Authors: Stacey Wiedower
She was as unlucky in love as ever. It was just that now, with the blog, she was unlucky with a lot more lovers, in a lot more ways.
Erin sighed and, with a shake of her head, got back to work.
Test Drives
December: six months to thirty
December 12: Date 20
Name:
Eric*
Age:
33
Job:
School administrator
List:
Prep for the zombie apocalypse (aka No.17: Shoot a gun)**
I'll admit that I only included "shoot a gun" on my Thirty by Thirty List because, frankly, after thinking of 25 other things I was running out of ideas. Guns aren't a big turn-on for me…really I just think they're scary. But I guess that's the point of this list—to do things that, if not scare me, get me out of my comfort zone. Still, I never would have guessed a date at a firing range could be fun.
I met Eric* through a friend at my old job. He's a vice principal at an elementary school, and he has this charming, sweet, "I'd make a great dad" way about him. I was surprised a guy like him wasn't already snapped up and living in the 'burbs with a wife and two kids, but alas, he's been struck with the same problem as me: bad stinking luck with dating.
My friend told me Eric likes to hunt, which is why I asked him if he'd mind going with me to the range. He was enthused, and he even offered to take me out to his grandfather's farm to shoot there, but I'd already booked a time so we stuck with the plan. We skipped drinks at dinner—for obvious reasons—and after a quick pit stop to eat we headed to the DFW Firing Range.
I was nervous when we walked in. The place had the look and feel of a car dealership, except instead of cars on the showroom floor, there was a long, wraparound glass case full of guns, and more guns and gun paraphernalia on the walls. After we rented the equipment and got the rundown on how things worked, my nervousness was almost gone because the staff was really great and the place was full of normal-looking people. (I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't soccer moms and bachelorette parties…and both of those groups were represented.)
Once Eric and I were all fitted up with ear-protecting headphones, guns, and ammo, we headed out to the range, which looks pretty much like it does in the movies. I got to pick my "target," a big sheet of paper hanging from clips on a sliding metal rail, and I picked the standard outline of a man with targets on his chest—NOT the one with the body of a zombie, lol. I'd chosen a small handgun, and the first time I shot it, it pretty much shocked the hell out of me. Out of my twelve shots, at least half did some damage. Don't mess with me if I'm packing, people! Anyway, I got to keep my dummy as a souvenir, which is pretty cool.
Erin smiled as she clicked "publish post." Darek, her date two nights before, had been great. It was Dave who'd introduced them, and Dave who'd come up with the idea for them to go shooting together. Darek was a crack-up, funny in a way that put even Nate to shame. And he was a sweetheart, the all-time perfect guy to take someplace as deadly serious as a firing range. He wasn't conventionally good-looking—he had a round face that was out of proportion with his long, narrow nose and his eyes were a nondescript color, sort of brown, sort of gray. But he was good-natured enough that almost anybody would say he was attractive, Erin thought. Not that looks were all that mattered.
When he kissed her at the end of the night, it went on too long to be called "friendly"—but that was exactly how it felt. The spark just wasn't there. Erin thought at this point, she might be numb to any sparks at all, with anyone.
Is this how women on The Bachelorette feel?
It was a bewildering feeling, dating so many men in such a short period of time, like taking test drives of a rental car.
At least she had a good excuse ready in case Darek asked her out again. What with her upcoming trips, scheduled dates, and boatloads of work, she didn't have a free night on her calendar for weeks.
* * *
"I am going to
kill
her!" Erin all but yelled at Sherri, who held up her hands in mock defense.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have shown you."
"No, you definitely should have," Erin replied. "I need to know what I'm up against." She squinted at the tiny text on Sherri's phone screen, scrolling down rapidly as she scanned the page.
It was an interview about her, her and Noah, and 30 First Dates on a celeb gossip blog…and the interviewee was Hilary. Erin read of herself,
"Erin was reading one of Amelia Wright's novels, and that was how Noah first saw the books. They got in a huge fight over it and broke up. And Erin, well, you know, she's always had crappy luck with men. That's what led to her starting the blog."
"Aarghhh!" she shrieked. "She didn't even get the details right. How could she
do
this to me?"
"I noticed she conveniently left out the part where you walked in on her banging your boyfriend," Sherri said in a dry voice.
Erin, still reading, didn't comment. She got to a question on the feminist blogger issue, to which Hilary answered:
"Erin would love to be married, sure. She was recently a bridesmaid in my wedding, and she's been a bridesmaid way too many times—it's her turn. But I know she's all about women's rights. I don't think anything about her blog holds women back. There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to find a husband to settle down and start a family with."
"Oh, I just love how she's inserted her personal commentary. What the hell right does she think she has to speak for me?" Erin seethed. She finished the Q&A and looked up. "Do you think they paid her for this?"
Sherri looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "I doubt it. Besides, attention is all the payment Hilary needs, right?"
Erin nodded absently.
"I just wonder if they went to her or if it was the other way around?" Sherri continued. "You know, like the guy from that show who contacted me? But I could see Hilary thinking this up all on her own."
"Disgusting," Erin said. "I can't believe she'd do this. And not even
tell
me, let alone ask me first."
"Hilary doesn't tend to think about other people first, girlfriend," Sherri said. "You of all people should know that."
"Yeah, but she's been so…nice…since the wedding and all. I thought she'd finally changed, grown up a little bit. I can't believe she'd sabotage me like this."
"In her own twisted way she probably thinks she was doing you a favor," Sherri mused. "You know? All publicity is good publicity."
Erin guffawed. "Right. She just can't stand that it's not
her
getting publicity in the first place."
"Bingo," Sherri said in a lilting voice. "Now you're getting it, sister." She paused. "I wonder if Noah will see this."
