitions made it hard to see who waited behind them. His gut churned—he really didn’t care to find out.
They arrived at the sign-in table where the mayor’s wife, Cloris McDougall, an older lady with poofy white hair and thick glasses, manned the table. “Here are your date logs and name tags, boys. Have fun. There’s a cash bar in the back. You’ve got about ten minutes before things get started. The event lasts about an hour, and you get six minutes with each woman. I recommend a mint julep to warm up.”
Jack chuckled. “I like her.”
“She had me at cash bar.” Jesse stuck his name tag on his shirt. "Let's get this over with."
They made their way to the cash bar, which was set up in the open window between the gym and kitchen.
Jack winked at the college girls acting as bartenders. “A couple of mint juleps for my brother and me, please.”
Once they finished whisper-arguing over who would talk to the “hot, rich guy,” one of them stepped forward. “Okay, so like, that’ll be ten dollars.”
Jack tossed down a twenty. “Keep the change.”
The girl’s face turned red. While Jack and Jesse waited for them to figure out what went in a mint julep, Jesse stared at his dating log. There were numbered blank lines and he had no idea what to do with them.
“You’ve never speed-dated before?” Jack asked, pretending to be surprised.
“Oh yeah, more than I can count, but just so I know that you know how this works, please do explain.”
“See all the booths set up around the room?”
“Yeah?”
“Each of them are numbered. The ladies will be seated. The guys go from table to table. It doesn't matter where you start. You get six minutes to talk to each woman before the bell rings, then you move on to the next highest number on the list. You’ll write down the women’s names and check off whether you're interested or not. Then you can log in to the event’s website and record your results to get your best matches.”
“Sounds complicated and mechanical. What happened to the good old-fashioned date? You know, you go to the lady’s house, pick her up, give her flowers, show her a good time, and bring her home?”
“You were born in the wrong decade, I swear. Just go with it. I’ll be playing the part of the philanthropic man helping his poor, lonely big brother find love.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Runs in the family apparently.”
The college girl bartenders finally handed them some clear plastic cups of what looked like mint juleps but tasted like watered down mouthwash.
A bell rang. Jesse looked around to see the white-haired lady with a handbell held high. “Go get your dates, boys! Six minutes each. Be polite, talk to each woman, don’t get wasted, and don’t ask for phone numbers.”
"Batter up!" Jack said, nudging Jesse toward booth one, while he headed for booth two.
The other guys parted in Jack's wake. He'd always been the big dog, not because he was bigger or stronger, but he knew how to put the bluff on them with an overly confident air. It probably didn't hurt that he was richer than Scrooge McDuck, either.
What did Jesse have going for him? He lived with his ailing grandfather and had a badge. His best bet was finding a woman who loved men in uniform, but he wasn't even wearing one, so he'd have to go on charm. He'd also be following in Jack's wake with numbers two through ten.
He was doomed.
Jesse entered booth one and slid into the empty chair across from a woman with a linebacker's build, piercings everywhere, and one of those hairstyles that was long on one side and shaved on the other, dyed black. Tattoos ran from her fingers all the way up her forearms and disappeared under the rolled-up sleeves of her jean jacket. Jesse eased into his chair, not taking his eyes off this one. Her name tag read Brenda. Sure wasn’t like any Brenda he’d ever known. She could probably beat him easily in an arm wrestling match.
Brenda wrung her hands and cast nervous glances at him, but mostly stared at the table. Maybe her bark didn’t match her bite, or something.
Since she didn’t seem keen on initiating the conversation, he broke the silence. “Hi, I’m Jesse Maddox.”
She glanced at him before answering, "I’m Brenda..." Her last name drowned into an inaudible whisper.
"Okay." Jesse picked up the other pencil on the table and wrote Brenda Something in the name section for number two.
She wrote his name down and then sat there, shoulders slumped. Her attention was focused solely on her pencil as she doodled along the edge of her date log.
There were sample questions on the top of the form. He'd have to lead this conversation, or sit for six minutes in silence. "So...what do you do for a living?"
She whispered her response, most of which he couldn't hear. "Something, something library."
That explained things. "Okay, so you work at the library?"
She nodded. The chain that ran from her ear to her nose jingled.
"I'm a sheriff's deputy."
