As my Uber pulled to the curb in front of Mateo's restaurant, I ran my sweaty palms down the front of my dress and took a deep breath. "How did I ever let Brit talk me into this?" I asked myself, opening the back door of the car.

Blind dates were definitely not my thing. In fact, dates in general were not my thing, but my best friend went on and on about how great her cousin was, and I had no choice but to give in. So here I am at one of the city's gourmet restaurants, meeting the man Brit believes will be a perfect match for me.

I quickly glance at my refection in the door—my braids are perfect, my umber skin flawless, and my brown eyes bright. I got this, I thought as I stepped inside.

I'm greeted with whitewashed brick, wrought iron chandeliers and the musical sounds of the Mediterranean. "May I help you, miss?" asked the hostess.

"I'm not sure. I'm supposed to be meeting someone for dinner...Andre."

"This way," she said, leading me through the dining room and to a table where a man sat alone.

I fought past the lump in my throat and said, "Andre?"

He stood and turned to me with a brilliant toothy grin. Although a little soft in the middle, he was handsome—tall with tawny skin and hazel eyes.

"You must be Karah," he greeted me, holding his hand out.

I grasped it firmly and he led me gently toward the table, pulling out the chair. I chewed my bottom lip and lowered myself into the plush chair, nervously fidgeting with my fingernails.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long," I blurted after what I felt was a too-long silence.

He grinned again and shook his head. "Nah, I just got here a few minutes ago. Brit warned me that you'd probably be early, so I wanted to make sure I was here first."

"She's not wrong. I'm sort of infamous for being ridiculously early everywhere I go." I studied him as I spoke, trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar to me. Brit was certain I'd never met Andre before, but there was something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

He started to say something else, but the server appeared at that exact moment.

"What can I get you two to drink?" he asked in a thick Greek accent, and Andre turned his head to look up at him.

Oh. My. God.

Hours spent in Mr. Lawson's Algebra 1 class came flooding back to me–and not because of all the formulas and equations I learned. The Mickey Mouse shaped birthmark along the edge of Andre's face glared at me like a neon sign. The birthmark I'd spent hours of my life staring at.

Andre.... Andre... Dre.

Dre Taylor.

No. No no no.

"I'll have a water... no wait, I need a glass of red wine." If I could order the entire bottle of wine, I would. I needed all the help I could get to make it through this so-called date with the person who ripped to shreds every ounce of self-confidence that 15-year-old me had.

Maybe I should have known that he was out of my league as the star running back for the football team, but I didn't. I marched right up to him and slipped into his hand a neatly folded note. He proceeded to read out loud my heartfelt profession of love and bold invitation to be my date to the Homecoming dance to everyone present in the hallway. It was the most humiliating moment of my life and the laughter shattered my self-esteem to this very day.

I fought the urge to bolt from my chair and searched my mind for a better, less embarrassing option. I could excuse myself to the restroom and find a friend who could bail me out with a fake emergency. God, no; that was the oldest copout move in the book. My racing heart slowed for a second and it hit me—I could get revenge.

"Everything on this menu looks so good; I don't know where to start," I said.

He flashed that same dimpled smile that I loved so much all those years ago. "It does. Order whatever you like."

Oh brother, you have no clue.

When the server came back with our drinks and to take our orders, Andre said, "Ladies first."

I shook my head. "Oh, I'm still trying to decide between two things. You go first, then I'll be ready."

As he ordered, I ran my index finger down the list of entrées, stopping on the most expensive item on the menu–the Glossa–some kind of fish; it was really irrelevant. What caught my eye was the price. $70. I decided to add a side of asparagus–my most hated vegetable–for an extra $12.

When Andre handed his menu to the sever and could no longer see the prices, I smiled up at him and rattled off my order. Andre, suspecting nothing, merely said, "That sounds good. Go ahead and make that two."

Well, that just made things even better. I had to refrain from snorting into my wine glass.

The server nodded as he scrawled the order on his notepad and walked away. Andre took a sip of his tea and sat back in his chair.

"So, Karah, tell me about yourself. Brit didn't tell me much; only that you're twenty-one and a psychology major."

"I grew up here in the city and went to high school just down the road." Why not drop a couple of clues? The quicker he realized who I was the better it would be when I left him with the bill.

