Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
I Should Have Stayed at Home - Ryan Mack
I have a date with Tinder Girl, and for the past three hours, I haven’t stopped pissing. I get the nervous pisses, which I suppose is better than the nervous shits, but I hate them. I hate running to the bathroom every fifteen minutes like some pregnant woman.
When I return from my fourth trip to the bathroom, I pace the floor. Sir Ellington watches me, cocking his head. It’s almost like he’s judging me.
“It’s-s-s,” I get locked on the ‘s’ for a second, “not her. I don’t care about her.” Fuck, I’m already stuttering?
Elli just cocks his head the other way.
“Whatever.” I wave him off. It’s eleven-thirty. Tinder Girl wanted to meet for a matinee since she works afternoons at the hospital. Fucking Tinder Girl. I’m not really into girls, and I never have been, but dating a woman is what my family expects, and if it’s what they expect, then it’s what I’ll do.
The nervous energy floods me. I’m early, and there shouldn’t be traffic, but what about the parking situation? Will I find a spot easy to park in, with empties next to it so no fuckers dent my door? I mutter, “fuck it.” Grabbing my keys and sidearm, I throw on my leather jacket and head for the door. It’s sunny again today, which is stupid ‘cause Ohio usually prefers to blanket our already depressing state with gray skies every day.
I arrive massively early, and like any normal person, sit in my car and pretend I didn’t agonize over the details and get here ridiculously early. Normally, I’m not like this. But Silent Hollow doesn’t have a movie theater, and it forced me to drive outside of my known area. And, of course, the parking lot is empty. Because it’s midweek and in the middle of the day. Plus, I never wanted to go on this date in the first place, but my parents have the noses of bloodhounds. They’ll know if I’m awkward around my ‘girlfriend.’ This wedding can’t look like a first date. I might have told them I’d been dating someone for a while.
But I’m not a dick. If I’m going to make someone suffer through a wedding with me as my date, I at least owe them a free movie and a meal. As a bonus, I won’t even talk to her. She can just go about her day in peace, and I can do the same.
I should have found an actress.
By the time Tinder Girl arrives, I’m sweating. She’s classically pretty, I suppose. She has red hair and big tits and a curvy ass. She’s wearing tight jeans and a tiny white shirt. She also has on strappy sandals that are way too summery for today, but her feet are on display. And they are pretty feet. They might be the prettiest part about her.
I meet her on the sidewalk in front of the theater and give a small smile.
“Hey!” She smiles widely and tucks her hair behind her ear.
I rehearse the word before saying, “Hey.”
She sticks her hand out. “I’m Larissa.”
My heart stutters. L’s and S’s always trip me up. I practiced her name, but now, in the moment, I know I can’t say it. I know the sounds will just get stuck in my mouth.
She’s looking at me expectantly, then huffs out an awkward laugh. “But I suppose you knew that already. Should we go in?”
I nod absently while my brain is screaming: abort ! I can’t even say her name; how can I have her pose as my girlfriend? My mom will never buy it.
“Cool.” She moves in ahead of me.
I drag myself in. Once we get inside and get our seats, Larissa is all over me. She starts by leaning over to whisper to me, and then her hand makes its way into my lap. It makes me sweat. Maybe it’ll stop once the movie starts?
It doesn’t. My leg bounces, and the fourth time she leans over to talk to me, I can feel the pit stains in my shirt. Also, I have to pee. So fucking badly.
A few other people in the theater get up, probably to go to the bathroom, and Larissa’s hand on my thigh inches up, up, up. Energy crackles up my spine. This feels wrong. Everything about her, her small body, her flowery scent, her feminine voice, should be right. She’s pretty. C’mon Dakota, this shouldn’t be so hard.
She gets close to my crotch, and I jump up.
“Bathroom,” I mutter, then dart out of the theater. My heart pounds like I just got in a foot pursuit, and I gasp for breath. What is wrong with me? I’m a cop, and I can’t handle a simple date?
Fuck. I’m such a disappointment.
When I can catch my breath enough to focus on the odd, multicolored carpet, I look up.
Bathroom. I need the fucking bathroom. I’ll just take a piss, and it’ll all be better.