Don't Fall For The Guy Next Door: A Sweet Romcom

1. Theresa

Theresa eyed her date cautiously, trying to decide if his hair was the unfortunate victim of a bad round of hair implants or a toupee that desperately needed to be thrown off the peak of a volcanic crater.

She stifled a yawn and tried to focus on what the man had been talking about for the last fifteen minutes. He was at least forty years older than her, old enough to be her grandfather. Or even great-grandfather. They had almost nothing in common.

“And then, after the eighteenth hole, he told me that his wife sued him for everything and won. Said he couldn’t afford the payment on his vacation house. So I called my lawyer the next day and made a low-ball offer on the property and added it to my collection.”

She tried to look interested as he continued rambling about ways he’d taken advantage of other people to build his own wealth, but someone at the table behind Gene caught her attention for the tenth time that evening. A man, much closer to her age than Gene, sat with a small group of people. One of his companions, probably his brother, shared some of his physical features. A pretty woman who could be the brother’s wife or girlfriend held hands with the brother, and an older couple laughed in response to something the brother said.

A family sharing a meal at a nice restaurant. So normal, almost cliché.

But that wasn’t the part that irritated her the most. The guy kept tilting his head in her direction, shooting discreet looks her way, like someone would when they were trying to eavesdrop on another person’s conversation.

Her date, Gene, leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips tipped up in a smug smile, his large stomach sticking out. “It was like taking candy from a baby. But even better because he called me after the sale, furious. Guess he learned his lesson after taking away my tee-time last month.”

Another story finished, another admiring response expected from her. Ignoring the man at the next table, Theresa tossed her head back, letting her blonde shoulder-length hair that she’d spent two hours styling for the evening fall over her shoulders, and made a small laugh. She reached out her perfectly manicured hand and picked up the stem of her water glass. She shook her head as if he’d said something riveting and raised her glass towards him. “That’s a wonderful story.”

He smirked, clearly pleased with her response, while she took a tiny sip of water. “You know,” he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, “I’m thinking of checking out the new vacation home next weekend. You could come with me.”

From the look on his face and the way his eyes moved greedily across her face, he was not suggesting a quick trip out of town with separate bedrooms for each of them. She tried not to gag as a shiver went down her spine.

The eavesdropping man at the next table nearly spit out his drink and looked at her. For the first time that evening, their eyes met briefly, sending a very different sensation through her body.

Theresa tore her gaze away first. “That sounds amazing. But I have a personal policy. No sex before marriage.”

The man at the next table frowned slightly, while Gene smiled even broader, showing off his teeth that looked unnaturally white and straight for someone in his mid-seventies. Probably veneers or dentures. She couldn’t tell which.

“I have an excellent lawyer. He can write up the prenup this week and we can get a ring on your finger by Friday.” A fleck of spit landed on her cheek as he spoke. The first time she’d been offered a ring and rushed wedding surprised her, but now, she realized it was all part of the process for the men who regularly dated on the website catering to rich older men and young, broke women.

She tilted her head carefully and raised one hand to her mouth, barely touching her lips to avoid messing up her lipstick. “Aren’t you so sweet? If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go freshen up.”

Grabbing her purse, she tried to look graceful and poised as she walked away from the table. Her black dress clung to her hips, showing off her curves and accentuating all her best features, but all the confidence she’d felt at her apartment had vanished.

This man was the worst date so far. Not only was he far too old for her, but they had nothing in common. Nothing.

But she was desperate. And he had money.

As soon as she reached the bathroom, she entered the first vacant stall and took out her phone, calling her best—and only—friend Emily.

Emily answered on the first ring. “How’s the date going?”

“I think he just proposed.” She whispered the words, like saying them out loud would make the situation even more pathetic.

“Love at first sight?” Emily’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“More like lust at first sight. He immediately proposed after I told him I wouldn’t go away with him for a weekend of passion.”

“Ew. What a creep.”

“You should have heard the stories he was telling me before all that happened. He’s horrible. What do I do?”

