We were to meet at Gringo’s, a Mexican restaurant over an hour away. If BFE had a location, it’d be Mt. Pleasant. For this dating thing to work, I’d have to travel a shit ton. It’s research. Totally worth it.
“If he is handsy, better know I’ll be needing a backup,” I said.
“Maybe I should drive you?” Her worried expression reminded me how wonderful my best friend really was. She might be unconventional at times, but she didn’t fail at loyalty and love.
“What if he gets handsy and I like it?” Shuffling my feet, I quirked my eyebrow in her direction.
“Damn, woman, just make up your mind.”
“Fine. Second base is as far as I’ll go,” I promised.
No need to jump right in. A quick dip was more my speed.
That’s what she said.
I held back the laughter from my own dirty joke.
“Good girl. Now shoo.”
“Bye.” I waved, and my breathing hitched with anxiety.
“Bitch, bye!”
The drive would be fun. It’d hopefully give me enough of a breather to ease my nerves. It was the only time I could jam out to music without feeling like a complete dumbass, well, other than the shower. My gran always said, “A girl who can sing like no one’s watching is a keeper. Even if she sucks and sounds like a banshee.”
Carl hated my singing, and even though it was terrible, he should have loved me for me. Wasn’t that what true love was?
Maybe Carl liked her singing.
Stop thinking of that lint licker.
Spice Girls came on, and I knew their lyrics like no one’s business. This station would be my new go-to for oldies. Wannabe, the girls’ song played through my eardrums.
“I want, I want, I want, I want long-term relationship goals,” I sang with my own twist, wishing it was as easy as saying it out loud. Any man who loved me for me was acceptable, and if he was a looker, why the hell not?
Arriving a little over a half hour later, I reached what appeared to be a rundown caddy shack. I braved a glance around. Desolate. It barely resembled a dumpster, crude maybe, but it was run down and decrepit. Creepy much?
A spicy aroma greeted me at the entrance, overwhelming my senses in the best way. I never said I was the best judge of character. Look at who I married. Sorry, caddy shack.
Did I mention I love food? And not any kind but Mexican food.
A memory of our wedding anniversary smacked me in the face. We’d saved up for a trip to Meridian city where the best Mexican food was located, and this smelled almost the same. Authentic. Carl used to please me, treat me like a queen, and loved me. He did things he hated just to make me happy. That ended though, and now, we were lost to another statistic of marriage failure.
Debby Downer times ten.
They said that expectations are the silent killer of marriage, and they were right.
Inside didn’t mirror the outside, and that made me smile.
“Hola, señorita.” A petite woman sprang on me, rolling the “r” beautifully. She surprised the piss out of me. Not really, I could hold that shit in well, but it sounded right.
“Uh, hello. I’m meeting a Chad Leblanc here.” My voice sounded small, and I hated it.
Come on, confidence. Get your shit together.
“Oy, yes,” she said, her accent thick and scratchy. “This way, hermosa.”
Following the little lady to the table, I cowered just a smidge, nerves overpowering my normal sassy structure.
The man across the booth had his face in a book, a smutty, deliciously sexy, and ménage one.
“Hard & Reckless by Victoria Ashley?” I inquired with a smirk. I remember that one! “Fancy some experimenting?”
The book lowered, and my insides flipped. Well, hello, Harry Potter, all grown up.
“Ah, I’m not as adventurous as these men.” He blushed a pretty shade of crimson, his lips tilting on one side.
“Too bad. Could’ve made a night of fun.” I winked, trying to break the metaphorical ice.
He stifled a laugh, a smirk lighting up his face. “I can see it now, the author in you.”
A sexual joke lit up my senses, but I didn’t want to scare him off so I squelched that shit quick, but really, if I had a dick, I could put some author in him too. A giggle slipped past my lips, and the amused expression on his face only showed his possible similarities in humor.
“Oh, can you now?” I joked instead.
“Please, sit.” He gestured across from him with a wave of his hand.
My ass hits that bench faster than my ex finished during sex, and I thought that was quick! I found myself gawking at him. He wasn’t super muscular or anything, but that smile was pearly white and perfect. It’d be better if it had a little lilt or crookedness. Perfect was too hard to compete with.
“Drinks?” her soft voice sounded from my side.
“Horchata,” I responded.
“Coke,” Chad said.
“I’ll get those right to you,” the waitress said before walking away. We had a momentarily stare down, almost battling for who would talk first. By the time I worked up the courage, no more than two minutes later, our waitress was back. “What can I get you?” Shit, I didn’t look over the menu. But what the hell, I always got enchiladas anyway.
“I’ll get the red sauce enchiladas.”
“I’ll have the same,” Chad responded with a smile. She scribbled our orders down and left almost as fast as she came.
“So, hobbies?” he asked, cutting right to it. At least he cared. Not many did. I was glad he took charge because I’d always been an awkward person.
I tapped my chin in contemplation, his question personal yet not. “I write as a job and as a hobby, but I also love hiking.”
“Being in Mt. Pleasant has its perks, huh?”
“I can’t leave soon enough,” I kidded.
“That bad? I thought the solitude would be nice.”
“Everyone knows me, knows what I do for a living, and that my ex fucked his secretary. Not exactly peaceful.”
I winced. I never meant to mention Carl or his infidelity, but with the feeling that this date would only be a one-time thing, why the hell not? This is for a book, nothing else.
“Well, shit. I guess not.”
“How about you?” Change of topic, STAT.
His lips were edible. He licked them after finishing a every sentence, and I wanted to take it into my mouth. For christ’s sake, you just met the fella. Lady bits needed a cobweb trimming for sure! If my looks didn’t shout, “Fuck me. I’m desperate!” my mouth eventually would.
“I’m an accountant, actually,” he said, his tone dismissive.
Eff that, my ex was one too. They never could keep their shit in their pants. Accounting my ass. Accounting how many pussies they could pound.
“Oh, nice.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“By your tone, you aren’t a fan.” Chad gave me a once over, studying me with “poor girl” eyes. His genuine care for me felt wrong. We just met. We didn’t need to know each other’s entire lives and things that hurt one another.
“No, not exactly. What are your hobbies?”
“Reading. I don’t get out much.”
Definitely not a people person. That’s for sure.