I peek through the window of Dice and Spins before deciding to wait outside. My habit of arriving ten minutes early is making me feel awkward while I wait for Mauro to show up. Maybe I should round the corner and wait to make a dramatic entrance like a woman who is fashionably late—one who struts across the pavement, her legs elegantly stepping one in front of the other as she unbuttons her coat and lets it slide down her arms behind her for the mystery man to take while she shakes out her hair. All while the man who’s been waiting on pins and needles for her to show is mesmerized thinking how blessed he is to have this gorgeous woman walking toward him.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

“Lady!” a man yells and I look up to see a bicycle barreling right toward me. The guy seems to be about my age with a satchel over his back, a long stream of blonde hair coming out from under his helmet and a nasty ‘get the fuck out of my way’ look on his face.

“Sorry.” I sidestep, only to run into another pedestrian on the street.

That person puts their hands on my shoulders to right me and keeps on walking without a word.

Heat scorches my cheeks and I step forward thinking I’ll just wait inside and look like the girl who has no life and has been crossing days off on her calendar with big red Xs until today.

Not that I did that.

Okay, I did. But I do that every day though. It had nothing to do with Mauro.

A large hand grabs the door handle of the cafe before I can.

“Hey, Madison,” Mauro says, opening the door with a polite smile.

He wore cologne. It’s the first thought that comes to my head. The woodsy cedarwood scent makes the city vibe disappear behind me. That and the way his dark jeans hug his strong thighs in just the right way and the way his grey Henley shirt makes his eyes look a dusty shade of blue.

“Hi, thanks,” I mumble, stepping into the cute café. One that Lauren and I have spent hours in competing with each other over Scrabble, Monopoly, or my personal favorite, Life.

The door shuts with a swoosh behind us and we stand on the welcome mat. A lot of booths are already taken with families and teenagers alike enthralled in their games, appetizers, and drinks sitting forgotten at the edge of their tables.

“I’ve never been here,” Mauro says, extending his arm forward, allowing me to lead.

“It’s fun. We pick a game, order some food and then play.” I guide us to the back of the room to the ordering station.

“What game is your favorite?” he asks, his gaze roaming over the bookcases of board games to our left.

“You pick.” I’m not really sure what Mauro would want to play, if anything. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have suggested a quick tapas place. Somewhere where our date would go quickly and he wouldn’t figure out what a nerd I am. He probably thinks this place is totally juvenile.

Oh, God. Sweat is starting to gather at my temples. I don’t know if I can do this.

“Lady’s choice,” he winks and my stomach does a triple backflip worthy of an Olympic gold medal.

“How about…Boggle?”

He doesn’t smile, but nods. “Sure.” There’s an uneasiness on his face I can’t help but notice.

I should’ve picked something else, but Boggle doesn’t take long to play. I don’t think he’d enjoy being tormented with a three hour game of Monopoly.

“We can always play something else,” I say.

He grabs the box from the bookcase. “No. It’s your night.”

The reminder that he’s only here because I paid for him to be here is like a bucket of cold water on my face. He’ll amuse me by playing a few games, making small talk and having a bite to eat before he disappears forever this time.

I should be happy. He’s not in my sector of the dating pool. Maybe after tonight, I can finally put my childhood crush to rest.

After the mental pep talk, I order a trio of hummus with vegetables and pita bread along with a berry and pecan salad.

Mauro’s still dissecting the menu as me and the girl behind the register admire him. His Adam’s apple is prominent while his neck is stretched out to read the menu above us. His strong forearms that have probably axed down thousands of doors are crossed over his chest. I can’t even fault the girl for staring at him like he’s the latest Hollywood heartthrob because he looks exactly like that.

His head tips back down and the two of us try to act like we weren’t just fantasizing about what he’d be like in bed. If he noticed or felt our stares, he ignores them.

“I’ll have the combo platter with wings, moz sticks, and potato skins. And a Miller.”

I guess I should order a drink. If anything, it will make me feel less intimidated by him. Liquid courage, right?

“Can you add a glass of Riesling to our order?” I ask.

The girl smiles and hands us a number.

I open my purse to grab my wallet, but Mauro hands her a card before I have a chance.

“Hey, I’m supposed to pay,” I complain.

He signs his name on the electronic device. “You paid enough. My treat.” He winks, but it comes across as more playful than seductive.

She hands him back his card and he puts his wallet in his back pocket.

“Thank you,” I say.

