Chapter 15
“Emma!” Alexander says, getting out of his car to approach me.
He’s gotten a haircut since the double date, and his blond hair is slightly shorter, making him look less boyish-surfer and more adult-man. His grin lights up his face, revealing startlingly white teeth. Much to my surprise, I find myself smiling back at him.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice rumbly as he pulls me into a hug, my cheek pressed against the crisp cotton of his button-down. Despite being in the middle of the city, he smells like a beach, which is more than a little appealing to my Floridian heart.
“Alexander! You look nice yourself !” I say, miraculously managing to keep my tone light despite the simmering anger and gnawing guilt right beneath the surface. As he pulls out of the hug, I thank him for coming to pick me up.
“Of course. The restaurant is just a short drive,” he says, opening the passenger door for me.
“Oh? Where are we going?”
He smiles mischievously at me once he’s settled back into the driver’s seat, his ocean-colored eyes lighting up in a way that is not not appealing. “Okay, so it’s this new place where—hear me out—you eat in complete darkness. You’re blindfolded, so you can’t see the food you’re eating.”
A stray giggle escapes out of me. “Weird, but I’m down!”
When we arrive at the restaurant ten minutes later, a waiter greets us and walks us through the dining experience. After we choose our meals, the waiter guides us to our table, then pulls out two black strips of fabric as we sit down.
The setting is already dark as it is—not completely dark but lit-by-fake-candlelight dark. There are long, flickering shadows all over, and it’s unnerving enough that I’m almost glad I’ll be forced to keep my eyes closed the entire time.
“Ready?” the waiter asks. We nod, and Alexander reaches out and takes one of the blindfolds.
“I’ve got hers,” he says, standing up and walking to my side of the table.
“Oh—” I sputter out. “Oh, okay, go ahead.” I tilt my head down so he can tie the back.
As he knots it, he leans down, and I hear his quiet words right in my ear. “Do you like being blindfolded?”
I gulp.
“Oh, um, yes, it’ll make the food so much more interesting,” I rasp. But if Alexander can tell I’m flustered, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he lets out a low chuckle against the back of my neck. Chills run down my spine, and I’m not sure whether they’re the good kind or the bad kind.
I shake it off.
He steps backward, leaving cold air in his place as he returns to his seat. I hear the rustling of fabric as the waiter blindfolds him.
If you say you’re not ready, then why are you going on this date?
Jo’s words ring through my mind during the brief lull in conversation.
You can’t keep using this as an excuse to not be with someone you actually care about.
Oh, yeah? Well, who’s to say this perfectly nice, handsome young man in front of me couldn’t become someone I care about?
And so, for the next hour, I chat with Alexander, who, as it turns out, is a pleasant date.
Maybe I would’ve known that if I had even remotely paid attention to him during our first dinner.
We fall into easy conversation, exchanging stories over drinks and food.
Alexander tells me about his childhood in Maryland, his new consulting job, and his cat, Buster.
“That’s a dog name,” I tell him.
“Correct,” he agrees. “That’s why it’s funny.”
He asks me about my childhood in Florida, about how my adjustment to a new city has been, and about my new job.
Not being able to see anything takes some of the pressure off; I’m not constantly fixing my hair or worrying whether I’m chewing grossly.
I’m not reminded by his looks that he’s out of my league and has probably had sex with two hundred women.
This is exactly what I need to get everything else out of my mind.
But why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m cheating on someone I’m not even dating?
You two have been pining for each other since the moment you met.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, switching topics. “Was it the eggplant parm that did them in?”
I stare blankly at him. Or rather, I stare at a black blob in the general direction of his voice.
“Steph. And Harrison? The eggplant parm? That they fought over in the restaurant?”
“Oh, uh—”
“I mean, he was being an asshole.”
“Was he? I think he was just trying to not cause problems.”
“Making Steph talk to the waiter on his behalf is asshole behavior. And is definitely causing problems.”
I run through the memory in my mind, baffled. “Were we at the same dinner table?”
He ignores me. “Anyway. Seems like she can do better. I’m guessing he didn’t have much game in college, either?”
“I don’t know anything about his dating life in college.” Fact check: false.
“Well. What a crazy night. Worst double date I’ve ever been on.” Fact check: true.
I take a long swig of wine, finishing my glass. “Well, thanks for taking a chance on a second date.” (Am I thankful? I think so!) (I don’t know.)
“My pleasure,” he says. “What’s your overall impression of blindfolded dating?”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t see me trying to blindly get this pasta onto my fork.”
Alexander lets out a low laugh. I smile, fully aware he still can’t see it. Maybe if I smile enough, I’ll convince myself I’m having a good time. Which I am! I think! Does that mean it’s a good date?
It feels harder to measure how successful dates are when there’s no possibility of going home together afterward.
After we take off our blindfolds, I take a quick trip to the bathroom to make sure my eye makeup hasn’t smeared all over my face.
