Date Me, Bryson Keller(22)

    Bryson pulls out a folded piece of paper. He pushes it toward me.

“What’s this? A love letter?”

“You like that sort of thing?” Bryson asks.

“No,” I say too quickly. Redness paints my cheeks. “Yes…I don’t know….” I shrug.

“Did you and Louise Keaton write love letters to each other?”

“We didn’t date long enough for any of that to happen.”

Bryson studies me. He leans in close to whisper, “Why’d you date her? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It seemed like everyone around me was dating. And I didn’t want anyone to think of me as different. I knew Louise liked me, so I figured why not? But then I wasn’t comfortable with how unfair it was of me to lead her on when I knew who I was.” I look at the piece of paper between us. “Still, I mean, a little romance never killed anyone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bryson says. My heart speeds up, and before I can react instead of simply staring at him, our food comes.

While we eat, I open the piece of paper and find a hastily scribbled list. Of all the things that Bryson Keller is good at, writing is not one of them. His handwriting is practically indecipherable. Maybe he’ll be a doctor one day.

“It’s a list of adaptations,” he explains. “I know Romeo and Juliet is Henning’s favorite, but I wanted us to have options. Do you want to perform something so romantic?”

    “You said it was your favorite, too, right?” I look up. “Why?”

Bryson smiles, and his eyes light up. “My older sister used to have this huge crush on Leonardo DiCaprio, and so she watched it like it was her religion.”

“Oh, I have a sister, too.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger in age, but older in everything else,” I say. “I haven’t seen the movie. I kind of hate Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“Why?”

“Does there need to be a reason for me not to like someone?”

“Generally, yes.”

“I guess it irks me that he only takes on roles that are bound to earn him an Oscar nomination.”

“But it’s good to have a goal, no?”

“Maybe…but it’s annoying to me. Also, all his girlfriends are blond, models, and twenty-five or under—that seems odd to me. I mean, live your life, but also, really? That’s how you’re going to live your life?” I shake my head and hold up a finger. “Also, my dad is South African, and let me tell you that Leo’s accent in Blood Diamond was terrible. I just don’t understand why Hollywood doesn’t hire actors from the region instead of giving us bad accents. Or, like, just don’t do an accent that is offensively bad.”

“You’ve thought long and hard about this, haven’t you?” Bryson chuckles.

I hold up my thumb and finger an inch apart. “Just a little bit.”

“So what else do you hate? I figure a good boyfriend should at least know the basics.” The air seems to change when he refers to himself that way. Bryson doesn’t realize it, but I’ve dreamed of hearing those words from someone, and never once in my life did I think they would be coming from his lips.

    “Well, the top five things that Kai Sheridan hates, including dear old Leo, are…” I hum in thought. “Phone calls.”

“Now that I know you, that makes sense.”

“Math.”

“Join the club.” He holds up his large hand. “Come on, Kai. Don’t leave me hanging.” I stare at his upheld hand for a heartbeat longer before bringing my own to smack it in a high five.

He grins. “What else?”

“Um, peas?” I say. “They’re of the devil.”

Bryson laughs. “Aren’t you meant to, like, outgrow your hatred for peas when you turn, like, three?”

“I guess I missed the memo.”

“And what’s the final thing?” Bryson’s been counting them off as I list them, and one finger remains standing.

“Deciding stuff,” I say. “I’m probably the most indecisive person you will ever meet. So I spend a lot of time just daydreaming about stuff instead of actually doing it. I always worry about what everyone will think.”

“So, is deciding what to perform a nightmare for you?”

“More or less,” I say. “But I’m happy to go with Romeo and Juliet. You know I suck at acting, so any bonus points we can earn from Henning are a good thing.”

“Works for me.”

“So if we do this, who’s Romeo and who’s Juliet?” I ask.

    “Well, you can be Romeo, and I can be Juliet.” He pauses, raises an eyebrow, and looks at me. “Or vice versa, whichever you prefer.”

I choke on my eggs while trying not to laugh. “Nice one.”

Bryson laughs, too. He pushes my glass of water closer to me. I grab it and our fingertips brush. In my haste to pull my hand away, I end up spilling some of the water.

“Shit,” I say as I use napkins to wipe up the mess. Bryson helps. There’s laughter in his eyes, and the right side of his mouth is pulled up.

“So, have we decided on the movie?”