“Excellent observation skills there, because… that it is,” I nodded, taking a final sip of my wine. “But certainly that’s not your only reasoning for me coming home with you?”
Eric tugged at his tie, clearly uncomfortable. “I mean… I paid for your meal, paid for you to drink…”
“Oh, you haven’t done that yet,” I said, patting the leather folio that held our check. It was still right on the table, where our server had left it, and Eric had made no moves to offer payment. I reached for my purse, retrieving my wallet. “So allow me to ease your mind. I’ll pay for myself.”
“That wasn’t the point,” he countered, snatching the folio up before I could add my contribution to the little pocket inside. “January… come on. Haven’t we had a good time? Good food, good conversation. It only makes sense that we continue the night on a good note.”
He was throwing around that word, good, like it applied to anything other than the food, making it abundantly clear–we’d been on two different dates, obviously.
I let out a little sigh. “I don’t believe you and I are on the same page. I appreciate your interest, but I just don’t think this is going to work out. Please, allow me to pay for my portion of the meal.”
I mean, I knew I didn’t want anything more to do with him before the entrees even arrived - I stayed for the food, not him.
And the last thing I wanted was for him to be able to say I’d just—
“So you just used me for a meal, huh?” he snapped, and I rolled my eyes, because of course he thought so.
“You’re going to ignore the fact that I just offered to—”
“I swear, I should have learned my lesson with you bitches on that damn app last time,” he muttered as he pulled out his wallet, peeling off a few hundred-dollar bills to stuff behind the receipt.
My eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Takes one to know one.”
A slight step above, “I know you are, but what am I?” right?
“Are you calling me a bitch?” he asked, his voice hiking a pitch above normal.
“Just identifying tendencies. I’ve got good observation skills too.”
He huffed at that, his shoulders getting wide. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to that way?!”
“Eric Ericson, fund manager at Blackwood Wealth Management–you’ve told me that like six times tonight. Remember? You’ve developed the perfect portfolio, right?”
He sneered over the table at me, all traces of the handsome man who’d been such a gentleman when he walked in gone. “Right. This is what I get for dating outside my tax bracket,” he spat, standing up from the table so fast he tripped over his chair leg.
I stifled a laugh as he caught himself. “You’re not that damn fine anyway.”
Damn.
So now I was broke and ugly, huh?
Eric Ericson made that wack ass declaration and then stomped off like the diva he was.
If the tables around us had heard that little exchange, they at least had the courtesy to act like they were minding their business–mostly.
The white couple that had been seated to our left was currently treating me to open-mouthed gapes that were so dramatic for as mild of a scene as that had been. I shot the woman a smile.
“You’re in the hood now, baby,” I said, and she and her partner snapped their mouths shut to go back to tending whatever was happening at their table.
“Hey… you good?”
I looked up to find our server hovering near the table–he didn’t walk all the way up until I nodded. He grabbed the check folio to stow under his arm, then started stacking our dessert plates and gathering glasses.
“Can you bring me another glass of wine, please?” I asked, sitting back in my seat. Of course I’d seen him before, and had spoken to him to exchange the usual pleasantries and place my order. But now that I was really looking at him… the server was kinda… fine.
They usually were in places like this, as if being served by pretty people made the food taste better. I wouldn’t front though–this tall, dark-eyed hunk of butterscotch was most certainly a complement to the ambiance.
“I’m more than happy to serve you, beautiful, but you’ll have to move to the bar–we need the table,” he explained, in a warm, apologetic tone.
I nodded. “Fair enough,” I agreed, hooking my purse over my shoulder. He took a step back so I could stand, shifting the things in his hands to one arm in case he needed to offer his assistance.
At least someone tonight was a gentleman.
At the bar, I pulled out my cell phone, diving right into a group chat between me, Riley, and our homegirl from college, Kelly.
“Why is “you weren’t all that anyway” STILL men’s go-to when you don’t give them what they want? If I’m “not all that” why are you so pressed? Ugh.”
It was fairly late, on a Friday night, but it only took a moment to get a reply.
“OMG! What happened with Eric?–Riley”
“Well, he’s a faux-intellectual, sexist pig–and he called me a bitch. An ugly, broke one.”
“Wow. IM SO SORRY. So you’re messaging from the back of a police car, right? You need me to come get you?–Riley.”
I chuckled and shook my head, looking away from my phone long enough to accept the glass of wine I’d asked for. “Nope. Good wine got me too loose to raise hell like I normally might. Plus I can’t get kicked out of this restaurant–can’t believe I let Riley talk me into wasting it on a blind date with a dude whose parents couldn’t even come up with a new name for.”
“Okay so like… why DID you listen to Riley about this shit though–Kelly”
“WOW BITCH.–Riley”
“LOOK HOW THE SHIT TURNED OUT–Kelly”
I mean… Kelz definitely had a point there…
“You should have just put out a call to The Dick Knight LMAO–Kelly.”
“OOH. It IS about to be Halloween though… - Riley.”
I rolled my eyes at that silliness, but still couldn’t help laughing. The Dick Knight–a play on the dark knight, Batman–was this ridiculous local urban legend going around social media. Supposedly, every Halloween, some well-endowed, benevolent stranger was approaching women in their… time of need… fucking them silly, and then disappearing into the night, never to be seen or heard from again.
Which… shit.
He sounded like the man of my dreams.
“Girl. I wish. Bring him and his panther tat to me NEOW,” I shot back, motioning to the bartender for another glass of wine.
My last glass of wine.
Then, I was going home.
“I’m sure he’s prowling the streets now, choosing his next prey LMAO.–Riley.”
“Would it really be prey, if the legend is true? - Kelly”
“I’d think you’d be like… a recipient? Is that the word I’m looking for? – Kelly.”
“Beneficiary? LMAO!” I replied in the thread. “He’d be… the benefactor?”
“BENEFACTOR OF THAT DICK–Riley”
“Good. Damn. Bye.”
I put my phone down for a moment to accept my wine. I’d barely brought it to my lips before someone slipped onto the vacant barstool beside me. Reflexively, I slid my purse closer in front of me, not wanting to take up more than my share of the limited space.