Page 7

Chapter 7

Dating Lesson No. 1

Robyn

T ossing the eighth dress into the heap on my bed, I howl, falling on top of it all in nothing but my skivvies and sweat. I have no idea how to dress for this dating lesson with Dell tonight. We’re going to dinner at a trendy restaurant, but I don’t know if I should wear something casual because we’re just friends, or something sexy because this is a date… thing.

Ugh.

What have I done? Why did I agree to let Dell be my flirt coach? What good could possibly come of this? I guess the ability to get Isaiah to notice me as more than a friend. That is the goal, after all. It’s the dream. But achieving that with the help of my other crush?

He’s really taking personal training to a whole new level.

We’ve seen each other outside of training sessions a couple of times. Once, we ran into each other at the grocery store. Another time at a hockey game. But other than that, we’ve never hung out and for good reason. How am I supposed to keep it together when I don’t have anything like working out to distract me from…him?

I have to redirect my thoughts and focus on Isaiah. I need to learn how not to be a total fucking weirdo around him.

When he left to play rugby professionally in London, we lost our near-daily connection. Our communication suffered, partly because he was busy trying to make a name for himself, and partly because I was wrapped up in my own stuff with school and rugby. From there, it only got worse. The more time passed, the more awkward it felt acting like the close friends we once were, and the harder it was to pick up where we left off. My more-than-friends feelings only caused more uncertainty. I’ve been a festering pit of nervousness about our relationship ever since.

A buzzing from my phone completely derails my thoughts, and I reach for it to see a text from my friend Angie, Isaiah’s older sister. It’s a picture of her infant twins wearing USA Valor onesies, and I instantly smile. My thumbs fly over the keyboard to reply.

They don't even need to try out. They’re on the team! I’m the captain, I can say that.

The dots come and go for a minute before a video call from Angie pops up.

“Hey, mama,” I smile, and Angie’s plump, heart-shaped face fills the screen.

“Are you naked?”

“Kinda,” I say, showing her my strapless bra and then panning back to my face.

“Hot. I was trying to type, but texting is nearly impossible with two babies these days.”

“You and Raf have your hands full.”

“Oh god, you have no idea. Anyway,” Angie drawls, “I need you to send me your new address so I can mail you a wedding invitation.”

“Yes!”

“Of course, you’ll have a plus one,” she smirks, her comment obviously fishing for a reaction.

I roll my eyes, but my gut drops. She has no idea about my feelings for her brother. I’ve been hanging around Angie and her family for years, but I’ve never told her about this. It’s not that I don’t think she would approve. She’s the matriarch of her family, and honestly, I think she’d be happy for us if we worked out. I’m just scared to make the effort—to put myself out there and be real with Isaiah. To finally tip the scales would be a huge change. But then there’s the very real possibility that it would crash and burn, and the friendship Isaiah and I have (if you can even call it that) would crumble.

“I’ll work on that plus one,” I sigh.

“Are you laying on a pile of clothes?”

“Oh, yeah. I have a thing tonight and I don’t know what to wear.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Like a… date?”

“I don’t love that you’re unsure if it’s a date or not.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Okay, where are you going? What's his name? What's the vibe? Do you need a playlist? I’ll send you one. I’m also sending you a couple new dark romance book recs. There’s this one about a woman falling in love with her home security system, only to find out it’s monitored and voiced by a real man and not artificial intelligence.”

I laugh, “Top of the reading list it goes.”

“So who’s the guy?”

“His name is Dell, and we’re going to dinner at Nero’s.” Before my next words come out, Ang has already sent me a playlist called Sexy Getting Ready Mix .

“Thanks, girl.”

“You’re welcome! Now give me a fashion show.”

An hour later, I’m wearing a black, fitted thin-strap dress and heels, with gold earrings and red lips. It’s a look I’m comfortable in, but as Angie put it, I look like I invented the phrase “good boy.” And I think that’s going to help me tonight. I need to feel powerful and in control of myself. I need to guard against Dell’s charm and figure out how to flirt with Isaiah.

As I walk up to the restaurant, I check my phone and find the group chat blowing up.

Serwaa: Good luck tonight Birdie!

Khaos: $100 says it ends with a kiss

Skirt: Wait, I thought this was a practice date?

Serwaa: It is, but have you SEEN this man?

