I wish my date had stood me up.

My ego might have complained initially, but at least I wouldn't be spending my precious Friday evening at some trendy hole-in-the-wall deep dish pizza place in Lincoln Park.

Unfortunately, Jed Montgomery seemed too nice and too damn bashful to have ever considered doing so. Jed was exactly what I'd envisioned a former offensive lineman from Notre Dame would look like. He filled his side of the booth with muscle that strained against his pocketed Brooks Brothers t-shirt, and if he leaned over the table, his head might have brushed the stained glass lamp that hung above us.

I'd clocked his light-wash jeans when he stood up to greet me at the table earlier, and I momentarily second-guessed my semi-glamorous outfit choice consisting of a mini black halter dress and cropped white cardigan.

"Another drink?" he asked with a pinched smile. He had kind brown eyes, so I figured he wasn't about to snap my 5'5'' frame in half.

Please, God, no.

"Sure, why not?" My words betrayed the desperate voice in my head. That voice was a selfish bitch who wanted to collapse onto my suede couch and deteriorate while watching The West Wing.

Jed threw me another small smile before getting up and meandering through other high-top tables to the bar. Judging by the young, professional looking crowd, this place was a local hang-out spot happy hour after work. I watched as Jed parted the sea of people standing beneath the glow of the televisions mounted above the bar, broadcasting live from Wrigley Field. He stopped beside a guy our age who looked like he'd come straight from the financial district in a pressed suit, and before I could blink, they were laughing like old buddies.

I grimanced and threw back the rest of my Gin & Tonic like it was a shot of espresso. These Midwestern men seemed to make friends wherever they went. They were too friendly to be authentic.

The same could also be said for my coworker Emelia King, who grew up 20 miles outside of Chicago, and was the reason I was in this deep dish disaster in the first place. I'd met Emelia only one month prior, when I moved to Chicago in the dead heat of July, but she'd already commenderred the wheel of my social life (or lack thereof). I didn't like mixing my work life with my social life, but that practice went out the window when I moved to a city where I didn't know a single soul my age.

Last weekend, she'd insisted that going out for drinks with one of her closest guy friends from Notre Dame would be worth my time and introduce me to the Chicago dating scene. So far I'd deemed it a failure on both accounts, especially when I shocked Jed when I informed him that my alma mater Yale was in Connecticut, and not New York.

He wasn't making me uncomfortable, but the situation was. How the hell was I supposed to tell Emelia that her friend seemed comfortable coming across as a simpleton from the cornfields of Iowa? Also, what about me convinced her that I'd be remotely compatible with him?

I was beginning to consider the notion that this was a prank on the new girl when Jed returned with our drinks, at least cognizant and aware that I'd been drinking Gin and Tonics.

"So..." he tapped his massive hands on the wooden table. "You've already heard about my army of third grade students. Em said you're a...political journalist?"

"No." I tried and failed not to deliver a blunt answer. "I'm a speech writer. I'm working on Cassandra Symons' campaign for the open Senate seat. I write most of her public addresses."

"Who?"

"Cassandra Symons." If I was actually ever trying, I'd completely surrendered. "She's currently an Illinois state senator and is running for the United State's Senate. Chicago is heavily Democratic, but it's still a competitive race."

"What's the state Senate?"

I almost choked on my drink.

The American electorate, ladies and gentlemen.

"Every state has a legislature, and every state except for Nebraska has a state Senate. It's where legislation at the state level is made. Obama served three terms in the Illinois Senate." I figured the duh was implied, but it soared right over his head. Just like every other word I'd said tonight.

"Whoa." There was genuine shock and awe in Jed's voice. "Who would've thought?"

I permitted myself a moment to construct a response that wouldn't insult the third grade teacher sat in front of me. Sometimes, it was difficult to fathom that not everyone my age was as dialed into American politics as I was.

Just as I summoned the willpower to play nice, someone dropped into the booth beside me, nearly sitting on my cardigan. The clean, crisp scent of cologne washed over me, and I found my spine straightening up against the back of the booth as I swiveled slightly to regard whoever was unknowingly rescuing me from this mind-numbing conversation.

It was the guy from the bar, clad in a fitted navy suit and a loosened striped tie hanging around his neck. I suppose sitting on my side of the booth was the only option seeing as there was no room next to Jed.

"So this has been bothering me," he said, placing his condensation-dotted glass on the table next to mine. His light blue eyes drilled into mine as he casually pointed down, below the table. "Your shoelace is untied."

Instinctively, I looked down. The laces of my left Veja trainer were in fact untied. Regret rippled through me; maybe if I'd tripped in the streets I wouldn't be here right now.

"Cute, thanks," I replied deadpan. But he actually was cute, too. He sported a buzzcut somewhere in between dirty blonde and brown, and the reddish glow from the stained-glass light fixture highlighted the dark dusting of freckles under his eyes.

He arched an expectant eyebrow at me. "So are you going to tie it, or are you still engineering a charming way to ask me?"

"It's not dire." I flicked a lock of hair over my bare shoulder. I was still getting used to seeing the reddish-blonde color I'd changed it to before leaving Connecticut instead of its naturally dark auburn. "But maybe it could be soon."

He shrugged. "Alright, suit yourself."

It was my turn to arch an eyebrow. He seemed perfectly content to just bail on his outright flirtatious endeavors. But then in what amounted to the most shocking turn of events of the evening, he spun around to Jed, who I'd almost forgotten was there.

"Rudy needs to be fed," his tone whiplashed into something more bland. "And he'll only take his heartworm meds from your massive hand."

"Alright," Jed heaved out a sigh, looking utterly abashed. He looked at me with those kind eyes. "This wasn't what I wanted. Good luck with your speeches, Kiernan."

I summoned my best posh New England pokerface to mask the electrifying shock I felt inside.

These fuckers knew each other.

The weight of the booth suffered a tectonic shift as they both stood up simultaneously. Jed scooted away quickly, but his suited friend gave me a comical salute as he backed away.

In response, I flipped him off with my fresh gel manicure. It was a damn shame that I was too polite to be the first to leave.

･:*˚:✧｡｡✧:˚*:･

from sar [w1ldflow3r]: hey friends et al., welcome to TRUE BLUE! kiernan grey and her sass already have my heart.

anyway, i hope you enjoyed this first chapter and have no sympathy for kiernan's miserable blind date. absolutely none. and gosh i wonder if she'll see that cute guy from the bar again 🤍