Free Love at 11 by Mari Mancusi Page B

We’d have drinks. (Though not too many. I was so not having a repeat of Thursday with Jamie.) Then, we’d go to the movies in Fashion Valley and at some point I’d take a photo for proof. This way, I could prove to Jamie that I wasn’t: a) lying to him and b) pining over our one-night stand. He’d know that I, Maddy Madison, had a full, active social life with cute surfer boys.
    Then I could tell Ted it wasn’t working out and move on. Hopefully the surfing Czech wouldn’t be too broken up about losing me, poor desperate online-dating-service guy.
    The only problem now was what the heck I was going to wear on the date. After a brief closet assessment, I resigned myself to the fact that everything I owned was hopelessly worn and/or ugly. Not that it mattered. After all, I was only using Ted for a quick photo op. But what if he turned out to be really cool? What if by some rare stroke of luck, he was The One and I had worn such an awful outfit that he ran away screaming and I ended up living out the rest of my life as the crazy cat lady because I didn’t dress appropriately for the date? It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.
    Finally, I decided on a swishy black DKNY skirt, a red strappy tank top, and cute little flip-flops I’d gotten from Urban Outfitters. The outfit said fun and flirty, but not to expect too much. A quick brush of eyeliner and a dab of lip-gloss and I was ready.
    At first, Lulu wasn’t too happy to learn that I was ditching her on our first night as roommates, but she seemed somewhat appeased after I handed her twenty dollars, a pizza menu, and the telephone. I promised myself that I’d spend some quality time with her the next day. See how she was doing. After all, this divorce was a major life change for her and I wanted to make sure she was okay with everything.
    Thanks to traffic and zero parking, I arrived at the restaurant fashionably late and scanned the place for a blond-haired surfer-looking guy. No one in sight.
    Maybe he decided to be fashionably late as well and was simply a bit more fashionable than me. As long as he didn’t stand me up. That would be unbearable. To be stood up by a guy you were just using to prove to the guy you just slept with that you weren’t a loser. Ugh.
    Calm down, Maddy. Go get a drink.
    After checking in with the hostess, who told me there’d be a half-hour wait for a table anyway, I hit the bar and ordered myself a nice glass of Chardonnay. I would have much rather had one of their delicious margaritas (they had eighty different types of tequila here), but this was a first date which meant I had to behave myself. I had to seem grown-up and sophisticated.
    I took a sip and then (in a very un-grown-up fashion) managed to spill half the glass of wine down the front of my tank top. Great. Thank goodness I didn’t order a Merlot.
    “Are you Maddy?” a male voice asked as I frantically tried to dab my soaking breasts with a napkin. I looked up.
    “Yes, hi,” I said brightly, pleased to see the Czech surfer (okay, I was going to have to start referring to him as Ted from here on out) was actually pretty cute in real life. Had the total surfer look going on. Tanned, in good shape. And of course blond hair and really intense blue eyes. Why the heck was he on an Internet dating service? I mean, he could surely get real life women. Then again, I was on it, too. Though that was sort of for a different reason.
    I realized he was staring at my chest and was about to be of ended when I remembered I was still holding a napkin over my right boob. Oh yes. Great way to make a first impression. I lowered the napkin, painfully aware that the combination of cold wine and napkin rubbing had made my nipples stand at attention. He probably thought he turned me on or something. Bleh.
    “Nice to meet you, I’m Ted.” He held out his hand. He had nice hands. Not too callused, but not too femininely smooth either.
    “There’s like a half hour wait for a table,” I