Serwaa: Video of Dell in a thirst trap

Casshole: He makes our glutes look tiny

Khaos: I don’t understand why you need flirting help, Birdie. Just show guys your tits and they’ll be all over you! two melon emojis

Casshole: eye roll emoji Khaos, that’s how YOU get girls

Khaos: And it works every time!

Serwaa: Keep your tits in Birdie

I start to type my reply, but I’m greeted by a familiar, low voice. “Hi.” When I look up, I’m momentarily paralyzed. Fuck, he looks good. His long blonde hair is down, which he never does, and he’s wearing a black, short-sleeve dress shirt with tiny white dots. His colorful tattoos with bold, clean lines only serve to increase my body temperature to an unbearable heat. Unable to stop my eyes or close my mouth, I take in his black jeans and well-worn… cowboy boots? Interesting. The silver bracelet he’s wearing pops against his exposed, tattooed forearms. Rugged and chic. What a delicious combo. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like he was going to wear gym clothes or his work attire. But this… this is fascinating.

“Hhhhhi,” I breathe.

“You look beautiful, Robyn,” he says, leaning in close and placing a kiss on my cheek. Oh god, he smells like mint. And oh god, Dell Breaux just kissed me! It was chaste, and some would say friendly—European, even.

Oh no. I should reciprocate! That’s what Europeans do!

But I’ve waited too long, and right as he pulls away, I flinch and graze his lips with mine.

“Oh shit,” I huff out. “I’m sorry.” I rear back instantly, but I overdo it and fumble over my own heels. Dell reaches forward and grabs my waist to steady me before I make an even bigger ass of myself on the sidewalk.

“Okay,” he drawls. His eyes are wide, and the corners of his lips turn up. “This is not you.”

I push his hands off me. “I know,” I squeak. “See, this is what happens when I try to flirt—” I cut myself off before I accidentally add ‘with someone I like.’

“Take a deep breath,” he orders, drawing in a long inhale and waiting for me to follow. Our eyes lock into each other as I obey. Wow. In the low early evening sunlight, his dark chocolate eyes have a halo of gold I’ve never noticed before. So pretty.

We exhale.

“You are not a clumsy person. You are an agile athlete and a beautiful woman and you are going to do great tonight.”

“Okay,” I huff and give myself a little shake to reset.

“Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

“Good,” he smiles, then wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me toward the restaurant doors.

“Oh god, it’s busy here.”

“I know,” he smiles, his thumb dragging back and forth across my bare upper back. He cuts through the waiting line of people and leads me to the hostess stand. “Reservation for Dell.”

“Like the computers?” the young woman asks.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Also, a small valley.”

“A what?”

“A dell is a small valley,” he clarifies.

“No, Adele is a singer.”

“Yes, she is. But my name is Dell.”

“Do you know Adele?”

“No, but if I sing Rolling in the Deep , will you seat us at our table?”

The hostess finally looks at her tablet, then back at him with a glint of mischief. I can tell she doesn’t think he’ll do it. Her eyes narrow. “Yes.”

“ We coulda had it —” he sings unabashedly before her eyes widen, and she scurries from around the podium with two menus.

“Okay! Okay! Excellent job. Right this way.”

“I can keep going.”

“Not necessary,” she trembles.

“Are you sure?” I ask as she sets our menus down at a table set for two near the windows. “I can perform backup vocals. I was in my high school’s musical rendition of Silence of the Lambs .”

Dell pulls out my chair, and I sit. “Robyn here has many talents.”

“I’m sure,” the hostess stutters. “Your server will be right with you. Enjoy your meal.”

Dell laughs to himself as he sits in his chair. “She couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Silence of the Lambs , huh? How’d that go? ”

“The review in our school newspaper read: Not everything can or should be a musical. ”

“I’m going to need to see footage someday.”

“Nothing would make me more uncomfortable,” I wince.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“A little nervous.”

“You gotta look past my rugged good looks if we’re gonna get anywhere.”

I snort. “I’ll try,” I say honestly.

“I want you to act normal.” I level him with a stare before he adds, “Er, as normal as you can. Like we don’t know each other, and this is our first date.”

“Okay. But the thing is, you’re supposed to be coaching me to flirt with someone I actually know pretty well. It wouldn’t be a blind date.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he muses, falling back in his chair and crossing his arms, his biceps bulging. He sits back up. “Well then, think of this as a real date with yours truly. You know him, and you know me.”

Before I can reply, our server comes to take our drink order, and we decide to split a bottle of wine.

