One
Brody
Of course my hair wasn’t cooperating tonight. I’d combed the thick strands off my face, but one clump wanted to stand up like a whale tail. I’d tried slicking it down, spraying it in place, and adding a dollop of pomade to tame it—but nothing worked. To make matters worse, my mother was yapping away through the phone, and I wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to her.
“Brody Samuel Greene, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said with a sigh as I ran the comb through my hair again.
She harrumphed as if she knew I was full of it. “As I was saying, your father didn’t react well to the tomato sauce I made last night, which makes no sense. I make it all the time. I really think he might have an ulcer.”
I tuned her out again as I continued to fuss with my stupid hair. This was a first date, so I was already nervous enough, and having a clump that wasn’t cooperating didn’t help calm my anxiety any. The last thing I needed was to listen to my mother babble on about my father’s digestive issues.
“Did you try an antacid?” I asked while I grabbed the hairspray again.
“I did,” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I think I need to take him to the doctor for a check-up.”
“Then maybe you should,” I said distractedly as I stared into the mirror. Finally, the clump laid flat, and I dropped my comb to grab my phone and rush out of the bathroom. “But I need to go.”
“Where are you going this late?”
I groaned as I ran to my room to slip into my shoes. “It’s not late, and I’m almost thirty years old,” I reminded her. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. Though, I was running extremely late thanks to my fucking hair.
“When I was your age—”
“When you were my age, you were settled down with a husband and a kid. Yes, I know. But now you’re enjoying retirement in Florida, as you should be.” I’d heard her argument many times before. “But if you must know, I’m going on a date.”
“Oh, well, don’t let me keep you then. Give Solomon my love.”
I didn’t bother to correct her. For years, she had been under the impression my best friend, Solomon Overton, was more than that. I finally stopped correcting her when I realized it didn’t do any good.
“I will,” I promised her because it was the truth. I would be seeing him tomorrow, after all.
“And wear a condom!” she practically screeched into the phone before hanging up.
I shook my head but made sure to grab one anyway because I wouldn’t be opposed to ending the evening between my date’s sheets. Then after making sure I had everything, I left for the theater. I would’ve preferred meeting for drinks and dinner, but he insisted on the movies, and who was I to argue?
The drive to the theater was short, and after parking the car, I pulled up the app where he and I had been messaging. After talking for a few days, we finally decided to meet face-to-face, so I was looking for a man who fit his description—red hair and a black T-shirt. I was interested in seeing if he’d look the same in person as he did in his photos since camera angles and filters could alter a person’s appearance. After making sure my hair was still cooperating, I popped a mint in my mouth and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from my long-sleeved, green shirt.
There was a small handful of people milling around the front, a few taking pictures in front of the movie posters, and I made sure to walk around them to not get in the way. I glanced around and finally caught sight of a man with messy red hair leaning against a wall near the entrance. As I stepped closer, I noted he was on the shorter side—which wasn’t an issue—and that his shirt looked like he’d just pulled it from his closet floor. It was wrinkled and covered in holes toward the hemline. But these weren’t the sort of holes designers added so they could jack up the price for lesser fabric and call it fashion. And I couldn’t help but frown at his rumpled appearance. Surely, he had a nicer shirt for our date? And if he didn’t have the money to buy one, didn’t he have a friend to borrow one from?
“Sam?” I asked when I stepped up to him.
“That’s me. I’m assuming you’re Brody.”
I tried to keep my frown from deepening. His entire tone sounded bored and uninterested—nothing like the man I’d been chatting with for a few days. I hoped it was just his voice and no reflection of how the date would go.
“I am. It’s nice to finally meet you.” I held out my hand for him to shake and tried not to cringe when he wiped his palm on his jeans before grabbing mine.
His hand was cold and clammy, and the urge to wince was strong. But he kept the handshake weak and short, and I was thankful when he let go.
“So, uh, are you ready to go?” I asked when he didn’t say anything else.
Sam turned his head to spit on the pavement beside him. Don’t gag, I internally hissed. He seemed like a very nice man during our chats, so I couldn’t go by his appearance and lack of manners. We still had an entire movie to get through before I could form any sort of opinion.
“Yeah,” was his bored response.
I pursed my lips as I turned around to head inside, with him directly behind me. Luckily, he didn’t smell, or I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to get through the rest of the evening. One of the girls staffing the ticket station opened, so Sam scooted around me to go to her line. I was about to follow when I heard him say, “one ticket,” before naming the movie he’d suggested.
Okay, I was buying my own ticket. That was perfectly fine with me.
I stepped up to the counter when it was my turn and paid for my purchase with a wide smile. When I was finished, I looked around and didn’t find any sign of Sam, not even at the concession stand. With a sigh, and no longer having an appetite for buttery popcorn, I went to the designated theater. I found him already seated with his head down as his thumbs flew across his phone screen.
I slowly climbed the stairs to the row and then sat down beside him. He didn’t even acknowledge my existence as he continued to text, and as I let out a long sigh, I allowed the truth to sink in. The condom in my wallet was going to go unused—again.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until tomorrow,” Solomon said when I flopped down on the couch beside him.
“Yeah, me too,” I grumbled.
Solomon must’ve seen something on my face or heard it in my voice because, without another word, he stood and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a carton of my favorite ice cream, a few bottles of beer, and two spoons.
“What happened?”
While the beer seemed enticing, I ignored it to grab the ice cream. After I’d had a few bites, I finally answered him. “He was a total dick.” I explained how he seemed extremely nice on the app and how his entire demeanor changed in public. “He spent most of the movie texting someone else. So finally, I got curious and glanced at his phone screen and saw he was texting another guy the entire time. I muttered something about using the bathroom, though I doubt he heard me, and just left. The movie wasn’t even finished,” I added before shoving another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.