Out of Her League: Love & Other Disasters, #1

1

Tessa

Tessa

I’m the only person on the planet that would let themselves be talked into a blind date on Valentine’s Day. Sane, rational people would say no. Say another night, perhaps. But not me.

What was I thinking?

Well, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking I didn’t want to spend the night alone. I was thinking that I was the only woman in my group of friends not paired up, and I was tired of their pity. I was thinking I couldn’t spend one more second listening to my best friend, Ashley, go on and on about how awesome her surgeon boyfriend Christopher was. Or listen to the details of their extravagant, romantic weekend getaway, when Ashley and I always spent Valentine’s together, mocking those happy couples.

I’m thrilled for Ashley, really I am. She deserves all the happiness in the world after what that shit, Trevor, did to her, but selfishly I’m missing her as my safety net on the worst single night of the year.

And I can’t lie; I’m lonely and feeling left out. So, when my girlfriend, Ginger, put me on the spot in front of everyone at a party and insisted I play the blind date Valentine’s game, I’d agreed.

The second I’d said yes, I regretted my impulsiveness. But I’d made a commitment; and I don’t back out of promises. So I’d go to dinner, have a good time, and make the best of things, because that’s what I do. At bare minimum I wouldn’t be home alone watching the Gilmore Girls on Netflix.

That was something. Right?

Shoulders back, I walk into the small Italian restaurant recently named a hidden gem in Chicago magazine, hoping for the best. I would ignore how pathetic it was. Ever an optimist, I put on a bright smile and stride toward the hostess stand.

Maybe my date will surprise me. Maybe he’ll be a prince, and he’ll sweep me off my feet, whisking me away for my happily ever after. Maybe sixty years from now we’ll tell our grandchildren about how we met on a lonely Valentine’s night, and spin tales about how you never know when you’ll find true love.

So yeah, I’m a bit of a… romantic. An unpopular trait these days, but I can’t help it. It’s my guilty little secret.

I give my name to a pretty girl dressed in black, standing over an iPad with a seating chart in various colors. She grabs two menus and smiles. The rest of your party isn’t here yet, but I can go ahead and seat you.

I glance at my watch. I’d been purposefully ten minutes late, and Matt Peterson, actuary extraordinaire, still wasn’t here. I sigh. Oh well. Maybe he’s fabulously good looking and interesting, and the second I see him his tardiness will be erased from my memory.

A girl can dream. Whatever the folly.

Following behind the hostess, I walk through the crowded dining room. The tables are packed; so close they might as well be pushed together. I’m a bit on the curvy side, falling just barely on the right side of plump. What my grandmother used to call healthy, and I have to turn sideways a few times to get through the narrow walkways. Squeezing past cramped tables, hoping my too full ass doesn’t knock over someone’s wine, isn’t exactly reassuring, in fact, a sense of foreboding shivers across my skin.

All I need to do is make it to the table, and pray I don’t have to go to the bathroom, then everything will be all right. The hostess starts to slow, signaling we must be close to our destination. I look up from the maze designed by a sadist, and my heart slams against my chest wall.

Oh no. Oh dear god, please no.

This cannot be happening to me. It’s a mirage. I blink. He’s still there. This isn’t some horrible nightmare. Not twenty feet away from me is Xavier Knight. Sitting at a table for two, alone, obviously waiting for someone.

Out of all the men I’d be forced to be in the same restaurant with, he’s last on the list.

Xavier, is one of Ashley’s boyfriend’s best friends, and has to be one of the most gorgeous men on the planet. After being introduced to him at a party a few months ago, I have the worst crush on him. It’s so bad, so embarrassing, I haven’t told a single soul. Not even Ashley, who knows terrible, uncomfortable things about me. It’s that humiliating.

I’ve tried to talk myself out of the crush numerous times, but I can’t help it. He’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever laid eyes on. At six-four, he has ridiculously broad shoulders, a face made to be carved and immortalized in stone, dark hair and even darker eyes. A trauma surgical resident with the ego to match, he’s a complete player. He’s ultimate fantasy material.

Evidenced by the women who trip all over themselves for a chance to be with him.

Needless to say, he’s completely out of my league. I’m romantic and optimistic, but I’m no fool.

While he stops traffic, and probably has women leaving panties on his car, I’m merely cute. Not pretty. Not stunning. Cute. With ordinary brown curly hair, and blue eyes, and a pleasing face. There’s nothing remarkable about me. I’m also quiet and don’t stand out in a crowd. The word most of my former boyfriends have used to describe me is nice.

Xavier treats me equally nice, with none of the prowling intent I’ve seen him turn on other women that catch his attention. I totally get it, like attracts like, which is why my huge crush on him is so frustrating.