“Are you still on the date?”

“We’ve only had appetizers so far. And he’s had three drinks.” He”d been snapping his fingers to get the servers’ attention, pointing to his glass instead of asking politely for a refill, and acting like she disappointed him when she refused anything stronger than water.

“Ugh. Make up an excuse and leave.”

“I can’t. If I do, I could get kicked off the dating app. The whole point of the app is to give the other person an entire date and not make any quick judgments.”

Theresa heard a snort over the other end of the phone. “The whole point of the app is to set up creepy rich old men with younger trophy wives. I don’t understand why you keep going on dates through the app.”

“You know I need to find someone rich. I’m not like you.”

“You say that, but you have a good career. You don’t need help from anyone.”

They’d had this conversation before, but Emily didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand, really, since there were parts of Theresa’s life that weren’t meant to be shared. Theresa’s nursing job covered her bills and a little extra, but she needed more. Much more. More than a second part-time job would pay.

“My advice is to end the date, get off that trophy-wife app, and start dating guys your own age.”

Someone walked into the bathroom, so Theresa whispered into her phone again. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

She hung up the phone and exited the stall, tucking her phone into her purse before letting out a yelp.

The man from the table next to hers stood in front of her—in the women’s bathroom.

She grabbed the handle of her purse and swung her bag at him, hitting him squarely in the stomach repeatedly.

“Get out of here, you pervert! This is the women’s room!”

He turned with an ”Oof,” putting his back to her as he wrapped his arms around his middle and hunched over. She hit him in the back a few more times with her purse until he managed to reach out and grab a strap.

He yanked her purse from her grasp and held up his hands in surrender. Her purse dangled from his right hand.

She reached up for it, but at her height, slightly over five feet tall, she couldn’t reach it. He towered over her. Must have been well over six feet tall with no geriatric hunch to his spine to bring his height closer to hers.

“Easy, tiger.” He continued holding up the purse while he caught his breath after the beating she’d given him. His dirty-blond hair was slightly tousled from her attack but somehow looked even better than it had when he’d sat at the table next to hers. The grey button-up shirt he wore with black pants brought out the steely blue in his eyes.

Theresa crossed her arms and debated stomping on his foot with the four-inch heel of her shoe. “This is the last time I ask. Give me my purse, and get out of the women’s bathroom before I call the police.”

His hand remained high in the air. “Answer a question for me and I’ll return your purse.”

“Fine.”

“When did they put urinals in the women’s bathroom?”

Theresa’s mouth popped open as she looked over her shoulder at the urinals on the back wall. Heat rose in her cheeks as she realized her mistake. She blocked her eyes with her hand so she wouldn’t see anything she didn’t want to see. “Fine. Sorry I beat you up.”

“You didn’t beat me up.” He let out a short chuckle at the suggestion that he’d been hurt.

“Fine. Purse. Now.” She held her hand out farther, praying that no other men would walk into the bathroom before she could escape.

“You seem like you’re in a hurry to get back to your grandfather.”

“Ew, gross. You know he’s my date. I saw you listening in on our conversation.” Not that she was staring at him.

“Just trying to figure out what you saw in a man like him.”

“It’s called getting to know someone instead of judging them on their looks.”

“Hope you aren’t too in love with him.”

“Why? Are you going to ask me out instead?” The words slipped out, not in a sexy, flirty manner, but in a sarcastic snipe. Of course he wouldn’t date her. He was too good-looking and normal. He had a family. A brother, sister-in-law, and parents who would choose to sit at a table with him in a nice restaurant for hours. A normal person with a normal life. Guys like him wouldn’t last long around someone like her. They’d quickly regret dating her once they realized how messy and broken she was.

Guys like Gene, on the other hand, didn’t care.

But her question remained unanswered, an awkward silence floating in the air between them. She hadn’t asked a guy out on a date for years, and it’d been even longer since she’d dated someone close to her own age.

