by A. M. Myers
“I’m sorry. I’ve just got an early morning tomorrow so I should probably be going soon.”
He smiles and nods. “Sure. No problem. Let me just go pay the check.”
He sets his napkin down next to his plate and gets up. As I watch him walk back inside the restaurant, my phone buzzes in my hand with a text from Izzy.
Izzy:
How’s the date?
Me:
Epic fail.
I sigh as I look out at the Mississippi River off in the distance. On the bright side, this date is better than last night’s, and I only have one more left. I’m dreading it but excited to get this all over with so I can go win my new job. My phone buzzes again, and I laugh at Izzy’s text.
Izzy:
Need a rescue? I’ve been practicing ;)
Me:
No, I’m about to leave.
“Ready?” Zach asks, walking back up to the table, and I offer him a small smile as I stand and grab my bag. We’re quiet as he walks me outside, and I stop in front of the restaurant, careful not to let him follow me to my car.
“Thank you for dinner, Zach. I had a nice time.” Normally, I would feel bad about lying, but after last night’s date and tonight, I’m really starting to be okay with it.
“Yeah, me, too. You’re a really great listener.” His gaze drops to my lips, and my whole body sparks in alarm. Oh, please don’t try to kiss me right now. He doesn’t take his eyes off my lips as he moves in, and at the last second, I turn, giving him my cheek instead. His lips brush against my skin, and I feel nothing. It could be a kiss from my grandmother from the lack of spark. When he pulls back again, he smiles widely at me.
“I’d love to do this again,” he says, and I give him a tight smile.
“Call me,” I reply, knowing damn well that I never gave him my number but I hope it takes him a little while to realize that so I can get out of here. He nods, and I turn, walking away from him quickly but not so quickly that he realizes I’m trying to flee from him. Once I get to my car, I unlock the door, and sink into the seat, letting out a heavy breath. One more date and then I can put this whole thing behind me.
You can do this, I remind myself as I start the car and head back home, looking forward to my big comfy couch and some trashy TV.
Chapter Three
Alison
I don’t feel like myself.
I step out of my car, hand my keys to the valet and look down at my red dress, wondering if it’s nice enough for this place. One look at the opulent restaurant in front of me and I know I’m severely out of my element. Peeking inside, I’m assaulted by a massive amount of gold and it’s leaning toward tacky. It looks like Liberace threw up in here. I’d much rather be at a little hole in the wall place than here. Give me a pair of jeans and a good steak and I’m good to go. My heels clink against the stone stairs that have got to be marble as I walk up to the grand double door entrance. It’s like an out of body experience as I step inside and look to my left where a large seating area is. It’s like that scene from Pretty Woman and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as they judge me.
I pull up the dating website on my phone and go through my date’s information one last time, trying to commit it to memory so I don’t accidentally call him Troy or Zach. I’m beyond thrilled that this is the last date but I have no idea how I’m going to write this article. A part of me just wants to give Mr. Klein what he wants and write that these past three days were so great, but the other part of me really, really wants to march into his office, tell him exactly where he can shove it in extreme detail, and storm out of the office with my head held high. Whatever I do, at least I won’t have to do this anymore. My weekends can go back to me lounging on my couch in sweatpants.
Izzy will probably throw a fit.
She’s so excited that she thinks I’m dating again. For the past three days, she’s been sending me pictures of guys that she thinks I’ll like, and I’m a little concerned that they’ve all come from her reject pile. Izzy may choose to drown her pain in between the sheets with various men but I do not. Not that I’m in pain, I just don’t date. Then again, maybe it’s time that I open myself up to the possibility again. At least, allow someone the opportunity to try and get close to me. Since the whole Adam debacle, it’s like I’ve had a huge “Closed for Business” sign around my neck and guys usually don’t even try.
“Alison James,” a hostess calls from the desk in the lobby, and I look up. She smiles and motions for me to follow her. Standing, I reread over the info one last time. His name is Blake, he’s thirty-six, and works as a real estate agent. I take a deep breath and nod, committing it to memory. As I follow her through the dining room, my nerves spike. Quiet murmurs of private conversations buzz around me, only interrupted by the sound of silverware gently clinking against plates, and I only feel more self-conscious. The people here are wealthy. One look in the parking lot will tell you that, and while I do okay for myself, I don’t come anywhere near this level of money. Not that I really want to either. Looking around the dining room, everyone looks so uptight.
The hostess turns and starts heading toward a more private part of the restaurant, and I can’t help but wonder how much it costs a guy to reserve a table back here. It can’t be cheap. We approach one of the tables, and there is a man already waiting there with his back to me. I take a deep breath just as the hostess stops at the chair directly across from him and motions for me to sit.
Just don’t let him be worse than date number one.
“Alison James, sir,” the hostess says, giving him a polite smile, and he stands, turning toward me. He grins and winks before turning to the hostess and slipping her a fifty. Fifty bucks just for seating me? I knew this place was way out of my league.
