Dating By Numbers. Jennifer LohmannЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SIX

      MARSIE WAS WAITING for Beck at the mall entrance to Nordstrom, purse in hand and credit card ready to be blown. “Shopping, huh,” her friend said as she approached. “We’re not usually shopping buddies.”

      “I don’t have shopping buddies,” Marsie said, giving her friend a quick hug. She knew what brands of clothing looked good on her, what sizes she wore in those brands and usually just ordered online. No shopping or buddies needed. “But I’m in a desperate situation.”

      She didn’t realize how rude those words could sound until they were out of her mouth, but her friend didn’t seem to notice.

      As they walked into the department store, Marsie gave Beck a rundown of her first date, including the boring cream sheath dress and silly pink cardigan with sparkles. “I felt out of place. I need something more casual. Flirty. Maybe a couple different outfits. I want to look cute.”

      Marsie put a lot of thought into what she wore to work. Nothing too feminine, but nothing that looked too masculine, either. She had to strike a balance.

      It would be much easier to be a dude and wear a nice pair of slacks, button-down shirt and boring striped tie.

      “This doesn’t have to do with the things that jerk said about you never finding anyone, did it? I mean, I think you generally look cute. Serious, but you are serious, so why shouldn’t you look it?”

      “I need a man to give me a chance to be something other than serious. You think I’m funny and fun, right?”

      “Yeah, but I’ve had years to get to know you.”

      Marsie stopped short, right in front of the escalator and turned to face her friend. Hurt must have been evident on her face, because Beck’s face fell. “Marsie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Some people are easy to get to know. They’re fun and easy and you feel like you have a connection the first time you shake hands.”

      Jason. She’d been charmed the first time she’d met him. And the second time, when she’d been moving in to her new office and he’d come to help her hang some pictures and put together a bookshelf. He’d told silly stories about his ancient dog the entire time. She still remembered the one about his dog getting into a plate of cookies that his mother had made him, including the detail about the dog getting caught, looking guilty with cookie crumbs on his lips, and—while being scolded—bending over to lick the last bit of cookie off the plate.

      “You’re not one of those people,” her friend continued. “You’re still waters that run deep.”

      Marsie turned away from Beck to get on the escalator, not feeling the least bit better, even though her friend was trying.

      “Well, I’ll bet my date thought he was one of the charmers.” She tried to throw some lightness into her voice, but given how tightly she was holding the banister, she doubted she was fooling anyone.

      “I’ll bet your date is one of those people he thinks you should be looking for.”

      “Fun and charming?” Marsie stepped off the escalator and turned to the sea of blouses, not even sure what she was looking for. At least when she opened the dating site and flipped through the photos of men, she had her algorithm to give her some guidance.

      “No.” Beck shook her head. “What about this top?”

      Marsie shook her head. Her friend was holding up a pink blouse with dark pink flowers and lace and so much fabric it looked like her high school home economics teacher could take the thing apart and remake it into a dress.

      “It’s fun and flirty,” Beck said as she shoved it back onto the rack. “And you like pink.”

      “I’m too tall. I’d look like a giant wearing a flowered blanket. That’s not cute.”

      She pulled a cream sweater off the rack. Sparkly threads ran through the neck of the top, getting denser near the hem so that the bottom of the sweater was more gold than cream. “This one looks nice.”

      “Yeah. Are you going to try it on?”

      “I guess I should.” She draped the top over her arm. Hangers clicked against each other and the metal rack as they flipped through more clothes.

      “What did you mean when you said you think my date thought he was the type of person I should be looking for?”

      Judging by the searching look Beck gave her, her friend knew her too well to believe the casual tone Marsie was trying for, but she didn’t comment on it. She turned back down to the clothes. “You’re looking for a specific education and a specific type of job and a man who not only has a couple books listed under ‘last read,’ but that they’re books you approve of. You’re looking for you.”

      They wove through the next set of racks to a new location that looked promising. Marsie still only had the one sweater over her arm.

      “Are you telling me opposites attract? I don’t believe that at all.” Her parents were proof that opposites might attract, but they detracted just as fast.

      “This is the top for you.” Beck held up her find and Marsie laughed. The shirt was a pretty metallic blue jacquard, but it couldn’t decide how it wanted to be a mix of both edgy and romantic.

      “It should either be off the shoulder or have ruffles or have a high neck or an eye-catching collar. It can’t have all the above. Too bad, because it’s a pretty fabric.”

      “It’s silk,” Beck said, putting the top back on the rack.

      “So it’s probably more than I want to spend.”

      Her friend checked the tags. “Three hundred and fifty dollars.”

      “If I make it to the sex date with a man, I’ll consider spending that much on a top, but not when I’ve not even kissed a guy. And not on that top,” she said with a vigorous shake of her head.

      “Wait? Which one’s the sex date?” Beck was still holding the top. She looked at it, shook her head and hung the blouse back on the rack. “Never mind. You have too many rules. I want to finish talking about opposites attract.”

      “What’s there to talk about? Dating someone different from you seems very exciting. Then the sex wears off, and you’re left staring at someone you have nothing in common with while picking at your dinner. Which they made, so it’s nothing you like.”

      “Your parents must really hate each other. Everything you’ve ever said about them makes me think that’s them talking.”

      “Hate is a strong word.” And, if she were being honest with herself, was probably the right word for how her father felt about her mother. Her mom had always seemed a little sad about the whole thing, like she’d been reaching for an amazing dream, failed, and hadn’t yet managed to fully wake up. Even after more than thirty years.

      Beck looked closely at Marsie, seeming to examine every line of her face. Then she went back to flipping through the tops like this was a casual conversation.

      They both realized that this had stopped being a casual conversation a while ago. Beck had significant advice she wanted to give; she just needed to figure out how to say it. Finally, she stopped moving shirts around on the rack and put her hands on the metal rung. “It’s not that you’re not looking for someone who is the opposite of you, but that you’re