Page 29 of Bad Decisions

“Sure you are.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s brushing an insect away. “But forget that because I was saying, if the guy you met the other night was nice and now he wants to take you on a second date, you should go.”

I don’t want to go on another date. It’s hard to keep the conversation going when you’re not that interested in a guy but don’t want to be rude. I’m sorry I even mentioned to her that I’d been asked out again. Not that I had much choice when Cara always wants a debrief after I meet a new man.

Henry was my fifth date through the App, and by far the best. Basically, after the first four disastrous ones, a man with no obvious red flags would be considered a success.

“He was nice, well-mannered, and the conversation flowed after the initial awkwardness, but …”

“Go on. What was wrong with this one?”

It’s clear that tonight’s drink is all about convincing me to accept Henry’s invitation. A heavy sigh leaves my lips. “There was no zing. Not even when he kissed me goodnight on the cheek. I want tingles, shivers, goose bumps when a guy touches me.”

Cara rolls her eyes in exasperation. “You do know your life isn’t a rom-com,” she counters. “Maybe zing and tingles take time, or at least another date. If this guy wants a second date, you should do it. Call him.”

Maybe she’s right. Not everyone you meet can be an instant connection. In fact, Will was the only guy I ever felt that with, and look where that got me.

Am I rejecting Henry without even giving him a chance? The problem is, I’ve been comparing every man who shows the slightest interest in me to Will. And sadly, they’re all falling short. But I know Cara isn’t going to give up. If not Henry, then the next guy I show a smidgen of interest in.

“Fine, I’ll agree to the second date.”

“Finally.”

A smile has dimples popping in her cheeks as she stands to wave over the barman to order another round of drinks.

“Go on, text him now,” she says after she’s placed the order.

I chuckle. “You know you’re being a little bossy tonight.”

“Maybe that’s because I am your boss and you are in need of some tough love.”

Picking up my cell, I scroll to Henry’s message from a couple of days ago and start typing. “There, done. Are you happy? I’ve agreed to meet him for dinner a week from Saturday.” The barman replaces our empty glasses with fresh ones filled with a ruby-red cosmopolitan, our second and last for tonight since we’re both working tomorrow morning.

“Good. Now that wasn’t so hard.” Her grin borders on smugness.

I glare at her, and over her shoulder I catch the familiar face of our colleague standing at the door.

“Hey, there’s Tom,” I announce.

“What? Where?” Cara spins so fast on her stool that she nearly falls off.

“Careful. He might think you’re falling for him.” I can’t resist teasing her, especially since she’s been so pushy about me going on a second date.

Cara and Tom have a very fiery relationship. Partly due to the circumstances around Cara’s father making her the boss, even though Tom has worked at the clinic longer and has more experience. Mostly, though, it’s because the chemistry between them has always been volatile. I’ve never been able to tell whether they hate each other or can’t wait to jump into bed together.

“I have to go,” Cara grumbles before gulping down the cocktail in record time.

“Really? You can’t even have one drink with him?”

“Nope. I’m late for something.” She jumps off her stool, dashing past Tom on her way out the door.

And she thinks I’ve got dating problems.

Buzz, buzz. The intercom on my desk comes to life with the disembodied voice of Susannah announcing the arrival of my last patient for the day. Thank goodness.

Mondays usually suck, but today has been particularly crazy with back-to-back patients and barely a break since mid-morning. It’s all the city-types who spend their weekdays stuck behind a desk, then on the weekend think they can achieve sporting feats like they did back in college. Sprains, strains, and muscle tears streamed through my treatment room with the predictability of night following day. I check my online calendar, but all it says is a new patient.

Great, a long appointment with even more paperwork to complete after. An exhausted sigh slips out, and I instantly feel guilty. This isn’t the attitude I should have on my way to greet a new patient. They’re probably in pain and in need of my help. I stand, then give my shoulders a few rolls to loosen them up, already feeling better for the stretch.

The clinic isn’t large, with only three private treatment rooms: one for Cara, one for Tom, and one for me. When her father works, which is only if we’re really busy, he uses a corner of the large exercise space at the end of the hallway. That’s also where we store equipment or take patients to demonstrate certain exercises. Out the front is a small reception and waiting room, and I head in that direction now.