Page 88 of The Do-Over

He frowned. “I asked you out to dinner so yes, I did.”

“I mean, as friends, I don’t expect you…” My eyes lit on a storefront a half a block down and across the street. With a gasp, I jerked to a stop and grabbed Nate’s arm. “I know that place! When I was a kid, my dad took me. It’s a nickel arcade. I can’t believe it’s still open.”

“Wanna go?”

“Yes! If you don’t mind? But my Skee-Ball game is strong. A lot stronger than my bowling game. I don’t want to embarrass you.”

He grinned. “Them are fighting words.”

“Let’s do it. But don’t come crying to me when I win.”

“We’ll see who’s crying.”

After that, things felt easier, less tense, and less date-like. After all, who goes to a nickel arcade on a date? That realization both disappointed and relaxed me.

We spent another hour and a half playing pinball and Ms. Pac-Man and Skee-Ball—I was, indeed, the victor. We pooled our tickets together and had just enough to become the proud owners of a miniature stuffed armadillo, which Nate insisted I keep. We walked back to the car, laughing and a little sweaty from the warm arcade and warmer night. At the car, he held my door open and guided me in with a touch on the small of my back.

“Such a gentleman.”

With a hand flourish, he bowed. “I do my best.”

Without food or games to distract us, silence fell on the ride home and continued all the way to my apartment door. Nate shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can we do this again soon? Maybe next weekend?”

I nodded. “I live twenty feet away from you. All you have to do is knock.”

Rocking back on his feet, he looked almost confused. “Okay, sure. Ah, goodnight.”

“Night.” With a little wave, I stepped inside my apartment, closed the door, and pressed my back against it. I’d followed Mathias’s directive. I’d gone with it tonight, and we’d had fun tonight. Fun. Like friends. Friends who just have fun together.

A sharp knock sounded on the door. I pulled it open to find Nate.

“Oh, hey, did you—”

Nate cut me off. “This was a date. You know that, right?”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I asked you to dinner.” He held up a finger. “I got a sitter for Lilah.” Another finger.

“But…”

“I took you to a restaurant with candles on the table. I asked you out for a second date.” Two more fingers.

I stared at him, slack-jawed. “But no. Never once did you use the word ‘date.’ I think I would remember that.”

“You know, I used to be pretty good at this. I almost feel offended,” he said, more to himself than to me. “It was a date.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I crossed my arms. “I thought you didn’t want any distractions?”

“Well, maybe I needed the right kind of distraction.”

“Okay, fine, if this was a date, you didn’t even kiss me at the end of it. Isn’t that how dates are supposed to end?”

I wanted to take back the words immediately, but they were out there now. Right there in the two feet of space that separated us, which suddenly seemed terribly wide and yet terrifyingly narrow.