Chapter Three
“So, tell me about yourself,” the golden-haired man sitting before her asked.
They had been on this so-called date for all of five minutes and Olivia already felt like rolling her eyes. It was a Saturday, and after a week of scrolling and swiping, she had humoured Danielle’s idea of getting online and meeting men.
All in the name of research. She had been surprised when she woke the next morning to find a string of matches waiting in her inbox.
Her swiping session had been more successful than she realised.
Knowing that over ninety-nine men in her surrounding area had ‘liked’ her made her stomach churn with a guilty plummet.
After two coffees, one for the caffeine, and one for the taste, she’d opened the first message and taken a deep breath.
This is research, she’d convinced herself as she aimlessly swiped. Sad and debilitating research.
She chose a suitable Italian bistro with a promising menu of small appetisers and decent wine where she would be content to stay for several hours.
The restaurant and bar with its unlimited breadsticks was the perfect spot to meet the men, fishermen, farmers and suits alike that she had reluctantly swiped on.
It’s all for the greater good, she had thought last night while huddled on the Sherpa rug on her living room floor between her sofa and the small glass coffee table, this time with a glass of Merlot in hand.
It’s not unethical at all, even if it’s only been a year. A year since him.
The first man arrived fifteen minutes late and with an apparent ruby-red smear of lipstick on the side of his collar. Classy.
Was Olivia in the game for finding real authentic love with Jim from south London, whose hobbies, according to his dating profile bio, were: doing you *winky face*? Olivia visibly cringed at the memory. No. Absolutely not.
So how could she blame him for arriving at their mechanical-seeming date, completely unashamed of his adulterous nature, when he clearly wasn’t interested in committed, authentic love either?
In all honesty, she had to give him some props.
At least he’d got some. And… she needed a vice.
Something to help her dig herself out of this writing rut and back on track to writing an unforgettable male lead.
That wasn’t in question. Hannah never failed to drive the threat of the deadline deep under Olivia’s skin every time she opened her emails.
She had to meet it, and this was the quickest, and least morally grey way to do so.
She was willing to try almost anything to help her cause.
Almost. Note the keyword there.
Glancing at the man now sitting before her, all dishevelled and lanky, with thick-rimmed glasses hanging low on his nose, she politely smiled before recalling the brief and to-the-point monologue she had prepared in response to this very particular and standard question. “Well, I’m an author—”
“Wow! That’s amazing,” the man interrupted, leaning back in his chair and puffing out his chest. His buggy blue eyes met hers in unsettling eye contact.
Olivia blushed at the compliment, tucking a strand of her hair away from her face. It was not often she received such positive feedback about her career path. The kind words allowed her to brush over the interruption. “Thank you, I—”
“You know, when I was younger, I used to want to be a karate sensei.” The man, whose name she had already forgotten, reached up and adjusted his glasses with bony fingers.
Olivia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, I loved the idea of it. Seemed badass.” He paused, taking a long swig of the drink before him. The ice cubes sloshed and clanged obnoxiously in the small glass as he sipped.
After a few moments, Olivia smiled once more, unsure if he was going to continue speaking or if that was the end of that topic. “How did you get into karate then?”
This conversation was about as interesting as yesterday’s pop culture news.
Aka, tedious. Worse, in fact, than the third man she had met, an hour ago, who kept rambling about moving to Germany to become a farmer.
The curly-haired ginger had gone on and on about earning enough money to afford a combine harvester. At least he had goals.
A few more beats of silence were shared. Olivia glanced at her date before reaching over and grabbing a breadstick from the wicker basket to the left side of the table and nibbling on the crust. “Did you ever—?”
“Oh, God no,” he interrupted once again. “I’ve never set foot in a dojo in my life.”
Olivia pursed her lips with irritation. That was that. She decided she couldn’t take any more. She liked to think of herself as a patient person, but one could only put up with so much. With a deep sigh, she leaned down and pulled out her shamrock notebook, clicking the top of her pen.
When she had contacted Hannah the previous night regarding her speed dating mission, she had said three things. “Be brave. Be ruthless. Write that man.”
