After the few flirty texts on Monday, I don’t hear from sassy Zach again for the rest of the week. I tried to coax more out of him with a few witty texts, at least I thought they were witty, but he kept his responses short and polite. When I texted him the time to meet at Suzushi’s, his response was “Sounds good.”

I am bound and determined to get Zach talking tonight. I don’t care if he spends the next three hours quoting mathematical equations, if he’s speaking, I’m considering it a win. If I can actually get him to flirt back, I’ll go ahead and nominate myself for best first date ever. Which is kind of ironic since I can’t tell if he realizes this is a date or not.

Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been in a geeky t-shirt and worn-out jeans and tonight, standing outside the restaurant with hands stuffed in his jean pockets, is no exception. Tonight’s shirt extols the virtues of Tolkien, with a pipe-smoking Gandalf. His curls are still a little damp, and his foot taps against the side of the building.

“I thought you said you weren’t a pothead?” I say upon my approach. He’s been looking the other way, and my voice makes his foot slip against the wall, throwing him off-balance. I clasp his elbow to steady him, and watch with pleasure as his eyes slither like a snake sizing up its meal from my toes until our eyes meet, giving away his obvious perusal.

I’m glad he appreciates my efforts, because I spent hours getting ready, trying to pick an outfit that makes my ass look good and my arms muscular, or at least fit. I debated about eyeliner and eventually went without. I don’t mind the attention, and I think it highlights my piercing nicely, but I don’t want anything to make Zach uncomfortable tonight – including me. I’m doing my best to keep a lid on my smart-ass, but it’s incredibly difficult stifling my only natural talent.

I’m going to unusual lengths for this guy, but something tells me it’s going to be worth it. I’m not some big player or anything. I’d like a relationship; it just never seems to work out. Michael only lasted for four months, and that was mostly because he had such a sweet gaming setup. I may have liked his computer more than I actually liked him.

Zach’s brain takes a few seconds to catch up, and I eagerly await the I-just-got-caught-ogling blush that should be appearing right about … now.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” I say, and pull the door open for him. “Nice shirt.”

His blush deepens, which truthfully was the goal, but he straightens his shoulders a bit and responds, “Not a pothead, just a nerd, remember? There’s a surprising amount of overlap in t-shirts that are both nerdy and marijuana related. I just happen to appreciate the puns.”

“Well, who doesn’t appreciate a good pun now and then?”

He shrugs and mutters, “I think they’re funny” under his breath.

Crap. I didn’t mean to kill his confidence already, so I nudge him with a shoulder and say, “You mean punny?” It earns me a smile that goes right into my win bank for tonight.

I’m reminded of this stupid matchmaking game app where you take characters on blind dates. Every time the other character likes something that your character does, you get a heart. Every time your character screws up on the date, one of the hearts break. I can almost feel the imaginary hearts popping up, breaking away, and popping up again on my shoulder.

I give our party size to the hostess and we are able to be seated right away if we’ll take one of the Japanese low tables instead of a regular table. I’m game, and I look to Zach, who nods without hesitation.

“I always feel weird taking off my shoes at a restaurant, don’t you?” I ask as we deposit our shoes by the front door to the traditional room. Zach nods. “I mean, I eat without shoes all the time at home without a spare thought, but doing it in front of strangers somehow makes it weird, you know?” I get another nod and an amused smile that makes me think my rambling might be a little tedious, but I can’t help it. I’m determined to get him talking.

“Did you have any trouble with parking?”

“No.”

We fold our limbs unnaturally into position under the low tables and I adjust the pillows behind me. Zach sits across from me, intensely focusing on the menu, but I have a feeling it’s so he can avoid making eye contact. He swipes off his glasses to wipe at imagined smudges. I say imagined, because this is the fifth time he’s done it since entering the restaurant. I’ve been counting.

We both order Japanese beers, and I embark on my third attempt at starting a conversation.

“So, Zach, what is it you do?”

I realized that I’d made the mistake of asking yes/no questions on my previous tries, so I’m commencing with a different tactic. If this doesn’t work, I might have to ask him if there is a mathematical equation that explains the correlation of nerds to pot smokers, since that subject has gotten the most enthusiastic responses so far. I’ve never had this much trouble getting a guy to talk about himself. Usually they don’t shut up about how fucking great they think they are.

“I’m an independent financial consultant for small start-up businesses. I put together their pro-formas and perform data analysis of potential markets, competition, and the like, so that they can try to obtain the start-up capital …”

He shrinks back into his pillows, suddenly self-conscious of how animated he’s become discussing his work.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll admit I didn’t understand half of what you just said, but I’ve never seen you that confident or excited before. That’s really cool, that you get that from your job. Most people would kill for that.”