“So how’s the summer rugby season shaping up?” Dell asks casually as we look at our menus.

“It’s hard to tell. We haven’t had a game yet, just practices. But the whole team is unsure how we’re supposed to move forward without Laura.”

Dell lays his menu down and stares at me. “Why did you get into rugby?”

It’s not an uncommon question when you play rugby. Back when I played softball and soccer, no one ever asked me how I got into those. But when you play a weird sport, you get this question a lot.

“I started playing my freshman year of college when I didn’t make my school’s soccer team. Turns out, I’m a lot better at rugby. I don’t think I’ve told you this, but my parents are both Olympians.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Dad met Mom at the Olympic games in Atlanta. He was a soccer player. She was a synchronized swimmer. And, well, I was sort of conceived there.”

His eyes round. “What?”

“No joke.”

“That’s some high-octane genetics.”

“You could say that,” I chuckle softly. “Anyway, she was from Minnesota, and Dad lived in California. When she found out she was pregnant, they got married right away and he moved to Minneapolis.”

“Are they still together?”

“Oh yeah. My dad is obsessed with my mom. And my mom is obsessed with maintaining her Olympic figure.”

“Ah. Is she one of those almond moms? You know, knows the exact amount of almonds in a serving size? Focuses more on weight than well-being?”

“Ohhhh yeah. By the time I was twelve, she was keeping a weekly chart of my caloric intake. They’re both pretty extreme. I get pressure from both of them about making their mistake worth it ,” I say, air quotes emphasizing my point.

Dell cocks his head. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“Like, it’s up to me to make sure their mistake of getting pregnant pays off. That I’m the best. That I’m an Olympian, too.”

“Jesus,” he grumbles.

“They like to play it off as a joke, but they’ve said it so many times that I truly think they mean it. And I’m gonna shut up now because that was too much information and too deep for a date. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I like getting to know more about you.”

“Pinot noir,” our server says as she reapproaches our table. I’m thankful for the interruption because I really shouldn’t have gotten that deep, that fast. It’s just so effortless to talk to him, and my nerves are through the roof. Did I put on deodorant? I think so. Did I brush my teeth? Shit, why did we order red wine? Now I’m going to have stained teeth all night.

“Are you ready to order?” our server asks.

“Yes,” I say, fumbling with the menu. “I’ll have the branzino and cauliflower. Can I also have a side of the buttery whipped potatoes?”

“Of course,” she says. “And for you, sir?”

“We’ll start with the tuna tartare, and I’ll have the pork sausage and herb pasta.” When our server walks away, Dell turns his full attention back to me.

“How was that?” I ask, trying to hold back my desperation.

“How was what?”

“My order. Was it too much? Should I have ordered a salad?”

The gaping look he gives me only adds to my nervousness. “Who are you right now?”

I take a fortifying drink of my wine. “I don’t know. Should I order something more… delicate? More feminine?”

“Robyn, take a deep breath.” I do. “I would never expect you, an Olympic athlete, to order a damn salad for dinner. If your date thinks you should be eating something smaller, then they’re a trash human, got it? And it wouldn’t matter if you were an athlete or a librarian, lean or fat, you should order what you want.”

I take another deep breath to calm down. “You’re right. I know that. Not really sure what has come over me.”

“I was gonna say, based on your social media content, I’d never think you would be worried about something like your food order. Didn’t you recently post something about how the whole point of living is warm carbs? ”

“I did,” I say fondly. “And dessert.”

“So why are you doubting yourself?”

“Because,” I sigh. “I don’t know. This guy…he’s seen me at my best and my worst. I mean, really, he’s seen me in some of my worst moments, physically. In college, there was more than one occasion he saw me with a bloody tampon up my nostril, covered head to toe in mud, and sunburnt to a crisp. I just…I wonder if I need to replace that image for him.”

Dell’s quiet for a long moment. “You shouldn’t be changing a goddamn thing about you, Robyn.”

My heart flutters, and I choke up—caught between feelings for two men, unable to decipher where to place my attention. But Dell’s words seep into my brain and flow straight to my heart.

Suddenly, I’m fighting back memories. “Then why do guys always treat me like a bro?” I sigh and roll the stem of my wine glass, watching it swirl. “I wear feminine clothing because I want to. I wear jewelry and perfume, and I style myself in a way I love. I know I dress on trend, but it doesn’t seem to matter to guys. I’ve been their secret hookup for so long. Or, the girlfriend they don’t tell their friends about. Either way, it always ends quickly.”

