Page 91 of Intoxicated
Chapter 30
CHER
High above my head flutters colorful flags. The stereo plays luau music that I’ve heard a hundred times before. Tiki torches are alit, and every other bastard in this place is wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt they took out of their closet for this occasion.
This is where Brian has decided to take me for our sixth date.
Oh, yes, I’ve been counting. Six dates. Our first date was at one of the mid-scale chain Italian restaurants. Hey, I got oysters in my pasta anddidn’thave to pay for it, but the wine left much to be desired. For new money men, though, that’s a safe first date bet. Most women find Italian restaurants utterly romantic. They’re also impressed when a tech guy is willing to spend fifty bucks on their booze and meals. I dressed up in my most summery sundress and wedges, and he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Brian paid for my Lyft home, and didn’t so much as kiss me on the cheek. He kissed me on the hand, instead.
Since then, every date has been a “trip around the world.” Our second date was at a Mexican taqueria near his place in the Pearl. Our third was dim sum near my place. Ethiopian. Vietnamese. Now we’re sampling Hawaiian barbecue with rum filling our glasses.
Did you guess whether Brian’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt? My goodness, that’smuchtoo easy. We’re going to step it up a notch and make you figure out which color it is. Go on. You can peek through your fingers now. Ignore me in my black jumper and heavy sunglasses that blot out the July sunlight. I’m nowhere near as garish as the man sitting across from me.
What color did you guess? Are you surprised that it’s bright baby blue with white and green parrots? Me neither! Let’s toast to our observant genius.
“Are you going to eat that?” he asks, gesturing to the rest of the food on my plate. I don’t have much taste for barbecue, but we’re still early enough in this relationship that I try not to rock the boat. You see, I’ve pinned down this man’s exact type. Oh, I already figured it out before. He likes the girl-next-door. The flirty, happy chica who is the definition of feminine and isn’t afraid to flaunt it. I played that hand right from the beginning, because the most important thing was roping Brian into thinking I’ll be his perfect match.
Now I know who hereallylikes.
Brian’s perfect woman isn’t only flirty. She’s a bit naïve, so her flirtations don’t always land, or she acts a bit more demure than anyone anticipates. She’s inexperienced. She may not be a virgin, but whatever guys she’s been with before meant alotto her. She doesn’t jump right into bed with anyone, you see. She takes her time, and in a culture obsessed with one-night stands, that says something about her character. (Gag.) So, on one hand, it’s been nice to not have the demand for sex shoved down my throat right away. Brian’s an okay-looking guy, but I can already tell he’s “all right” in bed. He won’t give me anything I really need, but considering what happened with That Other Guy, it’s probably for the best that I rebound with a boring tech dude who squeaks when he comes and can’t go for more than fifteen minutes,tops.
Not that I would know for sure yet. Since Brian is all about the demure, naïve maiden, we haven’t slept together. I go to Orgasmtopia with the new vibrator I bought myself in the wake of You-Like-Being-A-Slut-Apocalypse, but those are solo trips. Usually with me stopping halfway through because I thought ofhimand can’t do it anymore.
What a great fucking feeling.
“I’m full, thanks.” My elbow touches the table, and my chin rests in my hand. Ukulele continues to shred above me. Brian helps himself to my leftovers, and I look away before he chows down like a dog at dinnertime. “You know I don’t have the biggest appetite.”
“That’s the thing about you skinny girls,” Brian says with a mouthful of food. “You eat like birds. Bet you don’t know how pretty you really are…”
I feign a bashful smile and twirl my hair around my finger. I’m so used to pulling this off that I don’t think about it. Yay.
Ugh. Send help. I’m utterly dead inside.
You see, it doesn’t matter how used to this I am. Years of playing the dream girlfriend is starting to take its toll, I guess. I dunno what caused it. Was it my brief relationship with Drew? Realizing that I could probably be as happy on my own than with someone perfectly made for me? Having that taste of the shit Ireallylike for a short time? Dealing with men has me in such a tizzy lately that I’m this close to calling things off with Brian. Mostly because I can’t stand him.
Look at him. He’s got food in his teeth. I can tell, because he’s chewing with his mouth open. It’s only a matter of time before he wipes his mouth with his napkin and slams the cloth down on the table. I’ll get to see that big barbecue stain for the rest of our dinner in this kitschy place that makes me want to scream.
Oh, I’m sorry, itreally entrances me,because I’m enthralled with every place he takes me. Doesn’t help that every restaurant we’ve visited has brought with it questions about my travel experience. With a guy like this, I don’t know if I should be truthful and tell him I’ve been to Hawaii, Italy, and Mexico. (Prestonreally lovedMexico. It got him the most bang for his buck. In so many ways.) If I tell him I’m well-traveled, he may chip away who I am and figure out how many men I’ve been with. I’ve already told him that my parents aren’t that rich, so it’s not like we traveled everywhere and then some when I was a kid. On the flipside, he may get excited to have a potential travel companion who doesn’t need his constant handholding. Thenagain,this guy loves his mansplaining and handholding. He’s already explained my own phone to me three times. I thought he told me he wasn’t an app guy!
“So, about Hawaii…” Brian winks at me as soon as he swallows. Here comes the napkin. Ah, yes, on his mouth. Boom. Back on the table with a giant smudge of no discernible color. “Everyone goes to Maui because of the great marketing campaign, but if you ask me, Big Island is where it’s at. Been there a couple of times. Got this great deal on a resort room through a…”
Yay. A spiel about timeshares. Specifically, how they’renotall that bad! (Meanwhile, every old-money man of wealth I’ve dated made sure I knew what a raw deal timeshares are. You should’ve heard Preston go on about his parents getting sucked into an Alaskan one when he was a kid. An Alaskan cruise timeshare. How does that work? He couldn’t tell me, so I’m genuinely asking.)
“I’ve been to Maui, yeah,” I offer. “But not to Big Island.”
