News Blues by Marianne Mancusi

the Czech surfer (okay, I was going to have to start referring to him as Ted from
     here on out) was actually pretty cute in real life. Had the total surfer look going on. Tanned, in good shape. And of course
     blond hair and really intense blue eyes. Why the heck was he on an Internet dating service? I mean, he could surely get real
     life women. Then again, I was on it, too. Though that was sort of for a different reason.
    I realized he was staring at my chest and was about to be offended when I remembered I was still holding a napkin over my
     right boob. Oh yes. Great way to make a first impression. I lowered the napkin, painfully aware that the combination of cold
     wine and napkin rubbing had made my nipples stand at attention. He probably thought he turned me on or something. Bleh.
    “Nice to meet you, I’m Ted.” He held out his hand. He had nice hands. Not too callused, but not too femininely smooth either.
    “There’s like a half hour wait for a table, ” I informed him, after we shook. “I put our name in.”
    “Cool.” He had an American accent and didn’t seem Czech or German at all. But that was okay. I just needed a photo, not a
     voice memo, to prove our date. Though that brought me to my next question. How the heck was I going to snap a photo without
     him thinking I was a freak of nature?
    He ordered a Corona and paid with a Platinum card. Ooh, that meant he had money. Not that I was some gold digger, but still
     . . . very interesting. Maybe this date wouldn’t be such a wash after all. Then again, he failed to ask me if I wanted a refill,
     which wasn’t exactly a good sign.
    “So, ” he said after getting his beer, “do you use Match dot com often?”
    I felt my face heat. Did he think I was some pathetic creature who couldn’t get a date? Then I remembered he was on it, too,
     so he probably wasn’t trying to insinuate anything.
    “Nope. I’m a Match dot com virgin.” I chuckled.
    He didn’t.
    “My brother signed me up as a joke a couple weeks ago, ” he said. “We had a good laugh over some of the photos.”
    Or maybe he was trying to insinuate something. I withheld a grimace. Who did this jerk think he was? He wasn’t that good-looking. In fact, if you lined him up side by side with say, Brad Pitt, he’d seem downright ugly.
    “So, then, why did you decide to go out with me?” I asked, realizing my voice sounded a little huffy. “If it was all, you
     know, a joke.”
    “Well, duh. You’re a major babe. Not like some of the other women on there.”
    Okay, he was redeeming himself a bit. A lot, actually. I smiled and flipped my hair back behind my ears in what I hoped was
     a “major babe” manner.
    “Also, you said you loved European football on your profile. Do you know how hard it is to find an American girl who likes
     football?”
    Uh-oh.
    “So, what team do you support?” he asked.
    Was it too late to run screaming from the restaurant?
    “Um, team?”
    “Yeah, you know. Football team.”
    “Oh, right.”
    Think, Maddy! Think ! My brain went completely blank. Actually “went” was probably the wrong term since it wasn’t exactly full of European football
     team names to begin with. In fact, I wasn’t even positive if European football was football at all. Something told me it might
     be soccer.
    “England?” I said as half a question, praying that since England was a country in Europe they’d have a football team.
    “Ah, you follow the national teams, eh? Should have known. Probbaly were a Man-U fan, too, before Becks crossed the pond,
     right?”
    “Um, yes?”
    “Can’t say I blame you. I’d much rather see the old skipper in his natural habitat, too—rather than tune in to a pathetic
     Galaxy match that he probably won’t play in anyway.”
    What the hell was he talking about? I took a big gulp of my wine. I knew he was speaking English, but I had no idea what anything
     coming out of his mouth meant. Oh, why had I written that I followed