“Holy shit. That sounds like a nightmare. Where are you? I'll come up with something."
“Taylors near Fenway."
“Give me fifteen. Don't go anywhere with this guy."
“Trust me. I won't. Thank you, again.I owe you."
Thanks to my rescue plan, I can breathe a little deeper now, except I still need to go back out and face this creep.Payback is a bitch, Layla.
I stall for another few minutes in the bathroom, puckering my lips, applying a new layer of lip gloss, tidying up the new layer of lip gloss, andfixing individual strands of stray hairs. I glance at my watch, noting it's been ten minutes since I hung up with Wesley. Can I wish for this guy to disappear while I'm in here?
I'm alone and happy, free from stress. Please work, sweet, positive thoughts.
I take a deep breath that needs to last at least five minutes and head back to the booth, finding Nick twiddling his thumbs on top of the table. He bites down on his lip when he sees me walking toward him, and my stomach churns. “Did you get sick?"
Holy shit, dude. “No, I didn't get sick," I answer him.
“Oh, when I'm in the bathroom for more than five minutes, it's because I'm making a couple chocolate bananas."
I take a minute, not a literal minute, but long enough to imagine the sight of a chocolate banana and wonder what he means by the phrase. The image surfaces in my head, and I hold back a gag. This isn't happening.
“Okay listen, talking about taking a dump while on a first date is disturbing. I doubt there are many women who enjoy a conversation like the one we are having. Just a heads up for the future."
Nick clears his throat and scoots around in his seat. “Well, we won't be on our first date next time we go out, so I guess there won't be anything to worry about." He thinks there will be another date.
“Nick, do you think this date is going well?"
“Yeah, except for the part where you were making chocolate delights in the bathroom for ten minutes."
Holy shi—nope, not going to respond. I can't stop shaking my head because the insanity is off the charts.
Thankfully, the waitress returns with our entrees and drinks. She must have picked up on my vibe of hurrying the hell up, which I appreciate, but I'd also like to tell her to wrap mine up in a to-go box. However, that request might seem too obvious. Then again, it might not.
“This looks good," I say to break up the silence.
“Oh, Jocelyn?" Nick calls after the waitress. No, just let her go. Eat, so this can be over.
The woman returns with questioning eyes. “I didn't know chicken parmesan had spaghetti sauce. I—ah—I don't like sauce. Can you scrape it off for me?"
I cover my mouth to stop myself from busting out into laughter. He legit just asked this chick to scrape the sauce off of his chicken.
“Are you serious?" Jocelyn asks. “It's chicken parmesan. There's sauce on chicken parmesan, everywhere, all the time."
“I've just never eaten it, or heard of the dish."
The waitress glances over at me, likely wishing I would take over for her, but no thank you. I'd like to say only one of us is getting paid to be here tonight, but I suppose that wouldn't be true.
Jocelyn lifts the plate to bring it back to the kitchen, but Nick places his hand on her arm. “You can do it right here. It's no big deal."
“Um, oh—okay," she says, looking around like she's waiting for cameras to jump out from around the corners.
“It's just sauce," I tell him. “Don't make her scrape it off. That's so rude."
“I don't like sauce," he says again.
“It's fine," the waitress says, leaning over and dragging a spoon down the side of the chicken patty. I can't believe what I'm watching.
“Yeah, just like that," Nick says. “That's real good. You should use the back of the spoon to smooth it out."
