Nudge 20 The First Date
The First Date
‘We should have got a booth,’ Benji sighs as he pulls up a stool, steel legs scraping loudly across the floor.
‘Sorry, I just sat where they led me,’ I say, attempting to catch his eye as he scans the noisy room for better seats.
Even with the early exit, I still found myself at the bar twenty minutes late.
I walked as fast as my heeled boots allowed me, hobbling from the bus stop to the venue in the hopes that he was still there.
He didn’t reply to any of my three journey update texts and I don’t know him well enough to know whether that was a sign of frustration.
Turns out it was probably a result of him travelling himself, as I arrived at a yet-to-be-claimed reservation.
He huffs as he settles. ‘It’s fine. Just not what I’d wanted for us. You deserve the best, you know?’
He gazes into my eyes, waiting expectantly. I force a tight-lipped smile and a faint nod of appreciation, which proves to be more than enough. He smiles back at me, as if desperately attempting to summon a vibe that has yet to appear, before reaching for the singular menu on the table.
‘Have you ordered yet?’
‘No, I was waiting for you.’
‘That’s so sweet. You’re too sweet,’ he says, eyes locked on the card.
‘So, how’s your day been?’ I ask.
‘What?’ He has to yell as the music grows louder.
I raise my voice too. ‘How’s your day been?’
‘Oh! Yeah, it’s been good.’
He waves his arm in the air, beckoning a nearby waitress over as he keeps the menu clutched between his hands.
‘Hey – can I get a rum and Coke – it’s Happy Hour, right? I’ll have two. And the sliders, and the fries on the side.’
‘Of course. And for the lady?’ she asks.
‘Sorry, could I see the menu?’ I ask him.
I haven’t had a chance to look. When I first got here, I was afraid that, in my state, the mere names of the food would take me from mildly irritated to full-on hangry.
He hands it over and stares impatiently as I scan through the items, the weight of his and the waitress’s eyes pressing on me, so I narrow in on the first thing I see.
‘I’ll just take the fries. And . . . a gin? Do you do gin? I’ll take a gin and lemonade.’
‘And two tequila shots,’ Benji adds, before turning and winking at me. ‘It will loosen us up.’
Forward, but at this point I’ll take anything.
The waiter turns on her heel, leaving us at our tiny, tall table, surrounded by the loud chatter of the bar around us.
I’ll admit, it’s not exactly the ‘dinner and drinks’ vibe I got from his texts, but on the upside my jeans are definitely not out of place.
If anything, the boots and top may be a little too dressy for the vibe here.
‘So, tell me about yourself, Maddison,’ he says, reclining on the imaginary back of his stool.
I’ve always thought ‘tell me about yourself’ is one of the worst questions you can ask a person.
It does nothing on your part to decipher them and puts it all in their hands.
It’s lazy and callous, and full of ambiguity, along with the presumption that the person you’re talking to is basic enough to condense their whole life into a small string of sentences.
‘What do you want to know?’ I ask, throwing it back at him.
‘Everything.’ He shuts me down instantly.
His eyes are still pretty, I suppose. The glint appears a little duller drowned in the low light of the bar. But he’s trying, at least. I can’t expect him to live up to the standards I imposed in my head.
‘Well, you know that event I was telling you about? I made some headway today—’
‘Ah, yes, events – you do events.’ He nods with faux profoundness. ‘How do you find that?’
‘Yeah, I enjoy it. Actually I—’
‘I’ve always thought I’d be pretty good at events. I have some sick ideas,’ he says musingly.
‘Oh, that’s great,’ I say, benevolently brushing the double interruption aside. ‘You said you are in finance, right?’
‘Well, it’s actually more complicated than that. I do a bit of this, a bit of that, here, there and everywhere. But, yeah, trading plays a part in it all.’
‘Trading?’
He waves my question away. ‘It’s quite complex. Let’s not get into it this early in the night.’
The waitress reappears with our drinks and our shots, saving me from the inevitable forced prying he was expecting. I neck the shot instantly, placing the glass down with a grimace before he has had a chance to finish pouring the salt onto his hand.
‘Woah, you don’t mess around.’ He is clearly impressed.
‘Can we get two more, please?’ I catch the waitress just before she walks away.
The more I drink, the more his little quirks become bearable and the talk of ‘building his empire’ becomes easier to stomach.
The kind sparkle in his eye returns, murky cloud a thing of the past along with my sobriety.
We order a third, fourth and fifth round of shots and two more drinks each, conversation swelling by the time we reach the fourth.
‘I like you, Maddison, you’re fun.’ He’s slurring his words and his gaze is deep in a way that feels ever so slightly intrusive, but I let it go because he called me fun. I never get called fun, ever.
‘And you’re a really good listener,’ he continues.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, my smile real this time.
The fact that I listened so well because he barely let me talk is neither here nor there. Who cares about the rough start? We’ve ended up here, and under the low bar lights and the influence of many, many drinks, I cannot deny that we do get along.