“Thanks, Sweetheart,” he says, smacking her on the ass as she walks by us, and I immediately want to spin around and follow her out. Take me with you, a little voice in my head screams like she’s violating girl code by leaving me here. Jesus. I mean, who the hell smacks another woman’s ass when he’s on a date? He turns his attention to me, and I barely restrain myself from taking a step back.
“And, Ali, so nice to finally meet you, Babe. I have to say, your pictures don’t do you justice.” His brown eyes draw a line down my body, and he makes no effort to hide the fact that he’s inspecting every part of me. How much longer do I have to be here? I shift under his gaze and look at my watch, the time moving painfully slow already.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I force out, plastering a professional smile on my face that honestly hurts a little. He flashes me a glimpse of his overly bleached smile and brushes his blond hair back before motioning to my chair and sitting back down in his own. Seriously? He’s not even going to pull my chair out for me?
“Please, have a seat.” He doesn’t even bother to look at me when he says it, his gaze glued to his phone, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath before sitting down in my chair and picking up the menu. Fuck this. If he wants to bring me to this place and flash his money around, I’m going to order the most expensive thing on the damn menu.
A waitress appears and I order wine, knowing damn well that I’m going to need it, and when she turns to leave, I want to grab her by the wrist and beg her to stay. I’ll even cry if I have to. Instead, I watch her walk away and look back at my date, just knowing that this is going to be truly awful. His eyes are still on the waitress’s ass, and I have to wait until she’s completely out of view before he looks back to me, smiling. It feels so fake.
“Sorry, Honey,” he says, not looking the least bit sorry, “I just appreciate beauty.”
I bet you do, pig.
My eyes want to roll so badly that it physically hurts to keep them trained on him but I manage and force a smile to my face as I nod. This guy’s going for the fucking gold in most atrocious date ever, and he’s off to a good start. It’s like someone took date one and two and mashed them together to create one super awful date to end this shitty experience.
“So, what do you do again, Baby?” he asks, and I barely hold back the cringe at all the pet names he’s throwing around.
“I’m a crime reporter.”
“Ah, that sounds terrible. I’m sure the pay sucks, too. I’m in real estate, and I gotta tell ya, Sweetheart, money is good.”
Trying my best to remain polite, I force a tight smile and nod. “Good for you.”
Only fifty more minutes.
Just last for another fifty minutes, Ali.
The waitress arrives with my wine, and I practically snatch it out of her hand, taking a large gulp before setting it back down. She gives me an understanding smile and leaves.
“I just sold this place yesterday for a couple mil. The commission on that is pretty sweet.”
I smile and nod as I take another drink. I wonder if he thinks that I actually give a damn about how much money he makes. I literally couldn’t care less and not just because I get the very strong feeling that he’s a raging douchebag. He leans closer, resting his elbows on the table like he’s going to tell me a secret, and winks.
“You like that? Depending on how well tonight goes, maybe we can go do a little shopping tomorrow and get you something sparkly.”
I would like to say that I’m shocked but in the ten minutes I’ve been here, I’ve gotten a pretty good read on this guy, and I’m not sure that he could say much that would surprise me. I’m also fairly convinced that he thinks he’s getting laid tonight. Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.
“I don’t really wear jewelry,” I say, downing more wine, and wishing I could just get the bottle.
“Some new clothes then,” he adds, looking down my body again. “Something sexy to wear when you’re not at work.”
“No, thank you,” I grit out, losing my patience with all this.
“Don’t be like that, Baby. Just trying to do something nice for you. Then again, I suppose you don’t really care about the money, do you?”
Oh, shit, maybe he does have a brain cell. I’m about to respond to him when he holds his hand up and keeps going.
“I mean, of course you’ll quit once you get married.”
I take another sip of wine, torn between chugging the thing and making it last. “Why would you think that?”
“Because that’s your job. Once you get married, it’s all about taking care of him and giving him babies. You know, carrying on the family name.”
I stare at him for a long moment, in total shock. I think my mouth is hanging open but I couldn’t really tell you for sure because my body is numb. Did he…just call me a breeding machine? Because I’m fairly certain that’s essentially what just came out of his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Sweetheart, you can get mad at me all you want but we both know it’s the truth. Your purpose is to have kids. Honestly, with a body like that,” he says, letting his eyes fall to my chest, “I don’t know how you haven’t been scooped up yet.”
Yep, he called me a breeding machine.
“I see, so my main purpose in life is to be bred,” I ask, my chest heaving in anger.
“Well, and raise them, of course. I know a lot of chicks get mad at me for this but it’s the way it should be. The man goes to work and makes the money, and it’s the woman’s job to take care of the house and the kids. I guess I’m just an old fashioned kind of guy.”
Or a dick.
I take another swig of my wine, so close to just chugging the rest of it but I have a feeling I’m going to want that last little bit because I don’t think he’s done.
“I don’t know why love even has to be in the picture for you women. Just find someone who makes your cunt drip and do your part for the human race, ya know?”
Ah, there it is.
I take the last swig of wine and stand up, grabbing my bag. “Will you excuse me, please? I need to use the restroom.”
He grins and nods. “Sure, Sweetheart.”
