Tony unbuckled his seatbelt. I went to do the same, but he reached over and caught my hand. I froze. He was being gentle, but I could tell he had enough strength in his fingers to stop me dead if he wanted.

  “Just wait right there,” Tony smiled, “I got you.”

  I blushed and let go. Tony hopped out of the car and came around to my side. This was silly, really. Surely he didn't do this for every guy he went out with. I was a grown-up, after all, I could unbuckle my own seatbelt. Nonetheless, I sat quietly with my hands in my p, waiting for Tony to let me out.

  He opened my door and smiled down at me, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said faintly. He leaned in again, which was less scary now that I knew he wasn't trying to kiss me, but was still a little overwhelming. He was just so big, so warm in the cool evening breeze, and I could smell his cologne again. Did it mean something that he was wearing cologne? He had put a little effort in, at least.

  Tony unbuckled me and held my hand as he helped me out of the car. As embarrassing as it was, it was kind of nice. I was still a little nervous in my heels, and I didn't mind the support. I felt nervous all over again when he led me towards the bowling alley and I realized he was still holding my hand. My cheeks burned as I hurried to keep up with him, my heels clicking along the asphalt.

  “Hey, when we get in there, do you mind if I refer to you as my date?” Tony asked, “I wanna give you the full experience, but, y'know, people can be assholes about it.”

  “Oh!” I squeaked. For some reason, the phrase felt strangely loaded. My date, my date, possessive, like I belonged to him somehow. Not Emmett, just Tony's date.

  But I was Tony's date, just for now.

  It was a little scary, though. This was Texas, after all. Tony squeezed my hand and I exhaled. If anyone started shit, Tony would protect me. I nodded my head and Tony grinned. He walked me to the counter, where an attendant was standing around looking bored.

  “Hey man,” he said, “Tony Pérez. I booked a ne for me and my date.”

  If the attendant was bothered by two guys being on a date, he didn't show it. It probably helped that Tony towered over him. He let go of my hand and I felt that same silly pang of loss, but then I jumped as he wrapped his arm around my waist. He was still chatting to the attendant, but I couldn't hear a word. I was too overwhelmed by the feeling of his firm grip around my slender little body, the casual command with which he held me close to him. Even in heels, my head only came up to his chest, and I had never felt more tiny, more fragile, or more emascuted.

  The attendant was looking at me funny, I realized, and then Tony gave me a little squeeze.

  “Emmett,” he said, “He asked for your shoe size?”

  “Oh, um,” I had been wearing the same beat up old shoes since high school, and had long since forgotten my size. I wracked my brain and remembered the number on the insole when I put my boots on, “Um, size seven I think.”

  The attendant’s brow furrowed as he gnced down at my feet, “You sure?”

  I blushed, “Ladies size seven.”

  The attendant nodded and wandered off. I turned to Tony quickly.

  “I don't usually wear dies shoes,” I babbled, “I just didn't have any nice shoes, and Gigi let me borrow hers, and she said they were basically cowboy boots, and I didn't realize the heel was that high but it was kinda nice because it means I'm a little taller and–”

  “Hey, it's okay,” Tony said, “You can wear whatever shoes you want, dude. You look good.”

  “Sorry. Thank you.”

  “You got dainty little feet,” Tony said.

  Before I could formute a response to that, the attendant returned with our shoes. I couldn't help but notice how much Tony’s absolutely dwarfed mine. Also…

  “Pink okay?” the attendant asked, “It's all we got in a dies seven.”

  “That's fine,” I said miserably.

  Tony noticed my expression and frowned, “You sure you don't got any other colors?”

  The attendant sighed, “I dunno. Maybe in the back.”

  “Cool, we’ll wait,” said Tony.

  “Tony!” I hissed. I did not want to cause a fuss.

  “Is it that big of a deal?” said the attendant.

  “My date doesn't like the pink ones,” said Tony, “So go–”

  “Tony!” I tugged his arm, “Pink is fine! I like pink!”

  Tony looked at me, “You sure?”

  “Yes!” I hissed. I gnced at the attendant apologetically, “Pink is perfect! Thank you!”

  “No worries,” he shrugged and wandered off again.

  “Oh my god,” I whined, “Tony!”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Tony frowned, “You didn't look happy with the pink shoes.”

