“I probably slept with a new girl every night for those four years," he continues while dragging his finger down the center of his menu.
Yeah, I'm calling your bluff on that one. I doubt he slept with hundreds of girls, but we'll go with it.
“Wow, you must be quite experienced," I say, giving him a free pass on his accomplishment.
“That's what they said," he groans as if talking about it is exhausting.
“I see."
“How many men have you been with?" Oh my God, I want to tell him I'm not into men right now.
“I don't know the number off the top of my head." I realize that makes me sound like a whore, but I don't want to get into any details with this guy.
The waitress comes over and her jaw clenches as if she’s already uncomfortable. Maybe she has a sixth-sense. “Good evening, I'm Jocelyn and I will be helpingyou tonight. Can I start you two off with some drinks?"
“Yes, and oh my gosh, I'm starving too, can we order food at the same time?" Let's get this party moving.
“Absolutely," Jocelyn says.
“I like your shirt," Nick tells the poor girl. “Did you know when you wear white under blue tinted lights, it can create an outline of what's beneath your shirt."
My eyes are bulging out of my head, staring at him with scrutiny. The waitress pulls her arms up, covering her chest with her notepad.
“I'd like a rum and coke, and the chicken parmesan, please," I tell her. “And, I'm sorry." I had to say it.
“I'll order the same thing my lady is having," Nick tells her.
I'malady, not his lady. I'm shaking my head to disagree with Nick's comment. It's not even for the waitress's sake, just for me, so I can remind myself I'm not his lady and he is out of his mind.
“Do you mind if I use the restroom real quick?"
“No, not at all. Do you need any help in there? Can I offer you a hand?" he says.
“No, I've been using the bathroom myself for many years now. I'm sure I'll be okay. Thank you, though."
“Cool, cool."
How much could he have partied in college?I can't figure out if this is a joke, or if he's nervous, or—I don't know what else to assume. UMass isn't an easy school to get accepted into, so I'd think he is somewhat intelligent but there is also something disturbing going on in his head.
I make my way into a bathroom stall and lock myself inside while digging my phone out of my purse. Layla will have to save me from this date whether she wants to or not. I call her, wait through the rings, and get her voicemail. I forgot she's on her own date night.
I send her a text:
Me:Hi, yeah, I will hurt you if you don't pick up your phone. You need to get me out of this date right now. This is not a joke.
I wait five minutes, praying for a response of any kind, but there's nothing, so I sit down on the toilet to contemplate the situation, tapping my foot like a motor against the floor because I can't encourage myself to go back out there. I can't sit here for two and half more hours. I can't. I pick up my phone again and scroll through my contacts. This is how desperate I am …
“Hello?"
“Hey, Wesley, it's me, Madelyn."
“Wow, I didn't think you'd ever call."
“So, this will sound super bitchy and obnoxious, but I need to ask you a favor."
“Ask me anything because I feel like a total scumbag after last night. You name it, and I'm there."
“Thank you and don't worry about last night." Someone walks into the bathroom, so I lower my voice and turn toward the wall, cupping my hand over the phone. “My roommate runs a dating website. It's a long story. She tried to reel a guy in for a load of cash and pushed me out on the date with him. He's horrible. A sex addict gone bad, I don't even know. I need saving like more than I've ever needed to pull the damsel in distress card in my entire life."
