Penthouse Prince(37)
I’m Corrigan freaking Stewart, and tonight, I’m throwing out my usual first-grade teacher vibes for full-on first-date bombshell. I’m ready to stop thinking about my history with Lex and start writing a brand-new story with someone new. And I think Keagan just might be the guy for the job.
For starters, we have a ton in common. We’re both teachers and . . . okay, that’s actually the end of the list so far. But that’s because I’ve never interacted with him outside of school. Tonight, that’s all going to change. We’re going to get a couple of eleven-dollar pasta entrees, split a bottle of wine, and totally hit it off. I can just feel it. This is the start of something completely new for me.
I arrive at the restaurant at six o’clock sharp, but thanks to an incredibly chaotic parking lot, it’s a few minutes after six by the time I finally step through the doors. The date-night crowd is out in full force tonight, with just about every table spoken for. If Keagan is here already, I won’t be able to spot him among the masses.
“Reservation under Keagan Anderson?” I ask the hostess, drumming my fingers nervously against my clutch. “I’m not sure if he’s here yet.”
“That’s me!” a voice that’s louder than seems appropriate shouts over the ambient music.
I snap my head in its direction, locking eyes with my date. He’s tucked away at a small table next to the kitchen.
The hostess gives me a sweet, almost apologetic smile before leading me to our table, where Keagan is waiting with a bottle of wine and a bread basket that, by the looks of it, he’s already combed through for all the good rolls.
“Hey there, Corrie. Nice of you to finally show up.”
I cringe at that absolute no-go of a nickname, but before I can correct him, he jumps to his feet, maneuvering around the table to pull me into an ill-advised side hug. Suddenly, this feels less like a date and more like dinner with a coworker.
Sigh. We’re not off to a great start.
Once we’ve both settled into our seats, I have a chance to get a real, honest-to-God look at my date for this evening. And I hate to be mean, but he’s not as good-looking as I remembered. Maybe it’s just his sunburned cheeks that are throwing me off, but I also don’t recall him having that receding hairline. For bonus points, his normally clean-shaven face is a mess of patchy stubble. It’s like the hair on his head said see ya and relocated to his jawline. But maybe I won’t notice after a glass or two of wine.
“Hope you’re good with red.” Keagan gestures to the uncorked bottle in the middle of the table. I recognize the label immediately—this is the same brand of cheap five-dollar wine I pick up when I’m grading papers.
“Of course,” I lie, then fill up my glass and take a good, long sip.
It takes a lot of willpower, but I manage not to visibly wince at the taste. I’m getting notes of friend vibes and dead dreams. Rudely, my taste buds choose now as a good time to remind me that, less than a week ago, I was drinking a fancy-pants chardonnay with a much better-groomed man. A man that makes my heart rate shoot up, despite the short leash I try to keep my body on when he’s near.
“How’s your summer going?” Keagan asks, pulling me back into the present.
Jeez. Since when am I the kind of girl to fantasize about another guy while on a date? I really need to pull it together. I’m being rude.
“It’s been great so far,” I say, forcing a smile. “What about you? Are you missing your kiddos?”
“Not even a little.” Keagan chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not actually a huge fan of kids.”
I blink at him, waiting for him to admit that he’s making a joke, albeit not a very funny one. Instead, he just smiles sheepishly from behind his wineglass.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask on a nervous laugh. He has to be. Who in the world would go into education without being truly passionate about kids?
Much to my surprise and complete confusion, Keagan shakes his head. “I was originally in school to be an engineer,” he says, swirling his wine around inside his glass as he gazes up at the ceiling. “I wanted to work on planes. But it turns out those classes are, like, really hard. I was failing out of the program and needed to find a new major, and fast. Luckily, I’d already passed a few of the prerequisite courses for a degree in elementary education. So, here I am.”
He finally returns his gaze to me, shooting me a big, cheesy smile, as though the crazy talk coming out of his mouth was the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, my fingernails are digging tiny trenches into my palms.
“So you became a teacher . . . by accident?” My voice is strained, but it’s all I can do to keep from snapping at this guy in the middle of this perfectly mediocre restaurant.
“Not really by accident. It was more just like a backup plan. Those who can’t do, teach, right?”
His nasally laugh makes my stomach uneasy, so I settle it with a long, slow sip of this terrible cabernet, and fix my gaze on his hairline to keep from having to look this jerk in the eye.
“Personally, I think the people forming the minds of our future generations shouldn’t be doing it just as a backup plan,” I reply curtly. Frankly, I shouldn’t even dignify that overused teacher joke with a response, but I’m not just going to sit here and act like my profession is a punch line.