Page 3 of I Wish He Would

I don’t know why she sounds so enthusiastic. It’s not like asking me about my job is going to win him an award. And it certainly doesn’t outweigh the fact that he brought his mother with him tonight.

“Alyssa.” Mike sits up higher in his seat and squares his shoulders. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m a hairstylist.”

“I guess your hair does look nice. I’ve gotten my hair cut every other week by the same stylist since I was a boy.” Mike runs his fingers through his hair and shoots me a devilish grin. “She keeps me looking fresh, so, sorry, I won’t be switching to you.”

“Understandable,” I say, knowing I would sprint out the back door if I ever saw him set foot in the salon I work at.

“Do you, uh, like cutting hair?”

“I love helping women feel like their most beautiful, confident self.” I wish that I was anywhere but here, but I feel trapped since my cousin works with him. I wouldn’t want her to get caught in the cross fire. I fidget with the edge of the napkin in my lap and push through the awkward conversation. “What made you want to be a realtor?”

“I guess you could say it runs in the family.” He snorts, but I don’t get the joke. “It was the practical choice. I like practicality. It’s also how I view dating. If a woman can get along with my mother, I know she’ll be the kind of woman I can pair well with.”

Just what every woman wants to hear.

If it wasn’t already obvious before, it is now: Mike is a mama’s boy. They’re a TLC reality show’s dream duo with their attachment issues. Sounds to me like they should be going to therapy rather than going to dinner, but I’m no expert.

Thankfully, Tracy returns with our drinks. I take a sip and close my eyes as the flavors hit my taste buds. It’s one of the best lemonades I’ve ever had. The perfect balance of tart and sweet with just the right hint of strawberry.

“Are you folks ready to order?”

“Yes,” I say before anyone else can answer. I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet with how the night has unfolded, but I’ll order anything to get out of here as soon as possible.

Mike taps his menu on the table. “I’ll have the filet mignon.”

“How would you like that cooked?”

“He likes it medium-well,” Susan answers for him.

I glance down at my menu to hide my frown. One more hour, tops. I can survive sixty more minutes.

Tracy’s lips pull into a thin line. “And for your side, sir?”

Mike turns to his mom again. “Do you think getting a baked potato will make me look bloated?”

I can’t tell if this is for real or if I’m getting Punk’d. I know that show was canceled forever ago, but maybe it got rebooted just for this moment. Because this guy can’t seriously ask his mom for her opinion on everything.

“You already worked out twice today.” Susan tilts her head. “I think that should be fine, just no butter or sour cream.”

Practicality and plain potatoes. Sounds perfect for my man, Mike.

There might be people out there who enjoy plain baked potatoes and, I mean, good for them. But I don’t choose to live in that kind of sad existence.

“And for you, ma’am?” The waitress looks to Susan.

“I already told you.” She crosses her arms on the table. “The steak special to go with my red wine.”

“Right, of course.” Tracy doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. I wish I could have her attitude right now, but my fear of any form of conflict wins out.

“I want it well done. And a side salad, no dressing.”

“And for you?” Her face softens as she looks at me. It makes me want to break out into song. We’re all in this together, Tracy.

Normally, I’d order steak frites, but today I think I’ll try something new in spite of my tablemates. “Could I get an order of the crab cakes you mentioned and a loaded baked potato.” I look directly at Mike as I say, “Extra butter and sour cream.”

Mike averts his gaze as his mom pops her lips. “That’s a choice.”