*Kenneth

Kenneth escaped the clothing store, relieved as a lone Red Shirt in Star Trek to survive a hostile encounter on a new planet.

But he was alive. He had cool swag to impress the ladies. The next Dungeons and Dragons night would be at his place and to celebrate his life, and he planned on splurging on chips and salsa in addition to Doritos.

Next to him in the parking lot, Reese took a deep breath and smiled at him. "We did it."

Her phone chirped. She checked the number and squeaked nervously. "That's my boss." Her face crumpled as she read the message. "Damn it, she needs a document right now. Fuck. I have to run. I'll send you a message for tonight!"

"What's wrong? Can I help?" He followed her quick trot to her car.

"She says she needs a report today, but it was supposed to be for a meeting tomorrow. The meeting was bumped up. I'm screwed. I'm supposed to be at my desk by at least two o'clock."

"Wait." He put his hand on her arm. Setting the five million shopping bags on the ground, he didn't waste a second in whipping out his phone. "You have the report in your files at work?"

"Yes."

"Then let me solve your problem for you."

"I don't think you can—"

"Wait for it..." He flipped through his apps, found the remote work connector, logged on as himself and then requested to access an adjacent file. "Wait for it..."

The verification code bar opened, and he punched in his codes. It requested the login for the adjacent files.

"All right." He handed her his phone. "Log on with your name and password. We'll pull up the report and send it through your email. I've told them a hundred times that the security is less than optimal once you get inside the company system, but for once it works to our advantage. Go ahead. Log on."

Reese took the phone in a daze but connected herself. He helped her navigate the files, and she found the one she needed. He saved it in the company cloud system and then connected her to her email.

"That's it. Hit send. Problem solved."

"Wow. You just saved me. You're my hero." Her forehead crinkled, but she smiled at him. He had no idea what crinkled forehead plus smile meant.

He shrugged, noncommittal. When in doubt, play along. "Yeah. You're saving me, right?"

"Yeah. I guess I am. I hope so. I'll send a message for tonight and the worksheets to answer. Thanks again for saving me."

She waved.

He waved.

She climbed into her car and waved again.

He stood there, watching her drive off while comparing the size of the bags to the space in the trunk of his tiny Mazda Miata. He would be driving back to work with his new shoes on his lap.

But he was Reese's hero.

***

The club that Reese sent him to had a dance floor. Kenneth stared, telling himself he was not breaking into a sweat at the sight of it. The temperature in the nightclub was too high for this time of the year. He loosened his tie.

Yeah. It was too hot here.

Reese pounced. "There you are! Right on time." She grabbed his arm and pulled him dangerously close to the dancefloor before veering around a large table and heading to the bar. Thank God. "You didn't change into your new clothes."

"I thought I was supposed to save them for my date."

"Well, this way you'll be safe from the cougars."

It was Nostalgia Night at the Electric Palm Tree, the best of the seventies, eighties, and nineties, so nothing he recognized was playing. On the bright side, there weren't too many people there relaxing on a Tuesday night, and with any luck, Reese wouldn't make him dance. After all, he was obviously not her dream date.

Her text from earlier had been vague. He was supposed to meet her ASAP at the club after work, and he would practice picking her up at the bar.

The old pick up the chick in the bar was apparently one of those rituals dating people did. He had heard of it, of course. A few of his nerd friends had battle scars and horror stories they shared from the safety of the Dungeons and Dragons table late at night.

She had also sent him five pages of self-examination questions to answer. The instructions on the worksheets read: light a candle and have a hot tea or glass of wine, or if you prefer, go to a cozy café. Think carefully about each question, do not be afraid to dig deep and be completely honest with yourself. These answers are confidential. Allow yourself to swim in the ocean of your soul and observe the beautiful ecosystem of your thoughts.

Kenneth had to wonder if the fish in the ocean of his soul appreciated the sushi at lunch.

Reese squeezed his arm. "What's the first rule of buying a girl a drink?"

"Don't be a dick about it?"

