He placed his hand in the middle of my back as we walked over, not attempting to move lower.Good.This date was already off to a pleasing start. Could it be this easy?
I tilted my head as we walked to the bar, clenching and releasing my hands. His fingers brushed mine, but I tugged mine away. The part of his hand I touched was damp, but I couldn’t let that discourage me. I was nervous, so perhaps he was as well, and his hand felt perfectly fine when we touched a minute ago.
Sure, there wasn’t some life-altering spark that made the universe align to let me see clearly for the first time in forever—but that was just a marketing tool used by companies to sell Valentine’s Day cards.
I was determined to keep an open mind. As we sat down and I ordered a glass of wine while he got another beer, the nervousness disappeared, and we faced one another.
“How was your day? You said you have a dog, right? What’s his name? Since we’d asked all the usual get-to-know-you questions, I figured I wouldn’t start the conversation with the ‘tell me about yourself’ cliche.”
I chuckled as I recapped my day, leaving out the salty parts, like having to write up a kid for having a vape pen in the bathroom.
He interrupted when I mentioned not stopping at home before meeting him, droning on about how annoying his assistant was because she insisted on dressing down for casual Friday. Not that I was talking about anything exciting, but that was annoying. Like he thought whatever he had to say was more important than what I did.
Don’t be petty.He had no way of knowing that was one of my pet peeves. Our conversations over the app were superficial questions like, “What is your dream date?” and, “Do you have any hobbies?” We stayed away from the deep stuff like, “What are your thoughts on children?” and, “Tell me about your political views.” Those were best left for after we had the initial meeting and found out if we could be in each other’s presence for more than an hour, right?
Should I have immediately gone for the throat and shared my deepest desires and biggest regrets? Would it have been better to get all that out in the open before meeting someone and having an instant attraction only to find out they chewed with their mouth open and insisted on their mother chaperoning all dates past seven o’clock?
I bit my bottom lip, no doubt ruining the carefully applied lipstick as he bitched, all but zoned out of the one-sided conversation. If this date didn’t improve soon, Miller was in fora stern dressing-down, especially when I caught the phrasenot understanding her placefrom Tyler.
For as much as Miller and I pushed each other’s buttons, he wasn’t the type of person who interrupted someone. Bev raised those boys right.
Cut it out. You’re here with Tyler.Lawyer Tyler, who was buttoned up with a decent work ethic, not carefree and exasperating Miller.
Who, perhaps, came from a big family and always had to fight for attention. He wasn’t being rude on purpose, and I nodded, trying to stay attentive and make the appropriate gestures and noises when he raised his eyebrows, hoping he wouldn’t realize that I wasn’t paying attention.
“So, a dog?”
Ah. Remembering I was here after all.
Stop it.
“A cat, actually. My mother shows exotic shorthair, shaded and smoke, Persian purebreds. My cat, Minerva, is a Double-Grand Champion.”
“That is a mouthful. Her name is Minerva? Like the Goddess of Wisdom?”
“Exactly,” I answered. “Not many people know that.”
“I love Roman mythology.” He shrugged, smiling so both of his dimples showed, and his eyes sparkled in the brightly lit space. They reminded me of smoldering chunks of coal before turning into diamonds. Friendly—but with an undercurrent of danger. Could eyes be ferrety and smoldering? Was I overthinking?
The more appropriate question was, when was I not overthinking?
“Her full name is Minerva Cassiopeia of the Princess Diana Chunk. But obviously, that’s too much of a mouthful, and I doubt she’d respond to her full title, anyway. It’s funny, actually.One of my friends refuses to call her Minerva. He’s always making up these funny names instead.” I took a sip of wine, and Tyler adjusted on the bar stool before lifting his beer to his lips.
“Mom retired Minerva about five years ago, and she’s been mine ever since. I mean, she was always my cat. We got her when she was twelve weeks old. Her parents were two Supreme Grand Champion Persians and—”
“I’ve never been much of a cat person, honestly. They’re fine, but there’s just something about coming home to a dog wagging its tail, happy to see you. I want that. Don’t you? Someone to get excited when you come walking through the door. We had this cute little Jack Russell terrier growing up…”
I caught the words loyal, shedding, and rescue but zoned out again after that. What had Miller called her the other night?Goddess of fluffiness?I smiled into my wineglass as Tyler turned the conversation backagainto his assistant. A pathetically petty part of me almost wished I’d chosen to wear jeans tonight.
Perhaps Tyler had some weird aversion to denim. I took in his slacks with perfectly pressed creases. Or maybe he was one of those formal guys who didn’t own sweatpants and slept in matching silk pajamas with a monogram on the breast pocket.
He spent his Sundays ironing his socks and matching his underwear with his suit choices for the week. That was a thing, right? Miller jokingly complained about how his business partner, Simon, refused to wear anything but black and had matching cufflinks for every suit.
Maybe Tyler was also like this in bed. All jerky, stuffy, stunted movements with his teeth leaving an indentation on his lips and interrupting your quest for orgasm so he could finish first. So what that his hair looked to be a perfect shade of dark roasted coffee, and I could see him on my arm to the required events for the Academy?
Was this what I had to look forward to if there was a second date? Long-winded conversations about how people annoyed him and then home for subpar sex? Would I be settling if I waited until we’d had three or four dates before deciding if we should go farther?
Ugh.I was not cut out for these questions. Why couldn’t I meet someone organically? Oh, yes. My father with a side of Headmaster Hopkirk and his social obligations.
