“It’s not about me. And I’m not your ‘Gorgeous.’ You have to apologize to her.”
Julian sobers up with a hyperbolic deep breath. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to her. Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth when I’m in the presence of beautiful women, and with you in front of me, everything is chaos.” He flashes a bright smile, but it does nothing for me. He can’t possibly believe he’ll coast through this evening on a dazzling smile.
“You don’t get to blame me for your behavior.”
Julian’s smile fades. “I’m not blaming you,” he sputters out, flabbergasted.
“Then don’t deflect onto me.”
He opens his mouth to say something but thinks otherwise. Smart—oh, he’s starting up again. I guess not that smart.
“I think you’re reading into things too much. I tried to make a joke, and it didn’t resonate as intended. I already said I’ll apologize to her. How about we continue getting to know each other, Beautiful?”
Even a set-up date from my dad would be better than this. At least Nigerian men are initially charming before their misogyny surfaces.
“You know what?” I ask, rhetorically. Lips curled into a snarl.
But Julian responds, blissfully ignorant. “What?”
“This”—I gesture to him—“isn’t worth it.” I push back my chair.
“Babe, c’mon. It was just a joke. Can’t you take a joke?”
Ignoring him, I grab my bag from the chair. He quickly mirrors my actions, blocking my exit.
“You can’t leave yet. Are you jealous of the server? I could never choose someone like her over you.”
That stops me in my tracks. Unfortunately, giving him more room to continue.
“I’m sorry I’m making so many mistakes, Beautiful. No need to be insecure. You’re the one I’m on a date with. I’ll apologize to her, we’ll request another server, and start over. How does that sound, Gorgeous?” He ends with another bright, lopsided smile.
I’m almost amused by his audacity. But it wears off faster than a toddler reaching for a knife.
My next words explode with frustration.
“Why is every other word out your mouth a compliment? ‘Gorgeous’ this, ‘Beautiful’ that—” Then it dawns on me. “Do you even remember my name?”
A creeping redness tints his cheeks and ears.
“Beautif—I’m not the best with names. C’mon, we can still have a great night. I promise. I know how to treat a woman,” he says, his salacious stare burning into me. He attempts to grab my wrist, but I easily yank it from his grip.
“Don’t touch me,” I spit.
He takes a step back, momentarily stunned, before quickly recovering.
“I promise. We can turn it around. You’ve been great to talk to. You’re beautiful, I’m hot, let’s start over,” he pleads, but I walk out.
I don’t know how he got intoCupid’s Bow, but there’s no way that man will become my soulmate—or anyone else’s.
On my way out, I see Jo on her way to serve another table. She raises a brow.
“I had to,” I whisper.
“Girl, I would’ve done the same thing,” she says with a smile and then continues towards the back of the restaurant.
The next thing I hear is my name followed by a clatter of dishes.
I turn to the sight of Jo shrugging with an unapologetic, blank face; Julian wiping a creamy liquid from his eyes with a loud groan. It makes me want to give clam chowder—which is my guess to the mystery dish—a shot.