More doodling. Did she have a sister who dragged her here against her will, like Jack had done to him?
He looked at the questions again, finding one that might entice her to speak out loud. "Um, what do like to read?"
"Something, something mystery something."
"I'm sorry, could you speak up?"
She glanced at him, eyes wide and blinking, before she answered in only a slightly louder whisper, "Something cozy mystery something."
Jesse scrubbed a hand over his face. "Cozy mysteries?"
She nodded.
"I'm not much of a reader myself."
Brenda didn't try to hide it when she circled No under the Interested? column. Jesse downed the rest of his mint julep, set his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand. Brenda resumed doodling while he circled No in one heavy pencil stroke on his form. If this date was any indication of the rest of the night, he’d need a few more drinks. Shit, even feeding Barkley the mutant devil dog would be better than enduring this particular kind of torture.
Finally, the bell rang. He jumped from the chair and rushed out, with little hope that the other nine women would be more entertaining. He headed for booth two, where Jack was backing out, smiling and nodding. The woman within the booth wasn’t quiet about what they'd do on a real date. Apparently it involved whips and chains.
Jack turned to him and made a gag gesture before hurrying to booth three.
"Well, at least she’s not boring," Jesse said under his breath.
He entered booth two and slid into the empty chair across from a very nervous-looking woman with short red hair and a bad perm. She had very little in terms of curves, not that he could tell. Her turtleneck and cat-themed sweater vest didn't show anything but her small head and bony hands. She pulled down a pair of reading glasses and picked up her date log.
And never stopped talking. "Hey, I’m Melinda. He said you're his brother. You don't look much alike. I dated twins once. Couldn't tell them apart. Not the Mann brothers, though. I'd so do them, but of course, they're taken. All the good ones are. Except your brother. He's like Christian Grey or something. What do I need to do to get with him? Or is he too demented? I mean, I’m all about the kinky stuff, but I don’t do gerbils and shit like that."
What was this? Twilight Zone Speed Dating? Jesse put his form on his lap and circled No repeatedly until the pencil lead poked through the paper.
"Have you ever met anyone famous?” Melinda said. “I met the Pope once, sort of. I saw him pass by in his Pope-mobile when he visited Washington, DC. He waved at me, sort of. God, he's sexy."
"Uh-huh.”
She fanned herself with a napkin. "I mean, haven't you ever wondered what's under that robe?"
"Can't say that I have."
"I bet he's packing. I mean like seriously, third leg kind of packing." Melinda pushed her glasses up on her nose and slurped the last of a mint julep from the skinny straw in her cup.
"How many of those have you had?"
"Two, three, I don’t know." She slammed the glass down and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. Little bells on her fuzzy cat sweater jingled. "I've never dated a cop. You like to use handcuffs or what? I've never liked them much. They tend to pinch. But I'd love to try it in the back of a cop car..."
And on and on she described her freaky-ass fetishes. Jesse massaged his temple, where a stabbing headache had taken up shop. He sprang from his chair and was out of the booth the moment the bell rang.
Thankfully, the next couple of women were rather normal, though one had terrible breath and the other kept talking about her ex-husband and how hot she thought Jack was and that she'd kill to marry a rich guy. Those were No and No. Jesse was four for four now and had a feeling it would be a straight ten by the end of the night. The bell rang, signaling his retreat from number four's booth.
To hell with this bullshit. He started toward the exit, but Jack stepped out of the number five booth.
"No, you don't. Trust me, this one's better, but way out of your league," Jack said, strutting on to booth six.
Jesse sighed. He slipped into booth five and slid into the chair, not even bothering to check out the woman across the table.
"Your brother is a piece of work."
He knew that slight accent and the laugh that followed.
"Leigh?" Relief washed over him. At least she didn't seem swayed by Jack's money.
She wore a low-cut purple blouse, a string of pearls, and some hoop earrings. Her makeup was a little heavier than he'd seen it before, but only served to enhance her pretty features. Her eyes, he noticed, were a light brown with flecks of gold.
He smiled and cleared his throat. "Yeah, he sure is. He dragged me here as punishment for saving a dog."
"What?"
"Long story. But tell your mom thanks for helping save my ass. So, what brings you here?"
"My friend, Avery. She thought it would be fun."
