[2022 Wattys Winner] When love cynic Madison Watson starts university, she vows to follow three simple rules.
One: Work out at least twice a week.
Two: Get an internship.
Three: Stay away from men.
But after a chance encounter with th...
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"I thought the finale was terrible," Dex moaned through a mouthful of ramen one week after our group date at Amor Oculto. "What an anticlimax."
I nodded, stuffing the last of our popcorn into my mouth. "All that build up. And for what? They didn't even—"
"End up together!" Dex finished, shaking his head in disapproval. "Lazy writing, in my opinion."
"Mhm. They sacrificed integrity for shock value." I stood to pop the empty bowl on Dex's desk with the rest of what was left of our dinner—noodles, popcorn, and three bags of chips. Very broke-college-students. Which was odd, considering that I could see from Dex's collection of limited edition, still-in-the-box superhero toys that he was far from a broke college student.
Superhero figures, I remembered, having been scolded by Dex twice for calling them toys. And for mixing up the leagues they belonged to. Justice Squad? Washington Warriors? No clue. But since I literally owned a Gryffindor scarf, I couldn't judge.
"What did you think?" I asked Holly, trying to lure her back into the conversation.
She shook her head, shrugging plainly. "I never got past the third season."
"Ah. Well, you didn't miss much."
She pursed her lips. "Clearly."
Every day since the night of our first group date with Holly, the guys and I had tried to prod Dex into asking her out on his own. He'd stopped by the coffee shop in between his classes, inviting her over to his room to watch a movie. But Holly had assumed that all of us would be there, and Dex hadn't known how to drop the correction without making things awkward.
So there I was on Thursday night—wedged between Holly and Dex at the foot of his bed, veritable jelly between two slices of bread. How James and Noah got prime seating against the bedhead behind us, I had no idea.
As I played intermediary between Dex and Holly, scraping the walls of mind for something, anything to ignite conversation between them, I couldn't help but lament over why I hadn't been enlisted to help James land a girlfriend instead; I was sure he would have been knees deep in a relationship by now, surely on his way to breaking the poor girl's heart. And my project would be all but complete, with nothing but formatting and footnotes to worry about.
Scooping up the last of my ramen, I wondered: what was James' type, anyway?
We were halfway through the first Matrix film—Holly's favorite saga, according to my Facebook sleuthing—when the storm raging outside cut the power. Dex and Noah offered to check if the dorm supervisor had a lead on candles, while James was trying to get the WiFi back online.
Because James was good at everything, apparently.
I scooted over on the bed so that Holly and I could whisper without being overheard, planning to take full advantage of our impromptu girl time. Or, if I had anything to say about it, impromptu wingwoman time.