But all the old guys she dated used to be young. Maybe the man in front of her had money, lots of it, and wouldn’t care about anything other than her looks? She didn’t have anything else to offer, after all. At twenty-eight years old, she was still young enough to play the part of a trophy wife. But the clock was ticking. The trophy-wife dating app removed any women from its database once they turned thirty.

She peeked out from between her fingers, looking at his wrist to see if he wore an expensive watch.

“Sorry, I have a girlfriend.” He shifted his weight, looking sheepish. Awkward. “But I thought you should know that the guy you’re here with?—”

“Gene.” She said her date’s name absently, trying not to feel any sting of disappointment that the purse-grabber had a girlfriend. Of course he would. She wasn’t interested in him, anyway. Was he attractive? Yes. But good looks wouldn’t pay for what she needed.

“Gene just propositioned one of the female servers. The manager’s at the table now, kicking him out for sexual harassment. You might want to wait a few more minutes or see if they can sneak you out the backdoor. My brother and I can walk you to your car, or stay with you while you wait for a taxi. That guy looks old, but he could still overpower someone like you.”

Why couldn’t she find a rich older man who didn’t want more than one younger, attractive girlfriend and wasn’t such a creep? If she got kicked off the dating app because Gene reported her for not finishing the date, then what?

“Here.” He lowered the purse so she could reach it, offering a small, genuine smile that looked so kind she couldn’t help but smile in return. Not the practiced, rehearsed smile she gave her dates, but one of those rare smiles that come naturally.

Purse in hand, he stared at her expectantly until another realization washed over her. She was still in the men’s room, and he obviously came in here for a reason. She covered her face again, this time with her bag, and inched towards the door. “Thanks again, er, bye.”

He chuckled quietly. “I suggest you ask any employee to let you out the back door.”

“Right.” She pulled the door open and made her first escape of the night.

Life wasn”t fair.

As soon as she left the men’s bathroom, the pity party for one started. Reality sunk in. A cute guy talking to her, watching out for her, caring about her was a dream. A fantasy. Something that would never last for more than a brief moment.

Reality looked different. Sneaking out the back door of a restaurant, walking past a visibly shaken waitress with eyes red and puffy from crying, muttering an apology for an offense she didn’t commit, and standing in a dark, creepy alley wearing uncomfortably high and overpriced heels . . . that was real life.

Stench from the rotting food in the nearby dumpster burned her nostrils as she stepped carefully down the alley, scanning the shadows ahead. A loud, choking cough sounded from the opposite side of the dumpster, followed by someone spitting loudly.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she curled her fingers into fists and held them up in front of her face, the way she’d been trained to do in self-defense classes. The door to the restaurant had locked behind her, so the only choices available were to return and pound on that door, hoping someone would let her in, or risk continuing down the length of the alley.

She’d taken three steps back when a figure, dressed in a tattered jacket and loose pants, stepped away from the dumpster. She relaxed her shoulders, realizing she recognized figure. “What are you doing here, Jake?” She sighed. She wanted to be mad at him for scaring her, but knew it would not be worth it. “I spent weeks working out the arrangement with that market, getting all sorts of signatures, talking to local homeless outreach centers. You know you don’t have to eat out of the dumpster. Wait until midnight, then go to the market on seventh street. They”ll give you some food.”

She knew her faults. She knew how selfish, shallow, broken, and toxic she was. She knew how people around her suffered just by being near her. But this was one thing she’d been proud of, one thing that helped her sleep at night and take an edge off her guilt. Knowing that every evening around midnight, the seventh street grocery store set out any food they could no longer sell on tables in the back alley instead of throwing it away.

“They poison that food.”

“They don”t. But I can guarantee that anything you find in that dumpster will make you sick.”

He pulled his head out of the dumpster and walked towards her, wiping his hands off on his pants. “Gonna rain tonight. Can feel it in my bones.”

Theresa looked at the sky. Not a cloud in sight. “You want a ride to the shelter?”

“Which one?” he eyed her suspiciously.

