Chapter 7 Kelly Kaplan

Stop Saying Cockshot

Three Weeks Until Christmas

I open the door and find my date standing there.

“Max?” I ask the cute guy standing in my doorway, and he nods.

He’s about my age and a little on the more studious side in his sweater over a buttoned-up shirt and black frames resting on his nose—especially in a side-by-side comparison with Austin, the pro athlete. “You must be Kelly. Let me start by apologizing for my grandmother.”

I laugh. “No need to. Come on in, and I’ll just grab my purse.”

He stands in the entryway as I rush through my small house to kiss Mia on the head. “Bye, Miamiga.”

“Don’t I get one?” Austin asks, and I purse my lips and give him a look as I grab my handbag off the counter.

“I won’t be late,” I say quietly.

“Don’t go at all,” he whispers, and he grabs my hand.

My chest tightens, and I can’t help but wonder why I agreed to this date. My first instinct was to say no, but I wanted to send Austin the message that I’m moving on.

Whether or not I’m lying to him. Or myself.

I sigh as I pull my hand back. “Bye.” I head down the hallway and join Max, who glances up the hallway in the direction I came from as if he’s wondering whose voices those were, but I don’t answer his unasked question.

I know his grandmother knows I’m a single mom, but I have no idea whether she shared that with him or not.

We get into his car, a Volkswagen SUV, and he starts driving toward a restaurant. “So, you work at Cookie’s Cookies?” he asks.

I nod. “I’m the office manager there.” I’m about to add that I used to teach kindergarten but quit when I had my daughter so I could be with her, but I leave all that out. For now. “What about you?”

“I’m in computer programming.”

Well, that sounds…boring. But I don’t say that.

“Do you like it?”

He nods. “It’s all right. Pays the bills. What about you?”

“I like it. My best friend owns the bakery, so I get to work with her every day. We have a lot of fun.”

“My grandma raves about the cakes there.”

“I don’t make them.” I have no idea why I just said that. What a stupidly blunt reply to a compliment to my workplace. I don’t even know how to backtrack out of that, and it’s clear I’m out of practice when it comes to dating. I guess I’m also out of practice when it comes to having a conversation with another adult.

We sit in awkward silence until we pull up to the restaurant, an Italian place, and I could really use another shot of vodka. He navigates the parking lot twice for a spot, and I’ve never been here, but it must be really good based on how crowded the parking lot is.

I hope he made a reservation.

I follow him into the restaurant once he finally parks. I glance around. It’s a cute restaurant, and it’s all decked out in Christmas décor, with a tree in the waiting area and garland along the walls with strings of lights setting a romantic vibe. A live band is playing Christmas songs in one corner of the place, and people are yelling to have a conversation over the music.

Okay, Kaplan. Get your head in the game.

It’s not a great first-date location, but we can make it work. I’m outgoing enough that I can make pretty much anything work, right? Time to dial up the sunshine and dial back whatever that was in the car. I’ll attribute it to first-date nerves.

I hum along to “Winter Wonderland” as Max yells to the hostess.

“We have a reservation for two,” he says.

“Sorry, it’s so busy. We’re hosting a company Christmas party, so it’s a bit busier than normal. What name is the reservation under?” she asks.

“Max Cockshot,” he yells just as the song ends.

Oh dear.

Everyone turns and looks at him…or at least it feels that way.

Cockshot?

Wait a minute. Max Cockshot? As in… maximum Cockshot?

Wow. His parents didn’t do him any favors. I’m scared to ask what his middle name is.

Kelly Cockshot. If this works out, I might have to keep my maiden name.

“I’m not seeing a reservation for Cockshot,” the hostess says. “Hmm, Cockshot, Cockshot, Cockshot.”

Oh my God. It takes everything inside me not to burst into laughter every time she says the name, and I can’t help but think what Austin would say about this whole situation.

No! Get him out of your head! You’re out with someone else. You’re moving on.

Except, clearly, I’m not.

“Oh! There you are, next Friday night for two.” She glances up at us, and we look at the rather long line of people waiting to be seated.

“There must be some mistake,” Max begins.

“So sorry, but you’re down for next week, Mr. Cockshot. If you want, you can find a spot in the bar. They serve food in there, too.”

He glances at me, and I nod. I just need her to stop saying Cockshot.

We head toward the bar, which is packed full of people, but Max seems to eagle-eye spot a seat opening by the bar, and he swoops in gracefully to snag it for me. It’s just one stool, so we can’t sit together. I order a Tito’s with soda, and he orders a glass of red wine as he stands behind me. It’s not a real conducive setup for chatting, so I try to half-turn in my seat so we can talk.

“So, you’re the office manager, and you don’t bake. What else do you do at the bakery?” he asks.

“Manage the books, manage the phones, keep the schedule. All sorts of things. But what I really love is—”

We’re interrupted when Max looks away from me and up at the bartender, who drops off some menus for us as our drinks are prepared.

I was going to talk about my hobby of making wreaths that my best friend was able to incorporate into my job as I make decorations for the bakery, but the moment is interrupted as Max grabs a menu and flips it open to study it carefully.

I study mine, too. I actually study it hard to find something that I can eat fast . Maybe I can just Uber it home early. It feels like this date is tanking fast, and I don’t care quite enough to save it.

The bartender places our drinks in front of us, and I order a club sandwich. I don’t pay much attention to what he orders.

I grab my drink just to have something to keep my hands and mouth busy, and even as I think it, I think of Austin telling me he has something that would keep my mouth and hands busy…but why the hell am I thinking about Austin when I’m on a date with Max? Max Cockshot.

Mr. Cockshot reaches for his glass of wine just as someone bumps into his arm, and…yep, you guessed it.

The red wine goes flying. It spills all over the bar and drips down onto me…all over my favorite pale pink dress.

I close my eyes with a heavy sigh as he grabs a napkin and starts rubbing the stain in even worse toward the bottom of my dress.

It’s too late to save it. Red wine isn’t coming out of this fabric. This dress is as good as done.

Either this is the start of a hilarious story we’ll share with the future Cockshot kids one day, or there won’t be a second date.

I’m guessing it’s the latter.

At least it’s a hilarious story I can share with Austin when I get back home.