He chuckled. "I've struck out four times already. Where do they find these people?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "But it’s awkward. Some of these guys are clients, including you."
"You don't have to consider this a date. We could call it a therapy session."
Leigh wrinkled her nose, an expression that made her look surprisingly more adorable and down-to-earth than her usual professional seriousness. "Nah, I think about work too much as it is. But I kind of know a lot about you already. Nature of my job. What can we talk about to kill six minutes?"
"Well, I don't know a whole lot about you." He held up his card, looking down his nose at the sample questions like Brenda Something, the librarian, did. "What do you like to read?"
Leigh laughed. It sounded more relaxed and natural than he'd heard before. "I got a little burned out on reading after doing so much of it in college. Right now, it's mostly Facebook, my mom's magazines, and the Sunday paper."
"Hmm. Yeah, I'm not much of a reader myself, but I do like the Sunday comics."
"There's one thing we have in common, then."
"Okay." He chose the next question on the list, feeling more relaxed than he had all evening, and it wasn't because of the watered-down mint julep. "What's one thing you didn't get to do as a kid that you'd like to do now?"
Leigh shifted in her seat. She picked at the label of her water bottle. "I don't know. Lots of things, I guess. Never went fishing. Never had a pet. Never had a sleepover. Never went to the prom..."
Guilt crawled up his spine, making him wish he had more of that terrible mint julep. "Oh. I'm sorry if I brought up bad memories."
"It's okay. What about you?"
"I never had a family gathering without a fight breaking out. That’d be nice."
"Yeah, I imagine that would be a nice change."
He couldn’t keep his investigative side from asking more questions. "So why didn't you have pets or go to prom? With your mom’s job, I figured you’d have a mini zoo at home, and I can’t believe no one asked you to the prom, as pretty as…" He froze the rest of that statement with some ice from his cup, crunching on it as quietly as possible.
A bashful smile flitted across her lips. "I was sick a lot as a kid. Ancient history. My turn. What happened to your parents?"
He crunched more ice and shook his head. “Next question.”
Sighing, she consulted her form, her voice taking on that steady, serious therapist tone. "What do you like to watch on TV?”
“Bass Masters, Ice Road Truckers, The Walking Dead…”
Her face lit up. “Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning The Walking Dead. I’m so addicted.”
“It’s aggravating, though, because just when you start liking a character, they’re—” Jesse slid a finger across his throat.
“I’m still shocked that Lizzie and her sister died like that. They were just kids.” She lowered her eyes. Sadness darkened her features.
“Nobody’s safe in that show.”
“You got that right.” She took a drink of her bottled water and looked at her date log again. “So, what are your favorite snacks while watching?”
“That’s not on the card, is it?”
“No, I thought we might be clever enough to improvise.”
“Okay, well Pa and me usually fry up some burgers or chops.”
“That’s so sweet that he watches with you.”
“Yeah, for about the first ten minutes, until he’s snoring in his recliner.”
She crossed her arms casually on the table. “Next question. What do you do to relax?"
“I visit my therapist.” He grinned.
“Counselor.”
“Whatever.”
They both laughed. Man, this felt good. Then the damn bell rang.
“Has it already been six minutes?” Leigh asked, looking at her phone.
"Yeah, I guess so. Why don't we cut out of here and do some night fishing at my pond? I've got plenty of mosquito spray and a bunch of night crawlers."
Her lips drew into a taut line. "I told you, I don't date my clients."
"It's not a date, it's—"
"It's not anything. Now, let's move on through the rest of this motley crew so we can each go home and forget this night happened."
"Okay. Whatever you want."
Jesse moved on to the next five women, but he couldn't focus enough to write down their names. Nor did he care. Some of them were plain weird. Some were too scared of him. One of them—Avery Price—was on his list. She told him where he could stick it when he tried to apologize for bullying her then used up the rest of her six minutes at the bar.
By number eight, he didn't even bother circling Yes or No. The only Yes he had on his list, as far as he was concerned, was Leigh Meriwether. She was smart, beautiful, and compassionate. He'd caught a glimpse of the real woman beneath the therapist mask and wanted more, but he had no idea how to win her over. His brother was right, anyway. She was way out of his league. Maybe he could take the fetish chick home and have a wild night. But the thought of that made him queasy. He'd rather jerk off alone than deal with that kind of crazy.