It fuelled Olivia’s mission. Find her leading man. Just write him.
Olivia felt remorseful for crossing their names out of her notebook, but why take up any more precious time? With June only two months away, it was a precious and holy commodity she couldn’t bear to waste. Her leading man simply could not wait.
“What’s that?” the man asked, eyes coming together in confusion.
Olivia interrupted him by drawing a sharp, emphasised line through his name on the paper. Looking up, she gestured to the waiter and asked for another generous glass of red. “I’m so sorry, Jake…”
“Jett.”
“Jett.” Olivia gave him an apologetic smile. “But we seem to be out of time.”
“Out of time?” His confusion was bundled up into three lines on his forehead.
She held up a palm, pausing his objection. Yes, it was rude. But at this point, she didn’t care. “Yes. Out of time.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on his. “Look, I’m not here to waste my time or yours. So, I’ll cut to the chase.”
Be ruthless. Olivia prepared herself with another deep breath. Just do it. Like ripping off a plaster.
Jett let out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down his face and scratching the small scruff along his jaw. “But—”
“No buts. We’ve been sitting here for all of fifteen minutes, and you’ve interrupted me every time I’ve spoken. I’m very thankful you made the journey, but this will never work.”
He began to protest, his hand curling up to tug on his tie, “You can’t just—”
Be brave, be ruthless. The only way she would get through the ethics of the night was to take off her cloak of caution and instead adorn the armour Hannah had provided.
“Oh, but I can, Jett.” Olivia lifted her hand up and gestured towards the door. “Have a safe journey home.”
His eyes flitted around the restaurant in embarrassment, cheeks reddening at her candour. Mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. God. You would think that she’d just broken his heart.
Olivia folded her napkin, smiling as the waiter returned with the bottle of red, filling her glass as requested.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Jett stood, pushing away from the crisp white linen table and out of the plush blue velvet seat before making his way out of the establishment with some murmurs that she knew were derogatory and offensive remarks about her.
She had been as ruthless as she could be and would be lying if she said there wasn’t something powerful about watching a fully grown man stomp out of a dining establishment like a toddler throwing a tantrum in the playground because she had told him no.
After all, that’s what this Italian bistro was, for the next few hours. Her playground. She had come on this speed dating mission with intent. And Lord help her if she let a five-foot-five man with no social awareness ruin that for her.
“So, I told him, you haven’t seen anything yet!”
Meet Brad. Thirty-one years old. Can often be found sneaking alcohol to minors at music festivals and pretending he’s still twenty-one.
Aka, a real catch.
Olivia had swiped on him in an attempt to broaden her search net.
He was nowhere near what she considered her type. No, hers was tall, dark and handsome.
Instead, Brad reminded her of her best friend’s ex.
Blond and with a questionable intelligence quotient.
Olivia had hypothesised that to achieve her goal of finding her leading man, she’d have to go on a few questionable drink dates. Maybe even kiss a few frogs. And she was prepared. With breadsticks and peppermint chewing gum from the Tesco Metro around the corner.
“What happened next?” Olivia feigned enthusiasm, humouring the man-boy sitting across from her.
“I fucking KO-D him, man!” Brad leaned back, slapping his hand heavily on the table.
Olivia felt the knock on her forearms and winced as the sound of cutlery rattling echoed around the small bistro. If no one had been looking at their table before, they sure were now.
Olivia picked up the shaken metal utensils, realigning the knife on her napkin.
Did he just call me man? She let out her own laugh, one of disbelief and, dare she admit it, a little embarrassment.
Man. Olivia was unsure if she had just been unconsciously friend-zoned or if it was just a strange, surfer-slang thing he had going on.
London was nowhere near the sea, and on the coast, deep-water fishermen were the closest thing you’d find to California-esque surfers.
There was most likely only a small group of surfers who would brave the English Channel or sea. At the very least, not many would be caught dead wearing the fluorescent Hawaiian printed shirt that loudly adorned Brad’s slight beer belly and hairy chest.
Still laughing, Olivia leaned down and grabbed the notebook once more. “Oh, Brad…”
From the outside you might have glanced Olivia’s way and thought one of two things.