‘I’m sorry – just wanted to let you know that we close in ten,’ the waitress says.
The last call bell was a while ago, but the interjection still makes me gasp in surprise. Closed already? How late could it possibly be?
I check my phone and see 23.48 bold and bright on the screen. It taunts me, reminding me of tomorrow’s early start and the journey I still have to take to my house.
‘Where to next?’ Benji asks, beginning to put on his jacket.
Next? It’s almost tomorrow! Tomorrow Thursday! Thursday the workday!
‘I’m pretty sure everything else around here will be closing too.’ It’s a half-lie. I don’t know if they’re open or closed, I just know that I need to get home. I’ve already missed the last train and I still have to get up for work tomorrow morning. A concern that, apparently, only affects me.
‘Cool, wanna just walk around then? I’m not ready for this to be over,’ he says, coming over and grabbing my hand.
His hand is warm, albeit slightly moist to the touch. Big enough to engulf my entire palm in the centre of his own. He squeezes it tighter, staring closely, forcing a moment. I stare back, force it too, beg the butterflies to return.
‘I should probably get home. It’s getting late and I have work tomorrow,’ I say, eyes still searching his for a hint of a spark.
‘I could come with you?’ he says, swinging his hand and mine.
I stifle the giggle desperate to burst out of my mouth. Not only is the offer audaciously presumptuous for a first date, but the thought of bringing him back to my parents’ house is laughable.
Hi, Mum and Dad. Here’s a man I met yesterday in the park. He’s staying the night; we’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast!
The thought of their faces is enough to have me in hysterics, but I try to refocus and shake my head.
‘Not tonight.’
‘Ah, OK.’ He huffs, not even trying to mask his disappointment. ‘We’ll see each other again, though.’
He creeps slightly closer, towering over me and biting his lip. It would be something, I guess, if I wasn’t so focused on my perfect view up his nostrils.
‘Sure,’ I answer, attempting to convince myself too.
I suppose, given how things picked up after the initial awkwardness, I have no reason not to see him again. He is cute, and he’s tall, and I have no real reason to say no. Isn’t the point of this whole thing with Aiden to say yes more often?
‘I’d really like that,’ I say, doubling down.
‘You’re really sexy, you know,’ he says, forcing his voice an octave deeper.
He shuffles closer to me as his right hand squeezes mine even tighter, left swinging to cup the back of my head (although it ends up being more of a slap).
He looks down at me hungrily as he leans in, in a way that makes me want to run.
I don’t want to really. I know that. I’m just being stupid and focusing too much on how fishlike he looks from this angle.
I taste rum and Coke and strawberry vape on his tongue as it forces its way in between my teeth.
It’s sloppy and drunk, and excitedly flapping out of control, but I do my best to manoeuvre it from my end.
We find some sort of rhythm; still choppy, but slightly more to my liking as his hands move straight to my backside.
He squeezes both cheeks tightly while pulling me into his crotch, my balance faltering and leaving me no choice but to wrap my arms round his neck.
I hold on tightly, my heels lifted off the ground in a way that feels more like falling than flying.
His lips are soft, that’s a plus, and he seems to like what we’re doing, given the way he’s moaning into my mouth.
But the moans seem forced – he’s sounding off because he feels like he should – because it’s how he saw the moment going in his head.
I would fake moan too but, frankly, nothing would give me the ick more, so I focus on his lips and try to drown the sounds out.
‘Woah,’ he says, finally pulling away. ‘You sure I can’t jump in that car with you?’
‘Not tonight,’ I say again. ‘I really should get home.’
After one more sloppy kiss he heads to the Tube station, leaving me to wait for my taxi in the dark outside the bar, alone. I finally check my phone properly for the first time since I got to the place, finding a slew of texts, voice notes and missed calls from Kimi.
Been in meetings all day. Sorry I missed the outfits!
How was it?!
Are you OK?!
If we don’t hear from you in five mins we’re calling the police.
She’s in the group chat as well, all three debating my welfare, complete with screenshots of my location and a physical description of Benji.
All good, alive, date just ran late! Debrief tomorrow xxx
I make sure to share the details of my ride with them the second I get in the car, before anyone has a chance to report me missing, and then I sink into the leather seat and reflect on the night at hand.
The car moves through the night, Brixton a blur to my right, but I do not look.
My eyes are glued to my phone, scrolling through my camera roll with a new mission at hand.
I find a blurry but decipherable picture of the shot glasses from the night, empty and strewn across our table.
The photo is grainy and discoloured from the bar’s terrible light, but it’s clear enough to be fit for purpose.
The word online pops up briefly under Aiden’s name almost instantly after I send it, turning the ticks on the message blue before disappearing again.
I lean back in my seat and sigh as I stare out the dark window.
Well, at least tonight can’t get any more disappointing.