  “They're fine!” I protested, “I mean, obviously I would prefer if they weren't pink–”

  Tony turned to the attendant again, “Hey–”

  “Tony!” I yelped, and dragged him away from the counter. Well, I tried to, anyway. It took a few seconds for him to realize what I was doing and actually follow me, until then I was just tugging helplessly at his arm.

  We sat on a bench and I crossed my arms, gring up at Tony, “I was fine with the pink ones. Yes, I would prefer if they weren't pink, obviously, because pink is. You know. For girls.”

  Tony raised his eyebrows.

  “It is!” I said, “Everyone knows that.”

  “Sorry, yeah, clearly I was being silly,” Tony smirked.

  I blushed, “The point is, you didn't have to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Sure I did,” Tony said, “You're my date, Emmett. It's my job to spoil you. I want you to have a perfect night.” He raised his voice and stood up, “And if you don't like pink–”

  I lunged for him and clung desperately to his arm, “Tony!”

  “Just kidding,” he grinned, and he looked so pleased with himself I couldn't help but ugh.

  “You're such a jerk,” I said. Tony shrugged but didn’t deny it. I sighed, “How much do I owe you for the shoes?”

  Tony shook his head, “Seriously, Emmett, I don’t think you get how this whole date thing works. You’re my Valentine. I’m not gonna make you pay, or have to compin to the shoe guy, or do anything else you don’t wanna do. I was serious in the car. Just sit back, look pretty, and I’ll handle everything.”

  I slumped back in my seat, a little bit overwhelmed. Tony grinned, “See? Perfect.”

  “Tonyyyy,” I whined.

  “Hey,” he rubbed my shoulder reassuringly, “Look, if you really don't like this, we can call it off and I’ll take you home, or we can just go bowling as bros. But if you do like it, you don't have to put up a fight, okay?”

  I bit my lip and shrank back into my seat. Tony looked at me seriously, his eyes so bright and earnest.

  “I like it,” I whispered.

  “Great,” Tony grinned, “Now let's get those shoes off.”

  I groaned and covered my face. Tony knelt down in front of me, lifted my foot, and carefully unzipped my boot. I peeked between my fingers and watched his deft hands move over my dainty little feet, switching one pair of borrowed women’s shoes for another. He smiled up at me and my heart fluttered. This was pampering on another level. He pulled my ces taut, sealing me into the pink bowling shoes. I felt like a dress-up doll, or like Cinderel, with her handsome prince helping her into her gss slippers.

  Not in a gay way or anything.

  “Um, thanks!” I said, trying to keep my trembling voice firm and deep, with little success.

  “My pleasure,” said Tony. He helped me to my feet and my heart sank as I realized that without my little heels he was now even taller than me.

  “Maybe you can pay me back by not kicking my ass too bad at bowling,“ he said.

  “Oh,,” I winced, “Um. No promises.”

  My mind raced as we made our way to our ne. Real life bowling couldn't be that different to Wii Bowling, could it? Should I tell Tony the truth? But it was so embarrassing! This whole time he thought I was an expert bowler when I was really just a stupid nerd. He was already so much more athletic than me, maybe the only reason he asked me out was because he wanted some competition! Well, it was too te to back out now, I just had to do my best and hope that I somehow lived up to my cims.

  I was so lost in thought I didn't even notice Tony was holding my hand again until he let go to use the control console. There was a little diner-style booth at the end of our ne, so I dropped my tote bag on the seat while Tony set up our game and entered his name. The letters appeared on the screen with little beeps: T-O-N-Y. I added my name next: E-M-M-E-donk.

  “Aww,” I whined, “It only gives you four letters?”

  “That's some bullshit,” Tony shook his head, “I'm gonna get a manager.”

  “Tony!” I grabbed at his arm again and he ughed. I pouted and kept holding on, just in case he got any big ideas. Although to be honest, if he started moving I probably would've just been swept along with him.

  “Okay, no problem,” said Tony, “I know what to do.”

  He deleted my name and started again: E-M-M-Y.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “Emmy?” I frowned.

  “Yeah!” he said, “Emmy. It's cute, like you.”

  “It sounds like a girl's name,” I grumbled.

  “Well, so does Emmett, when you think about it,” Tony pointed out, “It's like Emma plus ette. Like a more girly version of Emma.”

  “Oh,” I blushed. I never thought about it like that. My grandma always said that Emmett was a strong, dignified name. Was it really just a more girly version of a name that was already for girls? Was that the impression I gave off?

  “Okay, Emmy,” said Tony, “Let me have at least one turn to feel like I have a shot.”

