A Year to Remember(23)

“That’s my number.” Suddenly, I had no desire to meet the ten men waiting for me in the other room. “Do you want to have a drink after we’re both done?”

“I’ll find you,” he said huskily, hinting at the possibility he, too, would rather skip the speed dating.

Missy grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away to the connecting room where some of the other registrants were waiting patiently for directions from the organizer of the event. As I walked in, a woman in her mid-forties gave me my card with a list of numbers on it, each one representing one of the men I would meet over the next hour.

Then she turned to Missy. “What is your number?”

“I don’t have a number.”

“Then you have to leave the room. This room is for registrants only.”

Missy mouthed the word “busted” at me, then laughed her ass off as she started to leave room. When Goldman walked in, she broke out into hysterics.

Bitch.

Seriously, out of all the guys that could have been in my round of speed dating, why did it have to be Goldman? I know the computer chose our numbers at random, but honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was following me.

The organizer, who introduced herself as Ruth, told the women to sit by our respective number and explained each man would move from table to table in six-minute increments.

Missy and I had prepared questions to help me get to know about my date without having to resort to the usual small talk. Questions like “If you could have dinner with one historical person who would it be and why?” “What is your dream vacation?” “What is the last book you read?” “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Ruth rang a bell and my first date began. We began by telling each other our names and then he asked me what I did for a living, my least favorite question. As if our jobs or careers define us. Yes, I’m a psychologist. Now they assume I’m nurturing and I enjoy listening to everyone telling me their problems. After listening to teenagers complaining about how unfair it is they have to abide by their parents rules, I really don’t want to come home and hear my boyfriend complain about his boss at work.

The first three guys failed to impress me. One guy creeped me out by informing me I reminded him of his mother.

Then I met Max, a pediatrician with two dogs, a house, and a vacation home in Florida. On paper he sounded impressive, but he never asked me a single question in the whole six minutes. I wasn’t sure if he was an egomaniac or just nervous. I guess I’d give him a second chance, so I circled his number on my card. My mom would be thrilled if I married a Jewish doctor. He obviously liked children and animals. How bad could he be?

Noah, a lawyer originally from Ohio, had possibilities. When I asked him what he’d do if he won forty million dollars in the lottery, he said he’d pay off the mortgages for his entire family, buy a house in the mountains, and retire, spending his free time doing charity work with the needy. Personally, I think the mountains of Las Vegas are beautiful, but I prefer to stay in the casinos or at the pool. I don’t ski or climb mountains, but I suppose I could always learn if I met the right guy. I circled his name as well.

After Noah, a smirking Goldman sat at my table.

“How do you do? I’m Adam,” he said, offering his hand for a handshake.

I’ll play along. “I’m Sara,” I responded taking his hand. Instead of shaking it, he turned my hand and kissed it. It sent a tingle right to my toes. Damn, why does he always affect me this way? Especially since he’s just toying with me?

“Sara, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”



I snorted in response, forgetting about the men in the room I was trying to impress. I hoped they didn’t hear it because it’s not the most sophisticated noise in the world.

“And a rose by any other name ...”

“Would smell as sweet,” he finished.

That impressed me. “You know Shakespeare?”

“I may have read a few of his plays.”

“Really? Be honest, did you just see the movies?” I teased.

“You mean you don’t believe me?”

I couldn’t read him. I didn’t know if he was still pretending or if I insulted him.

“If you say you’ve read Shakespeare, then I believe you.”

He sat back in his chair with a studious expression.

“Where do you want to be in five years?”

The question made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure why. It didn’t matter what I said to him because this wasn’t a real date, right?

“Why did that question make you nervous?” he inquired.

“Why do you think it made me nervous?”