I mean it, too. I like my job. It’s a fun place to work, but I don’t get a hard-on for it. And the idea that I’ll be doing the same thing ten or twenty years down the road is equal parts scary and exhausting, even if I can’t picture doing anything else.

Zach offers me a shy smile, and my breath catches in my chest. Something magical happens when he smiles. I don’t mean to sound cheesy or whatever, but it’s true. Zach’s cute – dorky glasses, childlike curls, cherubic cheeks, the whole bit. But when he smiles, it makes you feel like you are the most amazing person in the universe and that you had the power to make him happy, and it is fucking brilliant.

“Thanks. Really, the best part is getting to work from home in my pajamas.”

“Can’t beat that.” I grin, but now I’m thinking of him going commando in his pajamas. And shirtless. I wonder if he has blond hair on his chest too, or if he’s hairless. I bet even his bare feet are cute. I need to refocus or I’m going to get really uncomfortable. My pants were already too tight before my mind went all naked Zach on me. Trying to cool off, I take a gulp of my beer.

Of course this is when the waiter approaches to take our order, so I wave at Zach to go first. He hands over the sushi list where we’ve both ticked off our selections.

“And we’ll also get two orders of the crickets, please,” he says with a gleam in his eye. “They’re his favorite.”

It’s a good thing I was able to finish off my mouthful of beer or I would have sprayed the entire table. Zach’s face has flushed again, but he looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“I’m so going to get you back for that,” I promise in a low voice after the waiter has left, and I’m pretty sure I see a shiver run through him.

We sit quietly for a while, but I can see the gears turning. When he finally takes a deep breath and asks, “Are you from here originally?” I have to laugh. All that thought, and that’s what he comes up with?

“No, California. My best friend and I moved here after high school. She’s the one I was with last Friday.” The one who pointed out what an ass I was to you, I refrain from saying, because I’m already kicking myself for bringing up last Friday. I don’t want any reminders that could make him get nervous again. “She lives in Boulder now.”

“Did you come here for school?” It’s the obvious question, and innocent on his part, I know. He can’t possibly have a clue how much those words sting.

“Nah. I was too much of a goof-off in high school to go to college. No, I skipped higher learning to embrace the call of the retail store.”

Thankfully my joke has the desired effect, switching subjects and making Zach laugh. The guy is an obvious brainiac, but hopefully he’s not the type who needs everyone around him to be one too. The guy’s best friend is Ben, after all.

“Game Over does seem like a fun place to work. Ben hasn’t complained yet.”

My eyebrows shoot up and Zach snorts out a giggle.

“You’re right. He’s complained about the teenagers. And Ted’s laziness – oh!”

This time I laugh out loud at his guilty look.

“Don’t worry.” I playfully pat his hand, and try to remember why I can’t let it linger. “I wouldn’t blame him. Training new employees is not Ted’s strong suit. I think he opened the store solely so he’d have a place to play his games and someone to play them with. I didn’t even realize until recently that he actually has a lot of business knowledge. I just thought it was because of sheer dumb luck and a great location that he’d done so well.”

“And great employees, right?” Zach tips his beer at me, then flushes pink at his own open flirting.

Before either of us can say anything further, two bowls of shiny glazed bugs are set onto the table between us.

“I don’t care what they’ve doused them in, that looks revolting,” I say.

Zach responds by popping a cricket into his mouth. It crunches. Loudly.

“Yummy,” he grins at me. “Try one.” I shake my head. “Don’t be a spoilsport. You promised you’d try one.”

“Ah,” I say with certainty, “I said we’ll see. And now that I see, it’s definitely a no.”

The waiter returns with several platters full of sushi and a variety of rolls.

“Look! Real food!”

Zach just shakes his head and pops another crunchy cricket. “So sad. I really didn’t take you for a chicken.”

“This isn’t Back to the Future. I won’t be goaded into trying your disgusting imitation food,” I say while loading my plate with rolls.

“Okay, McFly.” Zach relents, but clucks his tongue every once in a while in fake disappointment.

We gobble through the sushi in no time, and the conversation has died while our mouths are otherwise occupied. When we get to the final roll, our chopsticks clash together when we reach for it at the same time.

I pull my chopsticks back and say with forced seriousness, “You take it, I insist. Even though you had more to eat and all, with the crickets. You’re a growing boy. I’m sure you need the protein more than I do.”

Zach gapes, then straightens his shoulders and expertly picks up the final roll and swallows it down. He shoots me a smug look, but I don’t even care because I’m so mesmerized by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple and the hollowing of his cheeks after that bite.

If this were the matchmaker game, Zach and I would be toasting each other in a hot tub under a sparkling rainbow right about now. Or, in other words, I’m totally winning this date.