  He picked out a ball and took his first shot, knocking out a pathetic single pin on the far left. I giggled as he groaned in despair.

  “Well, so much for that,” he said.

  “Wow, Tony,” I teased, “I thought those big muscles would make you a better bowler.”

  Tony grinned and thumbed at his jacket, “Y'know what? It's cause I had this jacket on. Constricting my movement.”

  “Oh, I'm sure,” I said.

  Tony wagged a finger at me warningly, “Don't get cocky! I'm still technically winning. Check the scoreboard!”

  He pointed up at the monitor. Sure enough, the score was TONY: 001 – EMMY: 000.

  I appuded politely with a big smile on my face. Okay, this wasn't so bad. Tony wasn't so intimidating after all. Deep down, he was just a dork like me.

  As I was thinking that, Tony took off his jacket, and I gasped.

  Oh my god.

  I never saw Tony outside of work, where we had to wear unfttering button-down shirts for our uniforms. Obviously I could still tell he was fit, but this was the first time I had really seen his body. This was the first time I had really seen his arms, so thick and rugged and bulging with muscle. His white t-shirt clung tightly to his chest, showing off his well-defined pecs and straining against his broad shoulders. Take back what I just said about him not being intimidating, oh my god. Tony! What the fuck!

  Tony looked up from the ball return, “You okay?”

  “Mhm!” I whimpered, and gave him an awkward thumbs up.

  “Okay,” Tony took a deep breath, “Wish me luck, Emmy.”

  “Good luck!” I squeaked.

  Tony smiled and lined up his second shot. I was sweating bullets. Why was this affecting me so much? They were just arms! I had seen arms before! But oh my god, the way Tony’s forearm flexed as he drew back the ball, the way his bicep swelled as he pumped his fist when it took out five more pins… it made it very hard not to think about the fact that I was sitting here wearing women's shoes, and women's clothes, and women's lip gloss, while on a date with someone who was very extremely definitely not a woman.

  “Take that, Emmy!” Tony whooped, “That's a six point lead, baby. That's an infinity percent lead.”

  I ughed at his stupid joke, but my voice came out high-pitched and breathless, like a stupid airheaded giggle. Tony didn't even seem to notice, which was maybe even more embarrassing, because that meant he thought I just ughed like that normally.

  “You're up,” he grinned.

  “R-right!” I said, and stepped up to the alley. Okay, I could do this. It was just like Wii Bowling. Just keep your arm straight, deep breaths, and…

  “Emmy?”

  “Y-yeah?”

  “You need a ball?”

  “Oh!” I blushed, “Um, yep. I knew that. I was just, um, just sizing up the pins.”

  Tony nodded wisely, “Smart. This is where I went wrong. What ball do you use?”

  “Umm,” I bit my lip, “Same one as you?”

  Tony nodded, “Coming right up.”

  He plucked a dark blue ball from the ball return and handed it to me. I reached out for it and–

  “Oof!” What the hell! Why was it so heavy? It didn't look that heavy when Tony was holding it!

  “Whoa,” Tony grabbed my arms, holding me steady, “Maybe a lighter ball?”

  “N-no!” I said. I clutched the ball to my chest, just about managing to hold it up without wobbling, “This one is perfect. This is the one I always use.”

  “Uh, sure,” Tony said. He let go of my arms, but kept his hands close by in case I needed help again. I staggered over to the alley and tried to figure out how to actually hold the ball. I could just about stretch my fingers into the three holes, but there was no way I had enough grip strength to bowl it normally. This did NOT feel the same as a wiimote.

  “Um, I’m gonna bowl it the baby way!” I called to Tony, “To, um, to go easy on you!”

  “Hey!” Tony ughed, “I’m not that bad!”

  I gritted my teeth and hefted the ball with both hands. It rolled straight into the gutter with a resounding plonk. I stared at it in disbelief.

  “Emmy!” Tony said, “That’s just insulting.”

  “Ha, yeah,” I turned back to Tony with a weak smile, “Just.. just evening the pying field a bit…”

  “You little brat,” he shook his head, “I got a better idea. For my handicap, I get to pick your ball.”

  “Oh!” Relief washed over me. I wasn’t sure I would do much better with another ball, but at least I wouldn’t have to hold up that awful heavy one again, “S-sure, I guess that works. If you’re so scared about me beating you.”

  “I’m terrified,” Tony smirked, “Here, try this one.”