"Mmm, I doubt he's reading any of it," Erin said, scrolling back through the interview. "Besides, this is a teeny tiny blip on the map of cyberspace where Noah and Amelia are concerned. They've got way bigger problems."
News had leaked the previous week of Amelia and Noah's marriage, and it was
everywhere
. Calls and emails and blog traffic and interview requests to 30 First Dates had more than tripled in the past few days—people trying to get to Noah or get an inside scoop any way they could. That was probably how Hilary had been contacted, Erin thought.
She felt all the goodwill she'd mustered for Hil since the wedding—her willingness to forgive
and
try to forget, especially after what she, herself, had done—begin to dissipate. Oh, she had no doubt Hilary had "meant well." If she'd learned one major lesson these last few months, it was that friendship was fraught with disappointment.
Moving On
January: five months to thirty
Erin struggled to a sitting position—awkward considering the twelve layers of clothing she was wearing and the spindly new appendages attached to the bottom of her boots. Finally upright, her face full of snow, she patted around on her body, making sure all the parts seemed in the right place, nothing bleeding, nothing broken.
She was good.
Humiliated. Fully absolved of pride in her athletic prowess, but otherwise good.
Her muscles quivering, she willed her body into a standing position, swiping at her goggles with her gloves to see if she could spot Sherri anywhere nearby on the slope. Impossible to tell, although she did spot the signature baby blue skis and matching gloves and helmet of Cecile Presley as she swished gracefully by. Erin's mouth twisted in a wry smile—or the closest approximation she could to make to one, considering her lips were frozen. Cecile, who was staying at Erin's lodge with a large contingent of her family, was seventy-six years old and could easily ski circles around Erin. So could her seven-year-old twin great-granddaughters, for that matter.
That didn't bother Erin. Her ski instructor had told her she was doing great, catching on much quicker than his usual first-timer. She and Sherri had both graduated from the greens to the blues, and though Erin had arrived with dreams of being the whiz kid who'd breeze down a black diamond on her first trip, she was pleased with her progress so far. They were on day three of their skiing adventure, two days to go, and she was madly in love with the Utah landscape.
So 30 First Dates made me fall in love after all.
She gazed around in awe at the cinematic vista and took a deep breath, psyching herself up to complete her run, her last one of the day. Her legs were on the verge of giving out, and, as much as she wanted to go again, she'd learned the hard way not to overdo it. Despite the fact that she was in top form from her marathon training, she was wiped, which was probably why she couldn't stay up this time. These last three days, she'd used muscles she hadn't even known she had.
And she was sold. This was her first ski trip, but it surely wouldn't be her last. Erin could feel the addiction seeping into her veins. As she moved into her stance and lifted her poles, her stomach dropped in anticipation, ready for the rush. Then the wild wind of the Rockies smacked her in the face and sent her hair whipping out behind her, and she was flying. At that moment, nothing mattered but the mountain.
I'm in love
, she thought again, and then she said it out loud, joyously, for the wind and the trees and the soft powdered snow to hear.
* * *
"I'm a writer." Erin tried the title out for the first time, just to see how it tasted on her tongue. She felt a little weird saying it, like someone trying to pass off a counterfeit bill. But Christian Burke, the man across the table from her, nodded as though she had every right to the claim.
"Who do you write for?" he asked, and she was happy to have an answer.
"
Financial Life Today
. It's a financial planning trade magazine based in Dallas."
"Where you're from." He nodded again, phrasing it as a statement, not a question. Christian wasn't shaping up to be the most brilliant conversationalist.
"Yeah," Erin said. "Tell me again what it is you do? Your profile said you work in the pharmaceutical industry. Are you in sales?" She knew he wasn't before she asked—he clearly didn't have the sycophantic charisma of a sales rep—but she asked anyway, just to have something to say.
"No, I'm in technology," he said, settling back into his chair, his face somewhat smug. "I work in the IT department of a Fortune 500 drug company."
Ahh, a computer geek.
Now that fit.
"And you live here in the Park City area?" she asked, her own conversation skills on the skids as her mind wandered to other things…the mountain drive she and Sherri had taken earlier that day in their rental car, the hour in the hot tub at the lodge last night with a group of loud, fun Minnesotans, the hot cocoa she couldn't wait to have in front of the fireplace in her condo later before bed. She hated to waste a single night of this lovely mountain adventure on a blog date, especially when he was such a drippy date.
She glanced up through her lashes as she speared a final bite of her salad. Christian didn't look much like his profile photo. In the picture, he was grinning, and she wasn't sure she'd seen anything resembling a smile on his face yet tonight. He was also tan in the photo, whereas this man was pasty-pale. Plus the Christian in the picture looked at least ten years younger than Christian in real life.
"No," he answered, and then hedged, "Well, I'm here for the season. So I guess I
am
living here right now."
She raised her eyebrows. "How'd you get that much time off work?"
"Mobile office." The smug expression returned. "I work from home, on my own time."
"Well that must be nice," Erin said. "Where do you live, then?"
"I'm from Pittsburgh." He didn't elaborate.
Erin picked up her wine and took a long sip, thankful when the waitress arrived with their entrees. Christian wasn't drinking—he was a teetotaler, he'd told her when she picked up the drinks menu. She was glad she'd ordered wine, though. This meal was proving tough enough to get through
with
alcohol.
With nine more dates to go and her deadline careening ever closer, she didn't want to let the opportunity of this trip pass by without working in a date. She'd used the same online dating service she'd used to find Mitchell, her equally dull opera date.
Surely that's a coincidence.
There had to be interesting people out there using online dating services along with all the duds. Anyway, Christian made Mitchell seem fascinating by comparison.