Every time I see him my heart pounds, my cheeks flush and my palms go damp. What’s worse is I grow tongue tied, even though he’s always super sweet to me.

I watch in utter horror as the hostess walks straight toward the empty table right next to him. I want to scream, but grit my teeth instead.

This can’t be happening to me. Why, fate, why?

Not only is he having dinner at the same place I am, I have to sit right next to him! What kind of cruel twist is this? How can I make conversation with some guy I don’t know with Xavier flustering me?

The hostess lays the menus on a table so close to his we might as well be eating together.

No, no, no! I frantically scan the room, looking for anywhere else she could put me, but all the tables are full.

I’m forced to sit down across from him.

The universe has the most twisted sense of humor.

He’s looking at the list of specials so he doesn’t notice me. Slinking into the chair, I pick up the menu, half covering my face as I pray he somehow doesn’t recognize me. After all, he’s only met me a few times and I’m completely forgettable. It happens all the time.

Hope is dashed when he glances up and his gaze lights with surprise.

He smiles and my treacherous heart gives a flutter. Tessa! This is a surprise.

Why hasn’t he forgotten me? Of all the bad luck. I tighten my grasp on the menu and nod. Hey, Xavier.

Happy Valentine’s Day. He winks. Ugh. His lashes are so thick and dark and long. It’s a crime.

You too. Waiting for a date? God I feel awkward. Like the words are tumbling out of my mouth too fast.

He flashes me a killer grin that makes my pulse pound in my throat. Something like that. You too?

Ever so nonchalant, I shrug.

Just shoot me. I can’t wait to sit next to one of his supermodel girlfriends all night while staring at the actuary, Matt. All my romantic notions for the evening die a sudden, painful death. I wrinkle my nose. I’d ask to sit somewhere else, but there are no other tables.

No worries, he says, picking up a glass of wine and taking a sip. Can I buy you a drink while you’re waiting?

To my dismay, my cheeks flush. Why does he have to make me so nervous? I’m a grown-up, he’s not supposed to make me nervous. I shake my head. That won’t be necessary.

Nonsense. He raises his hand and a waitress comes scurrying over. Is there a woman alive that doesn’t fall to his feet the second he snaps? He shifts his attention to me. What can I get you, Tessa?

I debate. Why not let him buy me a glass of wine? At least it will relax me, and with every muscle in my body tense, I need to relax. I clear my throat. A glass of Chianti would be nice, thanks.

The waitress nods and when she leaves, Xavier turns back to me. Are you early? Or is your date late?

He’s late. I tilt my chin. What about yours?

He laughs. She’s late, but she called and told me she would be. So we can keep each other company.

Great. Not great. Not great at all. I don’t want to spend, god knows how long, being tongue tied and struggling for something to say. My mind is always an uninteresting blank around him. See, this is why I’m a second-grade teacher. Talking to kids is so much easier than adults.

The waitress delivers my wine and sets it in front of me. When she retreats, he raises his glass. Cheers.

We clink glasses across the minuscule space that separates us. Cheers.

I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom over dinner, because they’ll have to move the tables and that will just be further humiliation I really don’t need right now. I take a sip, letting the rich liquid slide down my throat. I glance around the crowded room. This place is packed.

He surveys the patrons, nodding. It is.

An awkward silence settles between us.

I bite my lower lip. Save any lives today?

He smiles and shrugs one shoulder. Only one.

Only? I raise a brow.

It was a slow day. He scrubs a hand over his chiseled jaw, studying me. What do you do again?

I’m a second-grade teacher.

He nods. That’s right.

Again, silence falls between us, and again I can’t think of anything to say, but in fairness, he’s not exactly carrying the conversation either.

His head tilts as his fingers run the length of the wineglass stem. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.

I can’t help picturing what those long fingers would feel like stroking over my skin. I shake off the impossible thought. I debate lying, saying this late douchebag is my boyfriend, but it seems pointless. The second Xavier sees us together he’ll see there’s no intimacy between us. I scrunch up my face. It’s a first date, actually. Then I laugh a little. Pretty sad, huh?

He shakes his head. No, but it’s a risky move on the most pressured day of the year.

So true. I lean forward and put my elbows on the table before rubbing my temples. I don’t know what I was thinking. Or wasn’t thinking, to be more accurate.

Who knows, maybe it will be the guy of your dreams and this will be a story you tell your great grandkids. His tone is light and amused.

The exact fantasy I’d concocted as I walked in here, but his reiteration is like a kick in the stomach. Highlighting to me that he doesn’t view me romantically. Which is ridiculous to care about, because of course he doesn’t.