  He passed me a small purple ball, and I accepted it quickly, hoping I didn’t look too eager. This one was way better. It actually fit in my hand, and I wasn’t terrified about dropping it on my toes. I had another go, and this time I actually got four pins. I whirled around and grinned at Tony, before I remembered that was supposed to be a bad score for me. I turned my grin into a determined gre.

  “Watch out, Pérez,” I said, “I’m hot on your tail.”

  Tony raised his eyebrows and I blushed. I didn’t mean it like that! I wasn’t even sure what it meant like that!

  We kept pying, and Tony got better and better with every frame. I very much did not. It looked like my four pins were a fluke, because after that I got gutterball after gutterball, and got more and more frustrated. It didn’t help that Tony kept making jokes.

  “Damn Emmy, you better lock in,” he teased, after my third gutterball in a row, “My tail is feeling real cold right now.”

  I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from yelling at him or bursting into tears. Okay, maybe I was the one who started the trashtalk, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt my feelings! He was already better than me in every way, did he have to rub it in?

  The game ended in a blowout, with Tony more than tripling my score. I had the final bowl and, yay for me, it was another freaking gutterball. I stormed back to our booth and thumped down on my seat in a huff.

  “You okay, Emmy?” Tony asked.

  “Yes,” I muttered, “My arms are tired, that’s all.”

  “Okay…” Tony said uncomfortably, “Uh. Good game, that was fun.”

  I snorted and crossed my arms, “Whatever.”

  Tony looked at me warily. I knew I was being stupid and childish but I was too angry at myself to care. Stupid bowling. Stupid date. Stupid fucking Valentine’s Day! This was meant to be fun, was meant to make me feel good about myself for at least a few short hours, but instead I was having a shitty time and Tony probably thought I was a liar or an idiot or both. And you know what? He was right!

  I waited for him to call me out, end our date, and demand I pay him back for the booking, but instead he picked up a menu and thumbed through it.

  “You want a burger?” he said, “Or a hotdog, maybe? You seem like a hotdog kind of guy.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. He nodded to himself.

  “Yeah, the hotdogs look good,” he said, “Something to drink, too. Do you like margaritas?”

  I stared at him. He smiled back innocently.

  “I’ve never had one,” I muttered.

  “They’re pretty good, dude,” he said, “A little salty, a little sour. But mostly sweet. Like you.”

  He winked at me and I blushed red. What the hell?

  “And,” he added, “It’s Mexican. So it’s a real authentic cultural experience.”

  I giggled a little before I could stop myself. Tony grinned, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Okay, perfect,” he said, “Hotdog and a margarita. We can have dinner before our second game.”

  “Do you always order for your dates?” I asked.

  “Only the cute ones,” he said, “Don’t run off on me, okay?”

  He left to pce our order and I squirmed in my seat. What was that all about? He must have realized I lied to him by now, and besides, I was acting like a total jerk for the whole game. But he still wanted to have dinner with me? And he picked out a drink he thought I would like? And he thought I was mostly sweet?

  And he called me cute again, which I still wasn’t getting used to…

  I felt an anxious little worm of guilt wriggling in my belly. Tony was being so nice, even though I clearly didn’t deserve it. He could’ve cut this dumb fake date short at any time, but he was sticking with it, trying to make sure I had a good time. I made up my mind then and there to stop being such a baby. Tony deserved to have a good time too. So I was gonna be a good date for him.

  When Tony came back I was much more attentive, chatting and smiling and ughing at all his jokes. It wasn’t that hard, to be honest. His jokes were pretty funny, and he was so charming. I had envied his confident flirting so many times at work, but it was a whole different story when he was directing it at me. I found myself blushing and giggling almost constantly, and when he reached across the table for my hand, I took it eagerly. Look, I wasn’t attracted to Tony. Not one bit. But god, it felt so nice to be treated like this, to have such an objectively hot guy act like I was somehow on his level. Tony was special, I always knew that, and when he looked at me it made me feel like I was special too.

  Our drinks arrived and I reluctantly let go of Tony’s hand. He was right about the margarita, it was delicious. So much better than gross boring beers. And man, I could use a drink. I slurped it up quickly, feeling a rexing buzz creep into my head.

  “Whoa,” said Tony, “Someone’s thirsty.”

  “Mhm,” I nodded, finishing my drink with a satisfied sigh, “So good.”

  “You wanna try another one?” said Tony, “I’m paying.”