I hustle into the bathroom and roll my eyes at the couch nicer than the one I have in my living room, pushed up against the wall. I sink down and pull my phone out, dialing Izzy’s number.
“Hey, chick, what’s up?” she asks.
“I’m on a date, and it’s awful, Iz.”
“Oh, do you need me to get you out of there again?” she asks, her voice brighter, and I shake my head.
“No, I’m in the bathroom right now. But, seriously, what do I do?”
“What did he do that’s got you hiding in the bathroom?”
“Oh my god, he called me a breeding machine and straight up said that I’d quit my job when I got married so I could start popping out kids.”
“Jesus Christ,” she swears into the phone and then is silent for a moment. “Just get out of there, Ali. Like, right now.”
“I can’t do that. It’s so rude, and I won’t get the job.”
“What the hell kind of job are you trying to get with this asshole?” she yells, and I pull the phone away from my ear for a moment.
“It’s not with him, Iz. It’s with the paper.”
“What are you talking about?”
I sigh and go over to the door, peeking out to make sure he’s not coming to check on me. “It’s complicated.”
She’s quiet again for a moment, and then she sighs. “All right, just get out of there. Sneak out the back or something but just get out. Then tomorrow, Carly and I are coming over and you’re telling us everything, understand?”
“Yes, okay.”
“I’m serious, Ali. No brushing over details. You tell us everything.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“Good, now run the hell away from this guy, and call me when you’re home so I know that you’re safe.”
We hang up and I step out of the bathroom, still not sure if I can just leave. I want this job so damn bad, and I don’t know what will happen if I bail out on a date this early. Will they still count it?
“Excuse me?” a pretty young woman asks from behind the bar.
“Yes?”
“Are you here with Mr. Lucas?”
“Yes, I am.”
She nervously shifts her gaze, and my stomach rolls. “I just thought you should know that when I brought him another drink, he tried to get my number. I don’t know if you’re his girlfriend but I wanted to tell you that I’m not interested at all.”
And just like that, my decision is made. The bartender shifts again in front of me, looking terrified. I feel bad for her and put my hand on her arm to calm her down a little. She looks young, in college maybe, and I’m sure this situation is really awkward for her. “We’re on our first date and thank you so much for telling me. Do you think you could do me a favor?”
She nods, looking relieved. “Anything.”
“Can you distract him so I can slip out of here unnoticed?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take him another drink and flirt a little bit,” she says, grabbing a glass, and filling it with whatever he’s drinking.
“Thank you. And just a little word of advice, avoid that man like the plague.”
She gives me a mock salute and balances the tray with his drink in her hand. “Will do. Have a good night.”
I watch her go, and then make a beeline for the front door, handing the valet my slip as soon as I make it down the steps. As I wait for them to bring my car around, I continually glance over my shoulder, hoping that Blake doesn’t come looking for me before the car gets here. When it finally pulls up and I’m still alone, I breathe a sigh of relief and say a mental thanks to that bartender. I drive away from the restaurant, worry knotting my stomach as I wonder if I’ve done enough to get this job or if I’m going to lose my dream because of Blake Lucas.
* * * *
I’ve got to be honest with you all, it’s been awhile since I dated. And while I’d love to sit here and tell you that I met my soul mate and we’re getting married next week, that’s not what happened. This week did however make me think to try again, and I guess I can be tha
nkful for that. But just not like this. After going through the process of online dating, I’m not sure how anyone meets a special someone online. It seems so exhausting. Most of all, you can’t force these things. I am a big believer in fate, and when it’s time for you to meet the person you’re supposed to be with, it will happen. You shouldn’t have to clench your teeth to get through dinner, and you certainly don’t want to spend the entire evening looking for one redeemable quality in your date because you’re so lonely that your whole body aches. Hold out. Love will find you when the time is right and then suddenly all of this will make sense. At least, I hope it will.
Tapping my pen against the table, I read through my article three more times before sighing. I start chewing on the cap and wonder if I should really send this in. I went through and documented my three dates in excruciating detail before ending it with my little message of hope, and I know that Mr. Klein is going to hate it. When he assigned this, he wanted something sexy and fun. If I send this in, I’m basically handing this job to Chelsea. But, on the other hand, I don’t know that I could stomach lying and acting like this past week was a fun time for me. And what good would it do my readers if I lied?
After all three dates, I just feel like I’m done. I’m done with letting these guys walk all over me. From Mr. Klein to each of the dates, I’ve been sufficiently trampled by men, and I’m so goddamn sick of it. I’m mad at myself for even agreeing to this. That day in his office, I should have told Mr. Klein exactly where to shove it when he suggested this. Everyone in the office knows that promotion should be mine, and yet, I was subjected to this little “test.” What will I do, though? If I send this in, tell my boss to shove it, and get fired, how will I support myself?
The doorbell rings, and I glance down the hallway toward the front door, remembering that Izzy and Carly are coming over as I toss my pen down and stand up. Taking one last look at my article, I sigh and close my computer, pushing it away from where I was sitting before going to the door, and flinging it open. I do my best to plaster a fake smile on my face but the moment Izzy sees me, her eyes narrow and she shakes her head.
