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“So I just started last week, but the job description is working on parties and mixers to help get alumni to come back and support the school while also helping them make connections with one another.”

Miles smiles, only a fraction bigger than the half-smirk I saw a few moments ago, but the man is hitting the attractive meter inside me, and I have to tamp that down. I’m sitting here on a date with another guy and Miles is way out of my league.

“That’s interesting. I went to Boston University myself.”

I smile, happy to find former Terriers. It might help my job in the future. “It’s a good school. I attended Northeastern, but Boston University has been good to me so far.” For the six days I’ve been there.

We fall back into silence, and I glance toward the bathrooms. From our table, I have an almost straight-line shot to see the hallway of them, although it’s dark. A man walks down and opens the men’s room, the light from it shining into the hall and revealing a certain green-shaded dress. Why would Amber have gone into the men’s room?

My heart rate picks up and I scoot out of the booth. “I’m going to go see where our dates are,” I say, hoping it’s just a trick of the lights or my imagination taking over.

I’m near the hallway when the man who’d gone in before walks out and there is a clear shot of Amber and Cameron furiously making out.

“Seriously?” I say, and it must’ve been loud enough for them to hear because they break apart and glance out the door. Gagging, I turn around, taking two large steps before I’m stopped by a couple servers with their arms loaded down with orders.

Of all the places to make out, the men’s restroom? So many germs, and guys are just gross most of the time.

“Dani, this isn’t what it looks like,” Cameron says, walking over to me.

“Oh really? What was it like? Because from my angle, your lips were fused to hers.” My voice goes a bit higher as I point to Amber, who’s wiping around her lips with her fingers.

I turn to head back to the table but slam into the large form of Miles.

“What’s going on?” he asks in his deep voice.

I turn to slip past them while saying, “Ask them. I’m done.”

It’s only a few more steps to the table, but the servers are now putting our food down. I see our server and ask, “Can I pay for my food now? And a box? I’ll take it to go.”

“Of course,” the woman says, “I just need to deliver this plate to table five and I’ll come back with your box.”

I try to hand her my card, but she moves away too quickly.

There’s a scuffle behind me, but I can’t even turn to look, I’m so frustrated with myself. I saw this coming, all the signs and the irritation with Cameron.

Why is it so hard to cut ties and be done?

Because I’d been with Clay for over five years. And it was like running an uphill marathon. Everyone says that relationships are work, but at the rate I’m going, I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the crest of the hill I’ve labeled Fiancé Status.

“It’s not a big deal, man. There’s chemistry between the two of us.” Cameron is such an idiot.

Footsteps approach and I hear him call out, “Dani.”

Maybe my brain shorts out, but I grab Cameron’s glass of Dr Pepper and start throwing it before I’ve turned all the way around. And as the liquid flies through the air, on its way to hitting Miles and his probably expensive suit coat, I’m wishing for a way to take it all back.

The slow motion of it all ends quickly as time goes back to its normal pace. The restaurant is silent and all eyes are turned toward us.

“Miles, I’m so, so sorry. I thought you were—”

He raises his hand, swatting at some of the sticky liquid on his suit coat. “It’s fine.”

I turn and grab the stack of napkins from the table, handing them to him. With slow, measured strokes, he works down the front of his suit coat. I’ve been able to tune Cameron and Amber out until now.

“Why are you touching him?” Amber says defensively. In my usually helpful nature, I must’ve kept a couple napkins as I’m dabbing Miles’s arm dry.

“Because I made a mess,” I say. “But then again, so did you.” We enter a stare off for several seconds before she brushes her curls over her shoulder.

“You are a walking disaster,” Amber says. I ignore her to turn around. Digging into my purse, I find the business cards I’d stuck in there yesterday.