Free Getting to Third Date by Kelly McClymer Page B

mistake. “Guys who love their cars, and take care of them well. You can tell they’ll treat a girl right. But the same holds true for guys who love their bikes.” Yeah. Lame. I know. But that’s hope springing eternal for you.
    â€œThat’s Katelyn logic for you.” I couldn’t tell if he meant it in a good way or a bad way, because his smile was a little forced. “What’s your least favorite?”
    Oh, great. Another minefield and I wasn’t even sure yet I hadn’t just gotten blown up in the last one. “Bodybuilding.”
    â€œYou don’t like guys who go to the gym?”
    Tyler went to the gym every morning. That’s his serious side coming out—when he believes in something, he puts it on a to-do list and does it. Who couldn’t love a guy like that?
    I plunged on, despite the warning in my brain that I should quit now. “Of course I believe in going to the gym and being healthy. I’m talking about those guys who spend four hours there and then have to talk about the size of their biceps all the time.” I crossed my fingers. I’d never heard Tyler once ask anyone to feel his bicep.
    Bingo. He nodded. “Oh. Them. I hate them too. What a waste of testosterone.”
    Yay! Score one for Katelyn. “Exactly.”
    â€œOkay. I won’t pick a guy who has any hobbies that might include bodybuilding.” He glanced up. “Do you care about the IQ rating? It is college, after all. Aren’t we all smart?”
    I shrugged. “Some smart people can be awfully dumb. The smartest guy in school could decide to take me on a date to toilet paper a professor’s house.”
    â€œNo way.”
    â€œWay. At least, it happened to a friend of mine in high school.”
    He bent back to the book, mumbling to himself, “S, D, E, T, L, C, M, H, IQ, B…”
    I thought I was glad he had believed me about the last little rating point. Until his finger stopped on a guy who had a really good buzz factor rating. “You liked this Hands-On Guy’s blog a lot; you gave him a ten. And he has a five in the IQ category, which means he doesn’t expect to go toilet papering with a cute girl. Let’s give him a third chance.”
    Tyler was smiling at me. And he was still talking. But the buzzing in my ears was very loud and I was busy trying to digest that he’d just picked Hands-On Guy—otherwise known as Blaine—out for my next third date.
    Blaine.
    With buzz factor out the wazoo. I mean, the guy had the hottie quotient of a movie star. Which meant he was constantly hooking up—and well schooled in the art. I tried to think of a worse choice for a third date I’d not only have to survive, but have to write about for the entire student population.
    I couldn’t think of one.
    Not even Tyler himself.
    Oh, goody.
    Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I was so into Blaine. I wasn’t. He was out of my league, and even my inner buzzometer knew that the first time I saw him.
    What can I say about him that his name doesn’t already reflect? Born in pretension, raised in pretension, life was good for this guy. And he wanted to share that goodness with every female on campus.
    The problem with Blaine was that he was not just a 24 carat jerk, he was also a very sexy 24 carat jerk.
    Why do human beings lose their common sense when a cute date prospect shows the slightest interest? Or even more critical to me, why do I have to fight my better instincts when a guy with top buzz factor and absolutely no scruples wants to put his hand on my knee?
    Someone had asked Professor Golding this question. I don’t know if she saw all the girls lean forward a little breathlessly for the secret, but she only used the moment for a joke. “Because otherwise our species is doomed.” At least, I hope it was a joke. She got a laugh from the class, although it was a little bit nervous and not that