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A birthday celebration with a small twist.
He'd made eight the day before and it had almost killed him. But that morning he decided to make his move.
"Okay, so I want ten steps today. Ten, Cale. So come on," she said beckoning to him from across the room.
"I'll give you 20," he said looking right at her.
"Uh-huh. And I'm Halle Berry," she said with a bit of the old Rachelle attitude. "Cale? Two extra steps. Not 12. Two."
"You don't look like Halle Berry but you do like Eboni Williams, one of the prettiest women I've ever seen by the way, and I bet you I can do 20," he told her.
"I don't know who Eboni Williams is, but I'll assume she's at least not ugly. And while I like your determination, let's keep it real. You barely made eight yesterday, and I gave you that last step because you tried so hard but you really only took seven. So be realistic and give me 10."
"For your information, other than maybe Halle Berry, Eboni Williams is the hottest black woman I'd ever seen. At least before I met..." He stopped talking and looked right at her and said, "If I do 20, you gotta have dinner with me," he said smiling broadly.
"Are you crazy? No wait a minute. We've already established that. You are crazy and you're delusional. Have dinner with you? Yeah, right."
"Oh! Someone's afraid she'll lose! Someone's chicken." Rachelle started to protest but Cale started flapping his arms like he was a chicken while making loud clucking sounds. Rachelle did everything in her power not to laugh, but his antics were too much.
"Okay, okay! If you can walk 20 steps-not 19 and a 'gimme'-then I'll have dinner with you. But there's not a snowball's chance in hell you can even come close. So go ahead. Bring it," she said motioning for him to start walking toward her.
She almost felt sorry for him when he hit the tenth step. The last two were painfully agonizing and Rachelle found herself wincing for him as he grunted and sweat and took number 10. "Come on, Cale. Don't let your pride do this to you. Let's call it a day at 10, okay?"
"Oh, no," he said steadying himself. "I'm halfway to our first date." He looked up at her and his face was twisted in agony. She knew what he must be feeling with every step and professionally, she knew she should stop this. But as much as she hated to admit it, she almost found herself rooting for him.
"Date? Oh, no. That is not happening. And even if by some miracle you manage to get the rest of the way over here, it's just gonna be dinner-not a date."
"Why? Would your doctor friend be jealous or something?" he said as he drug his right foot forward for number 11.
"Jealous? Oh, sure. That's right. He'd be very...jealous," she said. She wasn't about to tell him she'd called it off when he refused to understand 'no' meant 'no' the last time they'd gone out. Rachelle could overlook a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them. Doctor or no doctor, any man who didn't respect her enough to stop when she said stop had no chance of being with her.
Five minutes later, he'd made number 17. Rachelle was no longer worried about the bet, she was worried about him. "Cale? You have to stop. This is ridiculous. You're gonna hurt yourself." He grunted so loudly it startled her as he pounded out number 18. He was close to hyperventilating and he was drenched in sweat.
"Stop! Please. I'll have dinner with you anyway if you'll just stop this madness." She walked over to him and tried putting her hands on his shoulders. "This is crazy. Please don't do this, okay?" she pleaded.
But he was like a man possessed and in his mind he'd forgotten about the date that wouldn't be a date.