  “Umm,” I eyed his drink, which was something brown in a short gss, “What are you drinking?”

  “Old fashioned,” Tony offered me the gss, “Try it.”

  I nodded and leaned across the table, parting my lips for him. He hesitated for a moment, then raised the gss to my mouth. The gss was cold, but was I imagining it, or did the pce where my lips touched the rim feel a little warm, and slightly wet? Was this where Tony had been drinking from? My cheeks went red at the thought, but I tried to ignore it and focus on the drink. I closed my eyes and took a deep sip.

  “Mmm,” I murmured. It tasted wonderful, spicy and smooth. I opened my eyes as I swallowed, then drew back and wiped my sticky lips, gazing up at Tony, “Yes please.”

  “Uh, that’s–” Tony stammered, “Wait, what?”

  I cocked my head, “Yes please? I’d like one of those.”

  “Oh, right!” Tony said, “Sure. Yep.”

  He stood up, looking strangely flustered. He was even blushing again! Twice in one night. What was up with that boy?

  He left the booth and my eyes drifted to his gss. Oh, no! There was a little pink lip gloss print on the rim where my lips had touched it. I groaned and quickly rubbed it away with a napkin. Damn it, Gigi! She said it wasn’t tinted! I grabbed my phone and sent her an angry text, then, on second thought, opened my camera to check that my lip gloss wasn’t smudged all over my face. It wasn’t, luckily, but it had rubbed away from my lips a bit.

  I double-checked that Tony wasn’t on his way back yet, then quickly reapplied my gloss. If I was going to be a good date for Tony, I needed all the zhuzh I could get. I put the lip gloss back in my bag, and my fingers brushed against something else. The mascara.

  Well… Gigi did say it would make my eyes pop…

  I applied the mascara as quickly and carefully as I could, trying to copy what Gigi did when she did her make-up. A few little blinks and my eye shes looked dark and dramatic and somehow longer. And Gigi was right, it really did make my eyes pop. Maybe now they could compete with Tony’s soulful, dreamy brown eyes…

  I dropped my mascara back in the bag and examined myself in the camera again. I really did look quite good. My outfit made my body look slim and elegant instead of scrawny, and my hair and make-up made my face look, honestly, kind of pretty. I felt a little flutter of pride in my chest. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy that Tony wanted to date me, after all.

  “Hey!” Tony said, “Taking selfies?”

  I jumped, “No! I was just…”

  Crap! I couldn’t tell him I had been putting on more make-up. This date had been emascuting enough already! I summoned up a smile and lied, “Just taking some photos, um, to show my roommate.”

  “Aw, cute,” Tony said, “And smart. Staying safe.”

  “Huh?” I said, "By messaging my roommate?"

  “Oh yeah, that’s a thing,” he nodded, “Especially for girls. When they go on dates, they usually let a friend know what they’re up to, in case the guy turns out to be a psycho.”

  “Wow,” I said, “I’m gd I don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Tony shrugged, then grinned, “Wanna send her one with me in it? I take a real good Potential Murder Suspect pic.”

  “Oh, um. Sure,” I said. I lifted my phone to take a photo, but before I could, Tony scooched into the booth next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Oh! L-like a selfie. Right.”

  “Is that not–” Tony lifted his arm off me, embarrassed.

  “No, no!” I said quickly, “It’s fine. Just took me a little by surprise.”

  “Sorry,” Tony grimaced, “I know I can be a bit much.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said. He tentatively lifted his arm again and I nuzzled into his side and held up my phone. He smiled at the camera. God, he really was so good-looking.

  I snapped a pic and sent it to Gigi, realising a moment too te that Tony could see my st message to her about the lip gloss.

  “Sorry,” I winced.

  “What for?”

  “My roommate bullied me into wearing lip gloss, and I didn’t realize it would leave a stain on your gss,” I said, feeling like I was about to shrivel up from embarrassment, “I could tell that it made you uncomfortable.”

  Tony blushed again, “Oh, that? Uh, yeah, it, uh, it wasn’t the lip gloss.”

  “Huh? What was it, then?”

  “Well,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I, uh, when I held out my gss I kinda figured you would, y’know, take it. With your hand. Not just lean forward and open your mouth for me.”

  Suddenly it hit me what that must have looked like from his perspective and I cpped my hands over my mouth in horror.

  “Oh my god!”

  Tony ughed, “It just took me by surprise.”

  “Oh my god, Tony! I’m so sorry!”

