Brett
By Friday afternoon, I had rejected six ideas for Saturday.
The expensive steakhouse was out because Cassie specifically said not to impress her. The concert was out because she hated crowds when she couldn’t control where she stood. Ice skating was insulting because she had spent years sitting in freezing rinks watching me skate. The fall festival had been Derek’s thing, and there was no f*****g way I was recycling another guy’s date.
Which left me sitting in the locker room staring at my phone like it had personally betrayed me.
Ollie dropped onto the bench.
“You look constipated.”
“Thanks.”
“Saturday?”
I looked at him.
He held up both hands. “I’m not helping. I enjoy living.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ve been Googling date ideas for twenty minutes.”
“It’s not a date.”