He holds up the box in his hands. “Lead the way.”

The girl behind the register smiles at us, though it’s probably mostly to Mauro. I grab the order number which is at the top of a long metal stick and head farther back to where there are still a few empty tables.

Don’t think about how he’s walking right behind me.

Good thing I wore my ‘bounce a quarter off my ass’ jeans.

I slide into one side of the booth and his large body folds into the bench across from me.

“Would you rather a table?” I ask, wondering if this will be uncomfortable for a man his size.

“No. I’m good. But thank you.”

The Boggle box sits in the middle of the table and we both stare at it for a minute.

“Would you rather eat before we play?” I ask—anything to fill the awkward silence.

He leans back in the booth. “Whatever you want.”

Again a reminder that I paid for his time tonight. I could kill Lauren for this.

“You decide.”

He shakes his head. “No, please.”

“Well, they’re usually fast with the food orders, but we can probably get one game in.” I grab two notepads and two pens from the stand on the table that includes extra timers and dice in case the ones that are supposed to be in the box are missing.

“I think my brother Luca would love this place.” He looks around, taking the cap off the pen.

“He is pretty competitive, right?” I ask. I can talk about Luca. I don’t know a ton about him other than that he played four sports in high school and still graduated in the top five percent of our class.

“Competitive is an understatement. He’s like the idiot who would challenge Hulk Hogan to an arm wrestling match and expect to win. Everything is a competition to him.” Mauro’s lips curl and my stomach decides it’s time for some gymnastic moves again.

“I do remember him being sure of himself.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

He snaps his fingers and points. That flipping in my stomach quickly stops and starts churning instead.

“Luca told me you went to St. George?” The fact he states it as a question is like a knife in my back.

Our school wasn’t that big and I know he was two years older than me, and I wasn’t close to his social hierarchy, but we did share that one night.

It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t remember me, I remind myself.

“I did.”

“I don’t remember you.” His face doesn’t hold any arrogance with his comment. It looks more like he doesn’t understand how I don’t ring a bell to him.

“Well, people can change a lot in nine years.”

His lips tip up into a half smile. “I hope you’re right. I was a little self-centered then I guess, but who isn’t in high school?” He shrugs.

Me. I want to raise my hand. I wasn’t.

Wanting to veer as far away from this conversation as possible, I pry the box open and shake up the pieces in the plastic container.

“Do you know how to play?” I ask.

“I think so.”

“Just try to come up with as many words as you can. The letters have to touch and you can’t use a letter twice in one word.”

He nods and poises his pen over top of the paper.

I place the plastic container in the middle of the table, taking off the cover and flipping over the timer at the same time.

Barely able to concentrate, I come up with a few five letter words but mostly three and four ones. My eyes flicker to the timer because this whole game thing was a bad, bad idea. The silence is excruciating and the late realization that I made our date somehow educational instead of fun sets in.

“Time’s up,” I say.

Mauro’s sheet is filled, but I can’t read a lot of the words because of his bad handwriting.

He leans back, propping his paper up so I can’t see his answers.

“If you want to go first.” I hold my hand out and he doesn’t argue.

“Okay.” He rambles off his list and I pretend I don’t have some of the words.

Don’t ask me why. Maybe because I don’t want to castrate him with the first game we play. He seems bored and losing would probably make him even less interested in being here. I feel like we’re both mentally checked out from the date.

I guess it just confirms my belief that Mauro might be nice to look at and a great hero in my dreams, but in real life on a real date, we aren’t compatible.

I lie, allowing him to win because I made him come on this date. I don’t even bother to read off my five letter words.

Thankfully, I can tuck my notepad away and repackage the game when the waitress comes over with our food. The bartender is there as soon as she’s done, placing our drinks down on the table.

Mauro eyes my food and seems to grimace. I ignore the look and spread my hummus over my pita bread while my mouth really waters for the potato skins he’s piling sour cream on.

We eat mostly in silence and though I haven’t been on a ton of dates, this is by far the worst.

“How is it being a firefighter?” I ask, wiping my mouth with my napkin.

He chews faster, taking a sip of his beer to wash the food down his throat.

Way to go, Maddie, you’re really hitting this one out of the park.

“It’s great. I love it.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you found something you enjoy.”

He examines me for a second and then dips a mozzarella stick into the marinara sauce.

“What about you? What do you do?” he asks before taking another bite and after I’ve sipped my wine.

