The Trouble With Quarterbacks(98)
Worse, my single status is not from a lack of trying. I am signed up and active on no less than four dating apps. I’ve attended multiple Hamilton Singles events, and I’m never one to shy away from a blind date.
My mother has been relentless about it too. Just last week on the phone she babbled on about how when she was my age, she already had two kids. I told her I have Mouse, who is pound for pound worth about five kids, but she didn’t seem to think that compared. Whatever. There’s nothing more I can do. I want to be madly in love as much as she wants me to be, but unless she can wave a wand and magically produce Mr. Tall Dark & Handsome for me, I’m kind of screwed.
See, my lack of a love life doesn’t really have anything to do with me. I mean, sure, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m kind of sarcastic and crass at times, but Daisy assures me guys don’t care about that because of my other more prominent features. I think her exact words were, “You’re hot, you’re in shape, and you’ve got nice boobs. I don’t see the problem.”
She might be lying to me to keep me from throwing myself off the nearest cliff, but I’ve lived in my body long enough to know it’s not the problem.
Hamilton is the problem.
This town is small.
Most dating apps show you eligible men within a certain number of miles. I’ve widened my parameters to encompass the entire county, but the prospects are still abysmal. I scroll through Tinder now as I sit outside of Daisy’s house, wondering if I’ll see a new face pop up. I don’t know why I bother; there are never new faces. I scroll past Jimmy, who was my boyfriend in elementary school for a week and a half. There’s Martin, who is about a foot shorter than me on a good day, and Cale, the cowboy who lives on the outskirts of town who isn’t half bad-looking once you’ve had three or four beers. Oh and look, it’s Jared, the guy who owns Hamilton’s only gym and who routinely updates his dating profile to include even more overly tanned, overly muscled bathroom mirror selfies. I swear if you ran a finger down his arm, you’d come away with spray tan goop.
I have zero new matches on all five of my dating apps, and though I’m tempted to let it get to me, I don’t. This is nothing new. Hamilton is Hamilton, and unless I’m willing to pack up and move to a bigger city, I’ll have to make the best of it—and I do. Right before I head inside, I RSVP to a Hamilton Singles event in two weeks. I haven’t been to one in a month, and I’m optimistic that this one will be worth my time. See Mother?! Contrary to what you think, I don’t just sit at home wallowing in self-pity. I put myself out there.
Daisy opens her front door when I’m not even a quarter of the way up her front path. She must have been parked at the window, waiting for me.
“Hey stalker.”
She ignores me, rushes forward, and grabs my arm.
“I don’t want you to get excited, but there’s someone here I really think you should meet. Wait…” She scans the ground around my feet. “Where’s Mouse?”
“At home. He got really dirty after I took him to the park and I didn’t want him ruining your stuff.”
She groans. “That’s precisely what I want him to do. Your brother is so stubborn about hanging on to things. That rug in the family room is hideous, but he doesn’t seem to think we need a new one unless the current one is ruined.”
I laugh. “I’ll try my best to spill my wine tonight.”
“Thank you. Now, hurry, there’s a new guy here that I’ve never met before and I think he’s single!”
Though she seems excited, I’m not. Daisy only moved back to Hamilton two years ago, and she’s routinely confused by who’s an actual newcomer and who just decided to grow a beard.
“If it’s Kyle Parker again, I’ll punch you. He’s lived here his whole life Daisy—he just has a man bun now and I swear it confuses you every time.”
She rolls her eyes and keeps dragging me after her, which is no simple feat considering the footwear she’s decided on tonight. Her whole outfit is spot on and trendy: a simple red dress with nude pumps. Her blonde hair is loosely braided down her back, probably left over from work, and her makeup is just enough to make her already beautiful features stand out even more. I now regret changing into jeans, even if I did put on the pair that makes my ass look, in Daisy’s words, “killer”.
“Should I change into something of yours?” I ask as we pass through the foyer. “You’re a lot fancier than I am.”
She turns and gives me a onceover, breaking out in a slow smile. “No, you look hot. That shirt is just tight enough to show off your figure without being indecent, and I like when you wear your hair down like that. It drives guys insane.”
I shrug, remembering the zero new matches waiting for me on my dating apps. I guess I’ll have to take her word for it.
We pause in the kitchen for wine, and I can see most of their guests clustered out back on their wraparound porch. Surprisingly, it’s a nice evening in Texas—not too hot, and the mosquitos have yet to invade for the summer. Everyone is sipping wine or beer and sort of hovering around in clusters. As far as parties go, this is extremely tame.
“No beer pong? No kegs?” I ask as Daisy pours me a glass of chilled white wine, my favorite.
She levels me with a glare. “Your brother wanted a low-key housewarming party.”