“The one on tenth street. There”s a food kitchen next door to it.”

“They put poison in their food?”

“No.”

He stared at her without blinking for longer than should be possible. Finally, he broke out into a gummy smile. “Could use some food. Haven”t eaten for a few days.”

Theresa sighed a breath of relief. “My car”s on the other side of the building. Let”s go.”

She started walking down the length of the alley, no longer scared of the shadows. Jake fell into place next to her, limping slightly. They walked in silence until they reached her car.

She motioned for him to climb into the passenger side while she walked around to the driver”s side. The stench of body odor mixed with dumpster fumes—and who knew what else—made her stomach turn. She rolled down the car windows before closing her door.

Less than five minutes later, Theresa pulled up in front of the food bank and shelter on Tenth Street, where a small, unorganized line had already formed on the sidewalk. Several figures looked familiar, but none of them were the one she needed to find.

Jake unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door, closing it without saying goodbye. He looked at the small crowd and wandered down the street, away from the guaranteed warm meal and place to sleep for the night.

She shouldn”t have been surprised. But the annoyance swept over her anyway. She practically hand delivered him everything he”d need for a comfortable night, and he turned his back and walked away. One of these days?—

“Hey there, Theresa.” The loud voice pulled her out of her thoughts. A large man with mildly better hygiene than Jake peered in through the passenger window.

“Curly, it”s been a while. Where have you been?”

“Here and there. Had some things to do. People to see.”

“Did you?—?”

He shook his head before she even managed to say the words. “No sign of her. Will keep looking.”

“Do you still have the picture?”

He patted his chest pocket confidently. “Got any gum?”

She opened the center console of her car and pulled out the pack of gum she”d been saving for the past three weeks. “Here you go.”

“My favorite. Thanks. See you around, Theresa.”

He walked away from her car and leaned up against the building at the end of the growing line for the food bank, which wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes.

The line looked longer these days, but that wasn’t her problem. Not tonight. On the drive over, she’d noticed two of her nails were broken. Probably casualties from when she attacked the man in the bathroom.

She needed an emergency manicure. A pedicure too, after walking down a gross alleyway in her heels. Her regular nail salon was about a mile away and open for another hour.

No one could expect her to sacrifice a professional manicure and pedicure tonight. Especially since she had three more dates with rich guys tomorrow morning. These dates were coffee dates, quick ones, which meant she wouldn’t have to spend hours with any of them. With any luck, she also wouldn’t find herself in the alley behind the coffee shop either.

But no man would spend more than five minutes on a date with her if she looked like she belonged with the people standing on the sidewalk, waiting for their one warm meal of the day.

Besides, she deserved something good after putting up with Gene’s rambling stories and bad breath for the short duration of their date. Asking her to sacrifice a manicure and pedicure was too much.

Decision made, she put the car in gear and hit the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, causing several of the people waiting on the sidewalk to look at her. Curly lifted his hand in a kind wave from his position toward the end of the line.

No, she deserved a night of self-care. She needed it. Dating might be a fun hobby for some people her age, but she took her future seriously. People were counting on her. She needed to make up for past mistakes, needed to make things right for the people she’d let down years ago. She’d failed her mother and her sister, and spending the night at the food bank wouldn’t help them, not now. A rich husband, offering her unlimited funds and unlimited means for taking care of them, was the priority.

She made the mistake of taking one last glimpse in the rearview mirror as she drove away.

Muttering a curse under her breath, she turned the steering wheel and drove around the block, parking her car in the familiar alley behind the food kitchen and pulling a spare set of sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt out of her trunk.

The emergency nail repair kit at home would have to suffice for tomorrow, assuming she hadn’t already been blacklisted from the dating app after the horrific end to her date with Gene.

She yanked open the heavy metal door to the food kitchen, the familiar smells of cooking food wafting over her immediately.

“Cherie, I”m here,” she yelled to the woman dashing frantically from the food prep area to the serving stations. “This better not take all night,” she muttered under her breath.