His hazel eyes widened a fraction and he raised a dark eyebrow. "You went to high school just down the road... from here?" He cocked his head to the side, and I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. "Did you go to Washington High?"

"I did." I relaxed into my chair and took a sip of wine.

"So did I," he said incredulously.

Had he really not caught on yet? Had my humiliation meant nothing to him? I almost laughed again but kept a straight face.

"What class were you? I was 2015," he said, and I could tell he was getting closer to the realization.

"2017." I squinted my eyes, pretending like I was trying to place him.

"Karah... Karah Franklin?" He closed his eyes briefly as if reliving the moment that he ruined my life.

"Karah Franklin," I said, my voice seeping with sass.

We both fell silent for several moments, and I basked in the thought of what was to come. The damage he'd done to me was severe. His actions had stunted me, made me awkward toward the opposite sex. He was the reason I was unable to find my own dates and relied on Brit to orchestrate tonight's trainwreck.

"Damnit," he murmured, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I don't remember exactly what I did to you, but I know it was something really shitty."

He didn't remember?! Seriously? What an ass. This was going to be even richer than I thought.

"Well, allow me to remind you," I snapped. "You humiliated me in front of half the school. I wrote you a note, professing my love and desire to go to the Homecoming dance with you, and you read it out loud. In front of everyone. You clearly don't have any idea what that did to me."

Regret flooded his hazel eyes, and for a split second, I saw the boy I'd loved all those years ago. He reached across the table and tried to take my hand, but I snatched it away and rested it in my lap. "God, Karah. I'm so sorry."

The server arrived with our dishes, saving me from replying. I wasn't ready to forgive him. For years, I've harbored this resentment, and I was going to cling to it until I finally got mine.

The meal was really good; I even gave the disgusting asparagus a try.

When I pushed the half-empty plate away, Andre spoke up again. "Come on, Karah. I was just a stupid kid. You're not really going to hold that against me when I'm telling you I'm sorry, are you?"

Leaning forward, I said, "Trust me, I'm working through it, Dre."

He scoffed. "Don't call me that. That's who I used to be; I'm not that person anymore." He took the last sip of his tea and pushed his glass away with his plate, crossing his arms over his chest. "Karah, that was almost five years ago. I was a dick back then, and there's no excuse for that, but are you going to punish me or give me a chance to make it up to you?"

I tapped my fingernails on the tabletop and stared him down. Decisions. Decisions.

"Would either of you like to try a dessert?"

I slowly pulled my gaze from Andre and smiled up at the server. "I'll have the Golden Truffle."

"I'm good, thanks, but could you bring the check with her dessert?" Andre answered.

The server nodded and hurried away.

There was a shift in the air around us as we returned to our staring match. His eyes danced over my face and one corner of his full lips pulled into a smirk. My heart set to a thumping beat against my rib cage and I found myself struggling not to grin. Andre Taylor still had a way of driving me crazy in the best way possible.

The silver bowl with my ice cream covered in golden flakes was set before me, and the check placed next to Andre. I scooped a heap of my frozen treat and took a bite before standing. "Thank you for dinner, Andre."

His eyes widened as he read the receipt. "$100 for ice cream?!"

"I think I'm ready to forgive you."

He barked a laugh and stood up. "Karah. No matter what I did to you, you can't tell me you don't want to finish that expensive ass ice cream sundae."

I shook my head. "That one bite gave me more pleasure than a million ice cream sundaes ever would." I winked. "Check out the rest of that receipt. You gave me at least $300 worth of revenge tonight."

Andre looked like he wanted to cuss me out, but then to my surprise, he pulled a wad of cash out of his wallet and dropped it onto the table, picking up the silver bowl and walking away.

"Hey, if you're not going to finish it, I am." He shoved a bite into his mouth and walked toward the exit, glancing back once, begging me to follow him.

I shook my head and picked up my purse, and hurried after him. "You can't take that bowl," I hissed as I grabbed his wrist just before he exited the building.

"Well, damn, I think for $100 they can afford to lose the dish," he said, taking my hand and placing the bowl in my open palm. "Finish that ice cream. You deserve it."

With a roll of my eyes, I took a bite. "You know what?" I asked around the mouthful of vanilla. "I think I owe you a second date. Except I'm taking you to Chili's," I said with a grin.

Again, his deep laughter rang out. "It's a date, Karah."