Page 9 of Perfect Date
“Yes! It’s supposedly all the rage.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m serious. Apparently, the secret is a hyaluronic acid in the formula. It’s supposed to give you a dewy glow. The snail mucus extract helps rejuvenate your skin and will reduce wrinkles and blemishes.”
“That’s disgusting. You didn’t try it did you?”
“Well, not yet, but I did order it. I bought you one too. Girls night?”
“No, absolutely not. I’m already giving you the benefit and taking your advice with dating. I’m not putting snail mucus anywhere near my skin.”
“Fine, but when I’m all dewy and glowy and gorgeous, you’ll be jealous.”
“Don’t worry, if I can survive my date the other night, somehow I’ll manage.”
* * *
Later that night I scroll through various messages I’ve received from other men through the dating profile messaging feature.
I’ve been having conversations with a few, and when Eric, a blonde haired, blue eyed ‘businessman’ asks me to meet him that weekend, I hesitate.
Clicking on his profile for yet another time I see the basics - likes to spend time with friends, watch movies, and loves football, especially the Cowboys because apparently, he grew up in Texas. That seems… normal enough.
Texas, hmm? I pause to envision our first encounter. I picture a jean clad, cowboy hat wearing wide shouldered male whose twinkling eyes connect with mine as he removes his hat, smiles widely, and slightly nods to acknowledge my presence. He’d call me ma’am in his deep southern drawl, and we’d sit together as he shares his love for his ranch, and his mama, who would disinherit him if he doesn’t treat a lady with respect.
As I snap back to reality, I give my imagination a quick giggle, admonish myself for such fantasy and stereotypical thinking, but quickly capture a flash of the possibility yet again, and sigh knowing I’m being silly, but also realizing there’s only one way to proceed.
I keep hearing Kimberly’s words in my head telling me this is a process. Rolling back my shoulders, then stretching my neck side to side, I shake off my hesitancy, take the plunge, and respond affirmatively.
In no time, he replies and asks me where we should meet. I hesitate briefly. Greedy Goose comes to mind immediately once again, but Justin also comes to mind and I feel unsure. Annoyed at the thought, I push it out of my mind, and consider three facts instead. Fact, Mason Creek is a gossip hub, and I want to increase my odds of privacy. Fact, I don’t want to run into people I work with or any of my patients and while it’s still a possibility I’ll see them in Rebel River, it’s less likely than if I stay in town. Fact, I like the Greedy Goose - the food and atmosphere is amazing. So Greedy Goose it is. And he agrees.
Satisfied and applauding my action, I relax and take a moment, and acknowledge the biggest fact of all. Perhaps the real truth. Justin enters my thoughts once more. My blood runs hot immediately. I imagine him serving drinks at the bar, the ever-present smirk on his face. I see the way his eyes dance when he talked to me and took my drink order, then later when he knew what I was going to walk back to the table and find. You’d think it would make me angry, but it doesn’t. I’m… intrigued.
I tell myself to get a grip. It’s stupid. I don’t even know him. Have never had any kind of meaningful conversation with him at all. I’m not sure why he’s stuck in my head.
Putting my pajamas on, I grab a drink of water, then perform my nightly rituals before I get into bed. I punch the pillow a few times, pull the cool sheets up my bare legs, and sigh as calm and relaxation washes over me.
It’s short-lived as Justin’s dreamy eyes and smile come to mind again and I toss and turn to thoughts of him long into the night.
3
This time I’m prepared. Kimberly kindly offered, as a best friend should, that she’ll keep her phone at hand, and if this date tonight turns into a shit show, I can text her. It can be any word, or hell a single letter and she will know it’s an immediate SOS. She’s on call and ready to call me if needed to offer a made-up emergency to get me the hell out of dodge.
Thank goodness I have a friend like her. When I thanked her, she simply said, “Friends help friends get out of crappy dates.” Then quickly offered yet another one of her reassuring comments. This time it was to say that lightening doesn’t strike twice in the same place. I sure hope she’s right.
She is a good friend. And she doesn’t know it yet, but I think that friends should also date together and I intend to tell her just that. How can she better support me? By going on nearly blind, potentially crappy dates herself, that’s how! Then we can go through this hell together.
For at least the fiftieth time in the last hour I tell myself this is all just smart planning, not pessimism. And no, I am not prone to foreshadowing nor have I had any reason to develop foreboding concerns, as he was quite kind and seemed eager to meet when he messaged to ensure all plans were still a go.
I take another deep breath and try to relax.
Tonight, I’m dressed in my favorite pair of ripped jeans, a white eyelet baby doll top, and cute brown heeled sandals. I take a sip of my drink as my eyes roam around the bar. So far, there’s no sign of Justin and I tell myself I feel relieved about that - I’m not disappointed at all. Nope. Not even a little. That feeling in my chest is just nerves about meeting Eric. And the only reason I keep looking around for Justin is because I don’t want to be embarrassed again. You know, assuming this doesn’t go well.
Yep, that’s why.
It’s absolutelynotbecause he’s nice to look at.
Or because on some level I’m simplyintrigued.
