It's not easy finding parking in the middle of Manhattan on theatre night, or any night in the city for that matter, but Jason refuses to pay parking lot prices after seven. He's thrifty like that. So we drove around for fifteen minutes to find a parking space on a street that is at least six city blocks away from the restaurant. That's why it's going to take him a good while getting the car.
It's such a gorgeous night though, it would have been kind of romantic if we had walked together to get it, but that's me trying towishthis into a date when it's anything but. For the few minutes that Jason and I did speak with each other, prior to him receiving his phone call, all the two of us managed to discuss tonight was work. Nothing personal. And I'm not sure, regardless of how much I wish it were different, we ever will talk about anything more than what we do for a living. It just may be all that we have in common.
While I wait for Jason to return from his long trek, from the shadows of the private rooms in the back of the restaurant, I see the tallest man on the planet moving towards my location with great purpose.
His shades are now off.
And his mesmerizing titanium colored eyes are locked on mine.
Eyes that look somewhat familiar, but I just can't quite place where I've seen them before.
"He left?" Are the only two words he gruffly asks. His tone suggesting that we've known each other all of our lives, or that he has the right to ask me anything he wants.
"Umm, no."
"So then where's your date?"
Coworker not date, but there's no need to expound on that touchy subject with a total stranger.
"He's getting the car."
Wait–why I am answering this guy's questions?
"Short dinner," he observes with that same pompous grin across his face I saw when he first entered the restaurant.
"I didn't like my meal."
"He's all wrong for you, you know."
"What are you talking about?" I ask incredulously.
This guy has some nerve. Jason was barely out of the door before he came barreling over here crashing my dinner. No manners. No class. The only thing he has going for him are his looks. Too bad he totally knows it.
"Isaidhe's completely wrong for you. Too short. Too inattentive. Too full of himself. And he took his eyes off of you. Big mistake."
"Too full of himself, huh? Unlike you?"
"Yeah, but I've got the goods to back it up," he says with a completely straight face.
"Ha. Ha." I roll my eyes.
"Do I amuse you, Miss ..."
"White."
"First name?"
This guy is a pure player.
"There's no need for first names is there? I mean Iamon a date with another man."
"A very bad date. One that you clearly need rescuing from. Probably why you took it upon yourself to bail yourself out of it. There's nothing wrong with your dinner. You just want to go home."
"Are you calling me a liar, Mr.–"
"Stevenson," he replies with an amused look. "And yes, I'm calling you a liar. If short dude believes that you didn't like your food versus his less than entertaining company, then let's add one more thing to my list of reasons of why he's not the man for you. Too stupid."
I can see through the restaurant's front windowpane when Jason finally pulls up in his sleek, silver, S-class Mercedes Benz. A classically beautiful car for a very sophisticated man. A man that I shouldn't keep waiting. A guy who's always been a gentleman. A man whom perhaps if I bide my time, will end up seeing me for more than just a sweet girl at work who needs mentoring.