  “Chill,” he said. He put his arm around me again and gave me a comforting squeeze, “It was cute. You’re cute, Emmy.”

  My whole body felt hot, from the tips of my ears all the way down to my toes.

  “Honestly, it was kinda hot,” Tony said.

  My eyes went wide. I stared at him.

  “Really?” I said.

  He shrugged sheepishly, “Sorry, I see someone cute looking up at me with their mouth open, I can’t help but be a little turned on.”

  Maybe I should’ve been grossed out. Maybe I should’ve been offended. What I was, though, was very, very fttered.

  “Jeez, Tony,” I grinned, “It’s just the first date. Don’t get too excited.”

  Tony ughed and I felt a wicked thrill. Tony was turned on? By me? If I was into dudes, that would be the best news ever. Even though I wasn’t, it was still pretty awesome. My efforts to be a better date were totally paying off!

  Our food arrived and we ate together, still sitting side by side. I revelled in my new secret knowledge. I could make Tony Pérez turned on! I could make him blush. It was like a superpower. I kept teasing him throughout the meal, letting my hand brush against his, making soft, breathy sighs of pleasure as I sipped my drink, and even (and, okay, I admit this was probably a little too far) slowly licking the mustard off the tip of my hotdog. The crazy thing was, it was working. Tony was a total mess. He kept smirking and blushing and when I did the hotdog thing he actually gasped. I had never felt cooler.

  I finished my meal and licked my lips while gazing up at Tony. He shook his head ruefully and I grinned.

  “So,” I chirped, “How does a hottie like you end up single on Valentine’s Day?”

  Tony ughed, “A hottie like me?”

  “Oh, don’t act humble,” I rolled my eyes, “Guys and girls are asking you out all the time. You’re really telling me you didn’t have pns for tonight?”

  Tony sighed, “I’m kinda taking a break at the moment. Things didn’t end so well with my st girlfriend. She said I was too controlling.”

  “What?” I said, “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Tony nodded, “I guess that’s why she decided to cheat on me.”

  My jaw dropped, “WHAT?”

  “I’m being a dick,” Tony said, “I mean, yeah, she cheated on me, but she had a point about the whole controlling thing. It’s the way I was raised, y’know? Like, it’s the man’s job to take the lead, to make the decisions, to look after the girl. But it’s bullshit, I know that. I mean, shit, the people who believe that stuff also think bisexuals don’t exist, and I know that’s not true. I’m tryna do better, but it’s hard to fight that instinct. Sometimes I still do it without thinking.”

  “Hmph,” I said. All of that stuff sounded pretty normal to me. Grammy had drilled some very simir rules into my head as a kid. “Well, it’s her loss. I’m sure whoever she cheated on you with is a total loser.”

  Tony ughed, “Thanks, Emmy. But for real, if you learn one thing for your next date, girls don’t like being bossed around.”

  “Are you the same way with guys?” I asked, “Since you’re bi?”

  “Ahh,” Tony shifted uncomfortably, “Not really. Kinda sexist, I know, but mostly I date masc guys.”

  “Masc?”

  “Oh, it means, y’know, masculine,” he said, “Guys like me. So I don’t feel that protective instinct as much. Fuck, I must sound like such a asshole.”

  “You’re not an asshole,” I said, “I think it’s kinda sweet. And I’m sure some girls like getting bossed around.”

  Tony shrugged, “I guess so.”

  I sipped my drink and thought about it. I definitely didn’t feel like Tony had been controlling. I guess that made sense, since I was a guy. If anything he had been really sweet, ordering my dinner for me, and talking to the attendant about my shoes, and even changing my name when it didn’t fit on the screen. It felt good being taken care of like that. There was no way Tony could have known this, but I secretly thought the idea of someone like him making all the decision for me sounded really nice. I spent so much time stressing about doing the right thing, it would be a relief to let go of that and let somebody else handle it. Those girls were luckier than they knew.

  “So,” Tony smirked, “I have a question for you, but it’s pretty personal.”

  I gulped, “What is it?”

  “Are you really an expert bowler?” he asked.

  I groaned and slumped back on my seat. Tony ughed.

  “I’m really good at Wii Bowling,” I whined.

  “I knew you weren’t going easy on me!” Tony hopped up from the booth and stuck out his hand., “Come on Emmy. Let me show you how it’s done.”

  I took his hand with a rueful smile and let him lead me back to the ne.