Crap—literally!

I jump out of the way. Is that the splat of droppings landing on dry leaves or am I just imagining it? I don't turn around to find out. The world just sent me a message and I got it, loud and clear. Suddenly, facing Patrick doesn’t seem so bad. Especially when the alternative is getting dumped on, like actually dumped on, by pigeons. I shiver, forcing the image from my mind, and grab a few napkins from the dispenser before returning to the line.

For a moment, I think he ditched me.

I mean really, who could blame him?

But then the crowd shifts a little, and I see that he's there, scanning the line and looking for me too. I smile when our eyes meet, a little more comfortable than before, and wave with my napkin-filled hand.

"Sorry," I murmur as I close the space. "You'd think for a place teeming with ketchup, napkins would be easier to find."

We both take a second to pat ourselves dry. And then the silence returns.

"So…" I trail off, unable to bear it.

"So—" he starts, but then a ringing cell phone interrupts and he digs his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a blackberry, scanning the screen. He cringes, looking at me with a sorry expression and steps out of line, whispering, "I have to take this."

I watch out of the corner of my eyes as he nods, says something, nods again. I've never wanted to be able to read lips more! But a second later he hangs up and I stare forward, pretending I wasn't completely eavesdropping on his call—not like it did me any good or anything.

"Work?" I ask.

"Unfortunately," he says, tone grim. I hold back my frown. "It was my boss. Something fell through on the deal we're working on and I have to get back right now. We need to completely overhaul our presentation for the morning, and it's going to take all night. I'm so sorry."

I shrug, pasting on a smile. "It's okay, I understand."

"Rain check?" he asks.

I smile and nod.

And then he turns around, walking away without so much as goodbye.

My face falls.

I can't help but notice there was no time or place associated with that rain check. No specifics. And I have the unsettling feeling that I've just been dumped. Was that call even real? Did he just not want to ditch me outright and asked a friend to call to give him an excuse? I thought that was just something girls did… And I really thought things were going well this time. I mean, until the whole molestation incident five minutes ago, but that wasn't that big of a deal—was it? Am I crazy? I had the butterflies with him—butterflies! Those don't happen very often, at least not to me.

"Skylar!"

I look up, hope springing to life, a burning flame in my chest.

Patrick is jogging back toward me, shaking his head.

"You don't have to go?" I ask, internally cringing a second later. That didn’t sound desperate, did it? Whatever. He came back! I don't really care how it sounded. Okay, well, that did sound a little desperate. Ugh. I focus on him instead of my incessant internal monologue.

"No, I have to go, I just completely forgot to ask you something."

"What?" I try to keep my voice light and casual. As though I'm not hanging on his next words. As though I'm not intertwining my fingers to keep from throttling him.

"Well…" he trails off, pursing his lips a little, thinking. "What are you doing for Halloween?"

I pause—I was not expecting that. Halloween is in like two weeks. Does he want to plan something in advance? Guys never want to plan dates so far in advance—not this early on. Maybe he's not breaking up with me…

"Nothing!" I chirp, a little too excited. But who cares? He's asking me out again!

"My friend Dan is having a Halloween party on his yacht and he needs the final guest list by Friday, so he can give the full manifest to the crew. Do you want to come?"

"Your friend has a yacht?" I blurt. And then realize the correct response was yes—easy, simple, one word. Yes. But it’s too late.

Patrick shrugs. "Oh, it's not his I guess, it's his parents."

Because that's totally normal…not.

I shake my head, refocusing, and say, "Yeah. I'd love to."

"Great." Patrick smiles widely, deepening the creases around his eyes as his whole face warms. And it's all for me. All because I agreed to another date. I flush.

He keeps talking, but my eyes are stuck on his lips, their perfect rosy color, and I'm distracted as I watch them move and pucker and widen. I'm not really listening, but am instead thinking about another kiss—a nice, sweet goodbye kiss. And I don't realize he's stopped talking until I notice his mouth has stopped moving.

I look up.

He's leaning forward, watching me—waiting.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great," I hastily reply, not sure what I've just agreed to.

An amused gleam shimmers to life in his eyes, and I wonder if he knows I have no idea what we're talking about. He raises his eyebrows, and says, speaking a little slower, definitely teasing me. "You said your friend was dating someone, right? They can both bring dates if they want, just text me everyone's full names by Friday so I can tell Dan. Okay?"

"Yes." I nod firmly—I heard him this time. I'm still not quite sure what happened or what I missed, but I did hear him. And then, just for extra emphasis, I add, "I'll text you."

"Sorry I have to leave," he says again, looking over his shoulder as though a giant clock is waiting there to show him that time is in fact ticking by.

"It's okay. Really." And I mean it.

Unlike before, he doesn’t just abruptly turn away and leave me. He leans in, closing the distance between us. But when he's just a few inches away, he pauses, peering at me mischievously.

"What?" I ask.

"No hot chocolate this time?"

I bite my lip, grinning. But I don't have time to reply, because he closes the gap and brushes his mouth against mine, kissing me. His lips don’t taste like chocolate anymore, they taste just like him, and I might like that even better.

Too soon, he pulls away, saying goodbye. I watch him walk away. And yes, I'll admit that my eyes might dip to his butt just a little. Hey, who can blame me? If you saw it, you'd look too.

But as he disappears around the corner, a sudden realization dawns. Hits me like a ton—heck, ten tons—of bricks, knocking the wind from my lungs, leaving me gasping for a second.

He said both.

Before, when he said I should text him names, he said both people could bring dates. I rack my brain, thinking back to our first date and everything we talked about, shuffling through the various conversations, tracking any and all names I could have possibly said to him, and only two stand out.

Bridget and Ollie.

He had asked if I had roommates, and I said two—Bridget, my best friend, and Ollie, her brother. Two. Both.

Oh my god.

All my excitement vanishes—gone, poof, just like that. Replaced with gut-wrenching dread. Halloween. Me, Patrick, and Ollie. And Ollie's imaginary date. And Bridget. And, oh man, I bet Blythe will be there too.

All of us.

Trapped on a boat.

With no way out.

I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

I close my eyes, cringing, and then open, looking at the line before me. I could go home to the warmth, but I won’t. I'll wait here for another half an hour on my own, because, really, I've never needed a burger, fries, and a milkshake more.

Make that a double milkshake.

And could they add a shot of vodka too?