Read Online Twitterpated by Melanie Jacobson - Free Book Online Page A

said.
    “I don’t believe you. The Ben in my computer has glasses.”
    He looked sheepish. “That’s one of the differences from my picture, I guess. It’s from grad school, but like I said, it’s the only photo I had when I joined Lookup, so I used it. I can afford regular haircuts now, and I’ve had laser eye surgery since then.” He smiled. “It cost less than replacing my glasses every time I broke them.”
    “Oh, you’re accident prone,” I said and made an exaggerated show of moving the flower vase and glass salt shakers on the table out of his immediate reach.
    “The vase is safe. But if I told you about all the crazy ways I’ve destroyed my glasses over the years, you’d never believe me.”
    “Well, to be honest, I’d probably feel better if we could even the score,” I grumbled. “You can tell me your most spectacular spectacle deaths, but maybe make them all be your fault so you come off looking kind of like a dork, and maybe I can forget about how I tried to pick up on a total stranger at a bar.”
    He grinned. “I will possibly owe you forever for that. I’m so much less nervous now.”
    I ignored that. “About your glasses . . .”
    “Um, crushed by a horse, run over by a train, drowned in the Mediterranean, melted in hot lava, and snapped in half by an elephant.”
    My jaw dropped slightly. “Are we talking about your glasses or an Indiana Jones movie?”
    He laughed. “Those are all true stories.”
    “Wow.” I paused for a moment. “I’m sad your glasses have a more exciting life than I do.”
    “Don’t be. The elephant was in a zoo, the horse was at a ward Halloween hayride, and the train was the monorail stop at Seattle Center.”
    “Leaving merely the Mediterranean and an active volcano. How lame,” I teased him.
    “Okay, those were pretty cool.”
    A server appeared at the table to take our drink orders. I stuck with water, but Ben skipped the fountain sodas and ordered a microbrew root beer. “Are you a root beer expert?” I asked.
    “No, more like a root beer junkie. My older brother hooked me on it after he brought back this stuff called Old Dominion from his mission in Virginia.”
    “And all this time I’ve been thinking A&W was the good stuff,” I said.
    “You can’t argue with a classic. Besides, I should confess something.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I worry that servers who get a nondrinking table are bummed when no one orders alcohol because they think they’re going to get a weak tip. I feel better when I order expensive root beer.”
    That made me laugh. “I order appetizers for the same reason.”
    “Now there’s a plan.” He reached for his menu and scanned the list of starters. Little did he know he faced Sandy’s first test for dates involving food. Her theory is that guys who don’t like spicy foods are bad kissers. I waited for his selection with interest. “I think the artichoke fritti sounds good,” he said. It came with a spicy aioli. Score.
    “Sounds perfect,” I said.
    We discussed the rest of the menu options while we waited for the server to come back with the antipasti. Ben settled on the pesto ravioli, and I succumbed to the chicken fettuccine Alfredo. I couldn’t resist a good cream sauce.
    Our food arrived quickly, and the last traces of my embarrassment over the identity mix-up evaporated with the clouds of savory steam. Bye-bye hedgehogs, hello hunger pangs. I practically wiggled with happiness with the first bite of Alfredo. Heavenly. I savored it for a minute and then focused on Ben again. “I hope yours is at least half as good as mine,” I said.
    “It’s pretty awesome. Great lunch choice.”
    “How does it compare to the food in Italy?” I asked. He had listed it as one of the places he had traveled in his profile.
    “It kind of depends on which part of Italy we’re talking about. The food in Rome was good, but the food in Florence . . . talk about amazing.”
    “I’ve heard that,” I replied. “It’s on