Page 39 of Perfect Date
He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants, with a simple white button up shirt rolled up at the elbows. It’s his typical look of choice, but he wears it well that’s for damn sure. His black shiny shoes flash in the light and suddenly looking at them makes me realize I totally just looked at him from head to toe.
Looking back at his face now, I see it’s filled with concern mixed with relief, but I can’t help but feel annoyed, “Well yeah,I’mhere. I’ve been here. Too bad for you, I was just leaving.”
I pull my arm away from him and spin around, determined to leave. All of the emotions regarding being stood up that I’ve been submerging come to the surface and I’m intensely annoyed, and feeling justifiably so.
“Wait, please,” he begs and takes my elbow. “Please, Charlie, let me explain and then if you still want to go, I understand.”
Turning back toward him and looking into his eyes convinces me to pause so I nod slightly, and he leads me away from the dance floor. It’s only then that I feel my pulse race and the adrenaline surge from my emotions and realize I may have just screamed at him above the music
Somehow he manages to find a place for us to sit, which is impressive given the place seems to have gotten even more crowded, but upon a quick scan, I become aware of just how huge this place is. Now that we’re over on this side of the room, I see there’s also another, albeit smaller, bar close to this offset seating area as well. Waitresses walk from table to table taking orders.
He holds out a chair for me like a gentleman, which is nice, but I refuse to soften. And not sure I will. Time will tell.
Once we’re seated, he says, “I tried to call you. Over and over again. I knew you wouldn’t be able to hear it though, it’s so loud in here. I was hoping you’d check it when you knew I was late and see I’d tried to call. I sent a bunch of texts too.”
Oh man, it’s my fault he couldn’t reach me. I don’t tell him that yet, though. I’m still not sure why he was running late. He practically explodes with his explanation.
“There was a multi-vehicle accident, not far from my place and I was trapped for what felt like forever. There was literally nothing I could do other than wait until I could get through. I really am sorry. I promise that’s why.” He digs his phone out of his pants pocket, “I’ll see if I can… find it in the local news or something,” and begins tapping at his screen.
Finally, I stop him.
“It’s okay, I believe you. And you couldn’t reach me because I forgot my phone at home.”
“You, what?”
“I didn’t realize until I was almost here that I left it at home. I don’t know how I did that, but it’s why I never got a call or text. I only even realized the time because I asked someone.”
“I-“ he begins but we’re interrupted when a waitress appears at our table.
“Hi, I’m Laney,” she smiles widely, especially when her gaze sets on Justin. “Can I get you two something to drink?”
“What would you like?” he asks eyes only on me. Which is quite impressive if I do say so myself. Our waitress is dressed in a tight crop top, under little suspenders, connected to very short shorts. Fishnet stockings cover her legs and she’s got on heels so high I can’t imagine how her feet aren’t hurting like crazy and that they must be intolerable at the end of the night.
A little mini hat covers her shiny red hair, and it has a little tiny bit of netting that covers the top of her eyes just enough to give her a look of mystery. It’s pretty cute, to be honest, and the red and black of her get up totally goes along with the whole mood this place is throwing off.
“I’ll take a whiskey sour, please.”
She nods at me kindly, then looks back at him, “And you?”
“I’ll take an Old Fashioned, please.”
“Would you like that with bourbon or whiskey?”
“I’ll copy the lady and get whiskey, please.”
“You’ve got it.”
She turns to take care of our orders, and his eyes are back on me. “I’ve never been so frustrated in my life. Trying to call you, not being able to reach you, not able to move on the road. I was sweating it out. I knew, just knew, you got here early too.”
I look away and try to hide a smile.
“You did, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Yes, of course,” I shrug. “I always do. I can’t help it.”
“Damn it, I really am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I shrug.