Leaning over the counter and staring into the mirror, I use a tissue to gently wipe away the mascara residue pooling under my eyes.
Miraculously, my hair still falls in well-formed waves around my face, and once my makeup is fixed, I’m back to being a bombshell.
I’m going to have to let Jo pick my outfits more often.
Me and you? We’re just friends. Whatever’s going on between you and Harrison is something completely different, and it always has been.
I can do this. I have gone on a normal date with an above-average guy, had a pleasant conversation, and have not embarrassed myself. I’m half an hour away from checking off another Do Better task.
I walk back to the entryway of the restaurant, trying not to run into any blindfolded patrons. Alexander waits for me by the exit, his hands casually in his pockets. The way he studies me, taking in my every move as I walk back, makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.
But I shake it off. Again.
“Ready?” he says, taking his hand out of his pocket and offering it to me.
I lace my fingers through his. “Let’s roll.”
Determined not to let my nerves or the weird feeling in my gut prevent me from ending on a high note, I flirt confidently on the short drive back to my apartment. I laugh at his jokes. I bat my eyelashes.
When we arrive at my apartment, he walks me to my door, my hand in his. I let go to dig my keys out of my purse. “Well, Alexander, this has been such a lovely night. Thank you again for dinner. That was such a fun idea.”
“You’re very welcome,” he says. His smile is so genuine, and the look in his eyes makes me feel so desired, and when his gaze flickers down to my mouth and back up to my eyes, I find myself charmed.
Or if not charmed, at least flattered. That’s how I’m supposed to feel, right?
That’s what happens when you say good night at the end of a nice date with someone.
A kiss wasn’t explicitly part of my Do Better list, but I think I earn bonus points if I go above and beyond, and lord knows I need the extra credit.
And so when he steps forward a few inches, and his gaze flickers to my mouth again, I smile, and I step forward a few inches, too. And when he closes the distance and presses his lips against mine briefly and chastely, I feel…
Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
He leans back, the look on his face restrained but undeniably hungry. I, too, feel an emptiness inside of me, but not in a hungry way. I feel an intense lack, an acknowledgment that I know what I need to do to feel fulfilled, but I’ve done the exact opposite.
I messed up, I realize. It hits me like a truck. I should’ve been doing something else tonight. With someone else.
“Thank you for a great night,” I say, taking a step back.
He takes a step forward, tilting his head so his lips are nearly brushing my ear. “Are you going to invite me in?” His voice is low and gravelly, making me shiver.
I stand my ground, attempting to show him with my body language that I’m going to stand firm. “I actually have an early morning tomorrow. So, this is where I leave you.”
His finger traces a line across my shoulder, then slips underneath the thin, silky strap of my dress. He pulls it away from my skin, runs his finger across the fabric, then lets it fall back onto my collarbone. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I think you should probably go,” I say quietly, still not moving.
“No need to play hard to get with me.” He slips his finger under my strap again. I flinch, but he makes no move to back off. “Come on, I know you want more than that one little kiss.”
He pulls his head away from my ear, but he’s still standing too close. His face is only inches away, and I can see every intention in his eyes.
It may not be his fault that this date was doomed to fail from the start, but it is certainly going to be his fault if this date ends with me blocking his number and telling him never to contact me again.
“Alexander,” I say, raising my voice slightly while I slip my keys between my fingers, sharp bits pointing out.
“I said no. One kiss does not entitle you to anything more. I said no, and I meant it, and I’m going inside now.
” I grit my teeth. “Thank you for dinner, but this is going to end here, at the door.”
He stares at me like he’s completely oblivious to my shift in tone. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Either way, he doesn’t move a single inch.
Until suddenly, he’s not standing still anymore.
“A final good night kiss, then, and then I’ll leave,” he says, stepping forward and reaching for the back of my head, trying to pull me in.
As he leans in, I startle backward, but that doesn’t stop him.
He keeps moving forward, and he looms over me, and I’m suddenly aware that he’s almost a foot taller than me, and I’m also aware that the only person who knows I had a date tonight is Jo, and she won’t be checking on me, and—
I knee him in the balls.
I knee him in the balls, exactly like I did that night freshman year when I needed to get out of a tricky situation fast. Of course, that first time, it was an accident. This time is very much on purpose. I cannot think of anyone who deserves this more, in fact.
“You BITCH,” he yelps, stumbling backward and crumpling in half.
“Get the FUCK away from me,” I scream.
He takes a gasping breath, unfurling himself, and I start to step back, but he steps back instead. “Thanks for nothing, slut,” he says, then limps off.
I stand on alert until his car is driving away, and then I fall to the ground, bringing my hand up over my mouth. My eyes are bugging out of their sockets, and when my lungs expand and deflate, I’m not sure if any oxygen is actually entering my body.
Inhale.
Exhale.
All I wanted was one normal, successful, wholesome date. That’s it. And it was ruined—but not because of my vagina. It was ruined because of a guy being a dick.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I walk inside and lock the door.