When the Uber drops me off, I’m twenty minutes early. I snag a table along the east wall, where the lighting is a little better, and settle in to wait. The dimmer lights of the bar are both a relief and a hindrance. On one hand, it’s easier on my eyes than the glaring fluorescents of the practice rink. On the other hand, if I want to be able to see my date, I’ll have to sit where it’s brighter. The door opens, and I squint. The guy, Brad, scans the bar for a few moments before his gaze snags on me. I raise a hand off the table and he beams at me, circling the other patrons and walking over.
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