Damn, he’s forward. And I like it. I like it a lot.
Feedback
Playboy
My dinner with Ken isn’t until his next day off, which means I have a few more opportunities to give this app the final attempt. Which could be very good or very bad.
I may have my own playboy at home, but we’re effectively avoiding each other. The few times Decker and I have crossed paths since he told me he wasn’t going to have sex with me again until I’m officially single—and not dating other guys—have been nearly as awkward as walking in on Otto going to town on himself.
It also sucks because I’ve been dying to tell Decker about my dates. He found them as entertaining as I did without making me feel foolish like Mona does. As great as the sex was, I miss talking to Decker. It was too short lived.
Since I can’t talk to my personal playboy, I decide to see what this category has to offer. Now that I’m sitting across from Neil at the restaurant, though, I’m not sure how I feel about him. There’s something in the air that makes me instantly distrust him.
He suggested a nice Italian place, which earns him points. Anywhere that serves fresh pasta is a great start—who doesn’t love homemade noodles? The food is fantastic, and we’re having a decent conversation. Except… his phone keeps going off.
“Stupid phone. I’m so sorry, Holly,” Neil says. “These girls just won’t leave me alone.”
It would be far less annoying if he just ignored it, but he keeps up the same ritual every few seconds. First, he grabs his phone. Then he sighs. Dramatically. The eye roll comes next, and he unlocks it. A head shake, and then he locks it again. It sits back on the table, face down, until it buzzes again. Then we start the whole process over again.
“Stupid face ID,” he mutters when it doesn’t unlock right away. “Four-three-oh-two.”
“So,” I ask, “what are you looking for with this dating app?”
I have to know if he’s just using it to chase one-night stands, or if he wants to settle down.
“A good time?” The smirk should be cocky, but there’s an insecurity in his brown eyes. “No, I’m trying to find someone I can really connect with. Someone I can bring home to Mom and Dad one day.”
That wouldn’t be a bad answer if we hadn’t already talked about his parents. “Didn’t you say your mom was killed by your dad, and your dad’s in prison?”
“Figuratively speaking. Unless you’re a medium,” he says, his hand hitting the table as he laughs a little too loudly.
Between the insecurity behind his bravado and his rehearsed answers that contradict the conversations we’ve already had, I don’t think I can trust anything Neil says.
“No luck on that front yet?” I ask, deciding to let it go.
“No, not really.”
The phone keeps buzzing, but we still manage to push the conversation forward. Right up until he has to go to the restroom.
Neil gives me a warm smile but stops. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I say.
That’s a weird reaction to a guy who claims to have women fighting for his attention. Or is he the one who will leave? Is he going to climb out the bathroom window and leave me with the check?
That would be my luck.
The familiar buzz sounds, and I lift out of my seat slightly to look over the table. There’s his phone on his seat.
“It must’ve fallen out of his pocket.”
Something deep inside tells me that I need to look at these messages. Maybe he’s a serial killer. Maybe he has eight baby mamas. Who knows?
Picking it up, I try to remember what he muttered. “Four-three-zero-two?”
It unlocks.
Over ninety text notifications. As someone who can’t stand the unread notifications, I’m instantly irritated by this number. His email icon shows 2,573 unread emails, and I don’t even want to look at his social media apps.
