Chapter Three
Abby
“So, what do you do for fun?” My date, Justin, asks me from across the table.
“I like to knit,” I reply. “And watch TV. Sometimes, I like to put together a jigsaw puzzle.”
If I didn’t feel like a loser saying the words, I certainly do when I see the look on Justin’s face.
“Is that it?” He asks.
No. Any other spare time I have I spend having orgies.
Wanting to take the spotlight off myself, I ask, “What about you?”
“I like to watch a lot of sports.” ‘
Strike one.
“And go clubbing.”
Strike two.
“I try to hit the gym as much as possible.”
And you’re out.
This date is going horribly so far. I don’t know what Jenson was thinking setting me up with this guy. I think he’s a pretentious jerk, and he probably thinks I’m a freak.
I swapped out my typical glasses for contacts, and they irritate the shit out of my eyes. Justin first thought I was awkwardly winking at him. Then, he asked if I had a nervous tick.
Even with my contacts and my uncomfortable clothes, I can tell that Justin doesn’t think I’m anything wonderful to look at. In fact, he’s barely looked at me at all, opting to gawk at the busty redhead at the next table.
Clearly, this date isn’t going the way either of us thought it would.
He asks what I do for a living, and I tell him I’m a design software engineer who primarily works from home.
When I ask him the same question, he responds, “Oh, I’m actually between gigs right now. I worked at a gym but ended up getting fired for being lewd with the customers.”
My face scrunches up as I wonder what exactly his lewd behavior was. Better yet, I don’t want to know.
Our food arrives, and I stare at my plate in almost as much disgust as I have for Justin. He insisted on ordering for me and ignored my comments about my food allergies. Now, I can only eat a fraction of what’s in front of me.
Justin doesn’t seem to notice, though, because he digs right in.
With a full mouth, he asks, “So, have you popped out any puppies yet?”
Is this guy imitating Judd Nelson from The Breakfast Club or something?
“Uh, no. Not yet.”
“What a relief. Do you know how hard it is to find a chick who hasn’t already been ruined by children?”
Maybe as hard as it is to find someone who isn’t an asshole.
He’s about to make it even worse. “I’ve slept with some of them, and let me tell you, their downstairs business just doesn’t hold up.”
Now, maybe at this point, I should give this guy some hell—tell him how much of a dick I think he is.
But that’s problematic for a few different reasons.
One, I hate confrontation.
Two, I doubt this guy could absorb a single word that I would say.
And three, I don’t want to do anything to prolong this experience. I’m beyond ready for it to be over.
The mere thought of sitting on my own, knitting, and watching Gilmore Girls can get me through the next half an hour.
And that’s exactly what I think about when Justin starts mansplaining why the city’s football team needs to trade their quarterback.
After what feels like an eternity, the waitress finally brings the check. Justin looks at it and sighs…as though I had any input at all in what was ordered.
Deciding to mess his fragile ego a little, I say, “If you need me to pay for mine because you don’t have enough money, it’s no problem. I know you’re not working.”
Immediately, his whole demeanor changes. Puffing his chest out, he spits, “Uh, no. I don’t need you to do that. I’ll pay.”
On the way back to my apartment, he tells me all about the car he’s driving. Meanwhile, I just think about why the fuck this guy with no real need for a car has one in New York City. He lets slip that he’s been staying on his buddy’s couch, and I resist the urge to tell him if he sold his souped-up car, he may have more money for his own place.
But yet again, I opt to keep my mouth shut.
When he pulls up to the curb outside my apartment, he asks, “So, should I find a place to park?”
“Why?”
“Don’t you want me to come upstairs?” He looks even more confused than I do.
“Uhm. No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty wiped.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Oh, no. I’ve poked at his toxic masculinity.
“No?”
“I paid for your dinner, and you’re not even going to offer to make it up to me?”
Is that a thing?
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before completely losing his shit. “You know when I was set up on this date, I looked you up on social media, and I thought of canceling because you definitely weren’t my type. You know—a nerd. But I decided to throw you a bone because lord knows, you probably won’t find any better. Now, the plain-looking nerd won’t even put out? I guess you can just go upstairs…alone…probably to your cats. I can definitely see why a loser like you is still single.”
Okay, that’s enough.
Quickly, I unlock the door and step out. As I walk inside, I feel like I’m in complete and total shock. Is this really how dating is now? If so, I don’t feel like I’ve been missing out on a damn thing. I would be okay with never having this experience again.
Ever.
I’d rather die an old spinster with my cats than listen to a man talk down to me like that.
I know Justin is just a jerk, but am I really that much of a loser? Was anything that he said true?
All these thoughts run through my head as I make my way to the mailbox. Might as well grab it before I go upstairs.
I try to push all my tears and emotions down at least until I get into my apartment. Taking deep breaths, I try my best to keep ahold of myself.
As I’m sliding the key into my mailbox, I feel a large presence come up beside me.
A deep voice says, “Well, you look nice.”
Immediately, I know it’s Don. He’s so large and commands attention, yet he’s always beyond nice.
The first ever time he said hi to me, it caught me completely off-guard. People in New York typically don’t go out of their way to make pleasant conversation—even with their neighbors.
Especially with their neighbors.
Makes me think that maybe Don isn’t from here. Not that I’ve been brave enough to ask.
“Oh, thanks,” I manage to get out in not much more than a whisper.
“Hot date?”
“Yeah, actually. Just getting home.”
“How did it go?”
The moment he asks the question, I know I’m totally screwed. My lip quivers as tears fill my eyes.
Oh lord, here we go.