"Close. Remember, when seducing a woman you don't think about fulfilling what you want, but fulfilling what she wants. Which means?"

"I might not get what I want?"

She grinned, pleased with his answer. "Someone has done his homework. Good. To seduce a woman, you give her what she wants or needs, but you don't earn any compensation. You don't deserve to get anything from her. You offer, and she may or may not accept. That's how it is with drinks."

"Got it. I offer, that is all."

"All right, you stay at this end for now and I'll go down there. Come and ask me if I'd like a drink, however you normally ask girls."

"I don't ask girls—"

Ignoring his protest, Reese steered him to a chair and went to find an empty spot several feet away.

The idea of approaching a woman definitely had him sweating. But Reese wasn't just a woman. She was part of his team. Practically one of the guys. This was a practice run and it wasn't as if she would turn him down.

Kenneth stood up and walked the length of the bar. He stood next to her shoulder and cleared his throat. "I would like to purchase a drink for you. What will you have?" he asked.

She crinkled her nose at him and smiled. He knew that kind of smile. "Um, that was all wrong."

"But I thought—"

"This confirms what I had suspected. When you are nervous, it radiates insecurity. I feel it, and it creates an air of discomfort between us. A woman doesn't want to be uncomfortable. However, you shouldn't be overconfident, either. A demanding, presumptuous male who forces a drink on a woman at a bar is warning sign for her to get out of there. He could be a predator. You need to find that happy, exciting place between nervous and pushy. But most of all, you need to wait for a woman's signs that she is actually interested in you. The flirting signs. Eye contact, dropped gaze, eye contact again. A little smile, and she might lick her lips. A come-hither motion with the head, and once again the eyes drop as if looking at where she would like you to be. Those signs. You should feel her pulling you like a magnetic force, not you pushing your interest on her."

This was even more hellishly complicated than he ever imagined. "How many times does she drop her gaze before I approach?"

"Do you want to write these down? I know your memory is great, but..."

He shook his head. Notes weren't going to save him.

Too many rules, too much gray zone, and way too much body language to keep track of at one time. He shook his head. This was exactly why he didn't go out in public unless strictly necessary.

For example—if there was a fire in the building. That was a good reason for going out.

"Try again. I'll send you the signals so you'll start to recognize them."

Kenneth returned to his seat and sat down hard. Was he allowed to get himself a drink first? That seemed reasonable. The bartender had left, though. As he glanced left and right for her, another one came, carrying a crate of glasses. Kenneth caught his attention and asked for a beer.

At the far end of the bar, Reese drummed aimlessly on the wooden counter, and she gave him the barest of smiles before looking down.

Wow. He wouldn't have seen that without a slow-motion replay if she hadn't told him about it. His beer arrived.

When she looked his way, he lifted his foamy glass in cheers. This time she half-smiled and tilted her head.

Was that the sign? The elusive female come-hither? She tapped the bar, attention on her hand.

All right. He could do this. Again.

Kenneth strolled to her side, careful not to slosh his drink or run away. "Hello," he said. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thanks." She glanced away.

Was that another signal? His flight instincts were kicking in, the same panic that had kept him single throughout high school, college, and most of his adult life.

"Are you sure you wouldn't care for something to drink? This is a bar, and you are sitting alone. Right?"

She pressed her lips tight in contemplation and shook her head. "This isn't working for me. The stiff approach, the hammer to the nail question, and everything. No."

"I don't understand," he said, setting his beer on the bar. "What is it going to take for you to accept a drink?"

"Hey, buddy!" barked a voice. The bartender leaned menacingly across the counter. His snarl reminded Kenneth of a scene from every spaghetti Western he'd ever watched. "If she doesn't want a drink, she doesn't want a goddam drink. Understand? Or do I need to explain it in a way your pea-brain can understand?"

"No, it's all right," Kenneth said. "I'm not picking her up. It's not like that. I paid her earlier. I'm her client."

The bartender flicked his gaze at Reese and then nailed Kenneth to the spot with narrowed eyes, his face darkened to a furious red.

"Why don't you get the hell out before this gets ugly?"