I tense. I have a horrible feeling about where this story is going, and if it’s what I think it is, I might have a very difficult time controlling myself.
“The bar was closing, and it was taking a while for the server to bring our checks.”
“He made you pay for your own drinks?”
“I was fine with that,” she says. “I prefer to go Dutch, especially on a first date. No expectations.”
“Hmm.” I don’t agree, but I back off, waiting to hear the rest of the story.
“We decided to go up to the bar to settle up, but he was still really impatient. He ended up cussing at the bartender and then walking off toward the parking lot. I waited, paid my own tab, and then wandered around in the parking lot for fifteen minutes looking for his car.”
“Wait…what? Are you saying he just left you there?”
“Left me there intoxicated in a dark parking lot at an unfamiliar bar at one in the morning, yes.”
“Motherfucker!” I nearly bite my tongue off. “Sorry…I shouldn’t have said that, but damn.”
“It’s all right,” she says with a laugh. “I believe that’s the exact word I used when he texted me saying he’d gone home, had a great time, and hoped we could do it again soon.”
“I can think of a few other choice words I’d have for him.”
“Believe me, there was no second date.”
“I should hope not.” I shift forward and look her in the eye. “For the record, I would never do anything like that to you or anyone else.”
“Well, this isn’t a date, so you don’t get the opportunity.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Fair enough.” I lean back, trying to hold in a laugh. She’s toying with me, and I like it. “You said there were other bad dates? Or was that the worst of it?”
“Depends on what you consider to be the worst.”
“True enough.”
“Do you want to hear more?”
“Please.”
“All right.” She takes a longer swig of her drink. “The next horrible date I had was a few months after being ditched in the dark. I was working at a diner, and he sat at one of my tables. He was friendly enough, and I said yes when he asked me out, kinda on a whim.”
“Hmm, yes. Very whimsical of you.”
She laughs.
“Anyway, we met up at a bar the next town over. There was an eighties cover band playing that night, and he said he wanted to see it. Clearly, he didn’t really care about the band because he asked to take me home ten minutes after we met, started rubbing my leg and leaning really close to me. I kept backing away, but he wouldn’t stop.”
“Did you punch him?”
“No. I’ll remind you about that woman’s curse of kindness again.”
“Noted.” I raise an eyebrow as I consider this whole “curse of kindness” thing. I’d never heard of kindness being considered a curse, but Cherry seems convinced. I’m fairly sure my father would approve of the sentiment.
“Thankfully, someone else noticed how uncomfortable I was. He came over and sat down beside me, pretending to be an old friend. My date backed off, eventually took the hint, and left. I found out the guy who rescued me was actually the manager of the bar.”
“I bet he asked you out then.”
“No, he didn’t. He had a ring on his finger, so I assume he was just being nice.”
“Another reason to treat the bartenders well.”
“Yes, it is.” She holds up her glass, and we clink glasses briefly. “He was very helpful.”
“And what about this guy,” I ask, “the one you came with tonight?”
“More of the same,” Cherry says with a shrug. “They come off really nice online, but as soon as you meet them in person…”
“They’re douchebags.”
“Motherfucking douchebags.” Cherry tosses her hair and grins.
I laugh loudly. The air is suddenly filled with a positively delicious scent. As Cherry reiterates her lack of concern over cursing, I try to figure out the source of the fragrance. I lean forward a fraction more. The delicious scent is coming from her hair, and it’s more intoxicating than the whiskey on the table.
“You know, I should have just left when he started sniffing at me.”
“Sniffing?” I tense.
“Yeah. Like he was smelling my hair. Creepy, huh?”
“Yeah.” I sit back and clear my throat. “So creepy.”
I force myself to turn away from her, but it doesn’t last. Within seconds, I feel the urge to stare into her eyes again but focus on my glass instead. I drain the last few drops and then hold it up.
“I need another one of these,” I say, sliding my empty glass away from me. “You need a refill, too.”
“I said just one drink,” Cherry reminds me.
“You did, but I think conditions have changed.”
“Conditions? Do tell.”
“Before, you were having one more drink because your night was not going well, and a drink can help you relax. Now you are having fun, and you need one more to celebrate.”
“Oh, I do, huh?”
“I think so.”
“Hmm.” She taps her finger on her chin a couple of times, eyes narrowed at me. “All right, but just one more, and there is a condition.”
“Condition?” I smirk. “Do tell.”
“You have to tell me about a bad date you’ve had.”
Cherry stares at me, eyebrows raised as she waits for my answer. I’d tell her anything she wanted to hear just to keep her in my presence a little while
