Page 14 of The Husband Contract
My heart races as I sit at the Whistlestop Coffee Shop, waiting for Clark Kent to arrive. I can’t wait to find out his real name. Can’t wait to see if we will have a connection in real life. Sometimes I think that because I want to be in a relationship so badly, I let certain behaviors go. A part of me feels like my red flag radar is damaged and now malfunctions because the last few guys I’ve dated have all been bad news. I think about the last three men I’ve been on dates with: Ben, with the perfect white teeth and bleached-blond hair, had talked about flossing for two hours straight. Even he was shocked when I agreed to another date with him. I even considered going home with him, but when he asked me to demonstrate how I brush my teeth, I knew that even I wasn’t that desperate. Then there had been Malfoy, who had renamed himself after theHarry Pottercharacter, Draco Malfoy, whom he’d said he felt an affinity to. When he asked if I wanted to go to a seance to contact his dead grandfather, I blocked him and then went to church, just in case any of his weird energy rubbed off on me. And lastly, there was Sushi Steve, who was obsessed with Japan. He loved sushi, Toyota Trucks, and talked endlessly about how he wassaving up to go to Japan to eat ramen. When he told me he didn’t see himself marrying me because I wasn’t Japanese and I didn’t show any interest in learning the language, I told him to take a long walk off of a short cliff or mountain, preferably Mt. Fuji, and then I met Katherine and Brielle for drinks at the local bar and shared two bottles of red wine with them.
Suffice it to say, I am equal parts excited and scared while waiting for Clark to show up.
“Please God, let him be hot and rich and good in bed,” I mumble under my breath as I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. The smell of a burning croissant suddenly fills my nose, and I start to cough. I see smoke swerving through the air as the baristas behind the counter start cursing instead of taking care of whatever is burning. This is not a good omen. Maybe this isn’t going to be the beginning of the rest of my life.
The bell above the door chimes, and without a shadow of a doubt, I know that Clark Kent is here. I’m not sure how I know; I just do.
Five, four, three, two...
“Hi, Willow, is that you?” His voice is higher-pitched than it had sounded on the phone, but I assume that he’s as nervous as I am. I look up with a welcoming smile on my face and keep it plastered as my eyes meet his.
“Yes,” I say simply, though I’m not sure I really want to admit that. Clark Kent is cute-ish. He looks like his photos in the furthest sense that one can look like their photos, but still be dissimilar. He’s skinnier than I thought, paler, his eyes look sunken in, and his hair is a greasy mess. What gets me the most is that he’s wearing a cape and a Superman T-shirt. It’s not a look I would normally go for.
“Wow, you’re hot.” He grins and takes a seat next to me. His eyes look me up and down. “Like totally bangable.” Heslams his fist down on the table and laughs. “Thank you, Jesus. I am now a believer.” He grins at me, and I notice that he’s chewing a wad of gum. “You won’t believe how many women I meet who are filter queens.” He shakes his head.
“Oh?”
“Yup. They knock off fifty pounds and ten years with those things.” He chuckles. “When you show up to meet them, they end up looking like the Bride of Chucky.”
“Oh.” My heart races as he cackles. “That’s unfortunate.”
“I was dating someone recently, and she broke my heart.” He grimaces. “But I think you will help me get over her very easily.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Heartbreak is never fun.” And never something you want to talk about on a first date, though I don’t really care. He could tell me he just had sex with a hooker, and I wouldn’t care. I know without a doubt in my mind that Clark Kent is not my match and will never be my match. And all I want to do is go home, take a long bath in Epsom salts, and read a book, or maybe watch a TV show. I am pretty sure there is a new season ofLove is Blindthat has come out, and it always makes me feel better about my own love life to see other women going through the trenches with men.
“Do you prefer up or down?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Stand up for me a sec.”
“Excuse me?”
“Stand up for me and do a spin.” He winks and then licks his lips. “Wondering if you have thick thighs and a big ass.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do that.” I grab my phone and grip it. Neither Brielle nor Katherine would believe how absolutely shitty my date is going. I half wonder if I am being punked.
“So, up or down?” He leans forward.
“Up or down what?”
“Top or bottom.” He licks his lips. Now I know what he’s talking about, and I don’t care about being rude anymore. This is not how I’d expected this date to go. This is not the first day of the rest of my life whatsoever.
“I’m sorry, but don’t get me twisted.” I fold my arms and stand up. “I met you for a date and not a hookup. I don’t appreciate these questions.”
“Girl, I’m just kidding. It was a test to see if you’re easy.” He jumps up, and I see a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “You know me, we’ve been talking for a while. I just like to joke.”
“I guess.” Though I can’t think of any instances where he’s made me laugh.
“Think of me as the better-looking Jim Carey. Though you’re not quite Cameron Diaz.” He laughs like he thinks he’s being funny. “But you could be her second cousin or something.” He stares at my feet and the shoes I’m wearing. “No heels?”
“For a coffee shop date?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Also, are we getting coffee or pastries or anything?” I ask him, ‘cause I never heard of a date where you just sit there.
“Yeah, sure. I’d love a black coffee and a blueberry muffin.” He stares at me and takes a seat. I wait for him to ask me what I want, but he grabs his phone and starts typing something.
“Is that it?” I ask. “Don’t you want to know what I want?”
“I don’t work here.” He looks up with a frown. “Why would I want to know?”
“But aren’t you—” I stop and sigh. I think about just walking out of the store. “Am I paying for this?”
“I mean, don’t you women want equality and feminism and all that?” He looks up from his phone, and I look downat the screen. He’s on the dating app. The audacity of the situation makes me want to laugh.