“I own my own company.”

His eyes widen and a soft, genuine smile appears. “That’s awesome.”

He doesn’t ask what exactly I do and I don’t volunteer any information.

“You have a good schedule, right?” I ask, attempting another round of conversation.

“Yeah, but if we’re out all day and night, it’s like the first day off is recovery time. I can’t complain though.” He drinks from his beer. “What do you want to play after this?”

“Whatever you want,” I answer.

I swear I catch a sour expression cross his face, but it disappears quickly.

His phone rings.

Here we go. The “friend” who needs him.

He presses the ignore button and places the phone face down on the table. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” I’m a little shocked he didn’t take the out when he could.

“What brought you out to the bachelor auction?” he asks.

“My roommate’s dad is a widow and she was hoping that if he gets involved with someone, he’d spend less time up in her business.”

He chuckles softly.

“I understand, having a mom who doesn’t understand privacy. That’s how you ended up on a date with me, right? Your other friends are going out with my brothers?”

Is it possible that guys gossip just like girls?

“Um…yeah. Lauren Hunt?” I leave it open because maybe he remembers her from high school.

His lips purse, but he shakes his head. I’m about to continue, but the recollection of her crosses his face. “Soccer team?”

“Yeah.” My tone might hold a tad of bitterness now that he remembers her and not me.

“She bid on you for me. I bid on Cristian for Vanessa and Vanessa bid on Luca for Lauren. It was really stupid. I have no idea why we agreed to it.” I push my plate away, uncomfortable eating in front of him.

“So you didn’t want to go on a date with me?”

“NO!” A few people at the tables around us glance our way so I lower my voice. “I wasn’t against it.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t try to sweet talk me.” The smile that consumes his face suggests he’s just joking. “So you knew who I was when we met that night?”

The flush heats my face. “I did.” I take a large sip of my wine.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He seems genuinely perplexed.

His plate is clear except for the green lettuce and ramekins with half used sauce. He picks up his beer, holding the glass to his lips.

“I don’t know.” I shrug.

“Do I scare you?”

“What?” His question throws me for a loop. “Why would you say that?”

“That’s the loudest I’ve heard you speak since we met. Figure it has to be something.” He leans back in the booth, a pleased smile on his face.

“And?”

“And nothing. You’re a people pleaser.” He finishes his beer.

“A people pleaser?” My forehead creases.

“Yah. A people pleaser. You haven’t once picked anything you wanted to do this entire date.”

“We’re here because I chose this place. I chose Boggle.”

“Where you let me win.” He raises an eyebrow.

My eyes glance down at the paper. “No, I didn’t.”

He eyes the paper. My hands move, but he’s faster, swiping it up before I can grab it. His eyes scan the paper, his smile growing wider.

“You beat me.”

I tear the sheet from his hands. “I was being polite.”

“You were being accommodating. Did you think I’d get pissed off if you won? Or that it would wound my self-esteem?”

Okay, seems we’ve moved past the awkwardness now.

“I was just being nice.”

He nods like I just confirmed something he already believes.

“I’m sick of nice.” He says the word nice like it’s bad.

My back straightens. “Well I’m sorry, I’m a nice person.”

“I think you’re confusing nice with a people pleaser. You didn’t have to lie and pretend that you lost. You could’ve thrown the piece of paper in my face and told me to suck it.”

At this point, I think that my jaw is hanging open. Is that the kind of girl he wants?

“That’s not me.”

“You sure about that?” The grin on his face makes me want to smack it off him or kiss it off him—I’m not entirely sure which.

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, I’m certain.”

“It’s too bad because you’re gorgeous. I had high hopes coming into this date that I pegged you wrong.” The cocky smirk on his lips might look delectable, but I’m ignoring the tug at my lady bits especially over the fact that he called me gorgeous.

“Sorry to disappoint you. I think suffice it to say this date is over.”

“We could do another round of Boggle. You could just pretend that you don’t spot the words again.”

I throw my napkin on my plate, down the rest of my wine and slide out of the booth. “I’m done.”

He catches my wrist before I can step away.

I wrench it back. “What?”

“Now this, I like.” His gaze flows up and down over me.

A million swear words go off in my head, but I keep them to myself.

“Have a nice life.”

I stomp away, ignoring the blatant stares from onlookers questioning why a girl would dare leave a man like Mauro Bianco in such a fashion.

Needless to say, I think I’m over my persistent high school crush.