I finally look up at Dell, and he’s watching me with soft eyes. “So yeah, maybe I’m flailing. I’ve clearly been doing something wrong. Can you blame me for trying to reinvent myself?”

“I don’t blame you. But with absolute certainty, I can say those guys didn’t know their ass from their head. It would break my heart if you changed yourself because of someone else. So I’m going to tell you again,” he says, reaching to take my hand in his and brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “Do not change yourself. A good partner is someone who wants you to feel full, happy, and desired.”

I know what he’s saying is true, and I know in my heart of hearts that changing myself isn’t going to magically bring all the boys to the yard. But maybe there’s a part of me that I’m not showing off enough. That’s what I want to find out.

“You speak like you’ve experienced that.”

“I had that for a time. Once.”

That piques my interest. “Who?”

He takes a sip of his wine, sets it down gently, and clears his throat. “I can trust you?”

“Of course.”

“I had an ex-boyfriend, Travis, who I dated during my senior year of high school and then again during college for a bit until I was about twenty-four. I had a ring for him and everything.”

I had no idea he had a serious partner before. The only things I’ve seen him take seriously are his business and his brand. He may post silly thirst traps, but he does so with a purpose.

“Anyway,” he continues, twisting the wine glass around with one hand while still holding my hand with the other. “Things got kinda rocky when Travis started going out with some new work friends. He was drinking more than I’d ever seen. Staying out all night. Ignoring me. Then I caught him making out with another guy at my cousin’s wedding. In a bathroom stall.”

My own heart aches for him. What a hard thing to have to go through.

“We fought all night. All week,” he says. “I was tired of being gaslit. I was tired of his bullshit. And when I said enough was enough, he threatened to…” He trails off, looking around, then back at me. With a lowered voice, he continues, “He threatened to upload a couple of videos we made.”

“Like… those kinds of videos?”

He nods. “Like videos I thought would only stay between him and me. And he did. He blurred his own face, but not mine. But I can be just as stubborn as him. I decided to make an OnlyFans account, create solo content, and let his uploads light my fire. I don’t half-ass anything, and I sure as shit don’t let others steamroll me.”

“Oh my,” I whisper. “Not that I want to look—”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he smirks.

“—but do you still make that content?”

“Not in a couple of years, no. I deleted my account. Switched to good, old-fashioned thirst traps, the way our Lord intended. Y’know, that wholesome stuff.”

“And where does personal training fall into this?”

“I went to school for kinesiology and business. Always knew I wanted to go into something that kept me in the gym. There’s a lot of clarity and control there for me. And I enjoy helping people.”

Suddenly, I’m reminded that he’s helping me right now.

We’re not on a real date .

He likes to help people. He just said that. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t remember me from the sidewalk four years ago, and he certainly doesn’t want— no. I need to stop.

“Tuna tartare,” our server says, throwing me out of my selfish pity party and placing the dish between us.

“Thank you,” he says softly. He turns his gaze back to me and squeezes my hand gently as the server walks away. But something changes inside of him, I can tell. All his confidence vanishes, and a rare downturn of his mouth forms. “Does knowing what you know now change the way you see me?”

“No,” I say urgently. “I know a thing or two about giving the middle finger to haters,” I remind him. “You did the same thing. And I don’t think sex work is shameful.”

Our hands stay locked together as our appetizer sits untouched between us. There’s more in his eyes, though.

“What’s wrong?”

He takes a long inhale and I’m on pins and needles when he finally speaks again. “The real reason I don’t date my clients is because I used to—a lot. It was never anything serious. Just hooking up and a casual lunch here and there. But it got to a point where I started getting a reputation in the local training community that I was unprofessional.”

“Oh.”

“Hence the rule, which has kept me in check for three years now.”

What a tortured soul. I never knew this side of him. Our training sessions are centered around playful banter and gossip, but this side…he hides it well. You’d never know this carefree gym bro cares deeply. He protects himself.

“Do you want to tell me more?”

Dell gives me a slow grin before taking a sip of his wine. “No,” he says simply, his tone low and even; his confidence returned. “I’d like to sit here and listen to you talk. I like watching the candlelight flicker in your eyes.” His gaze drags low as my body temperature spikes. “And I’d like to watch your chest flush when you catch me appreciating your body. Just. Like. That.”