“Okay?” It wasn’t a question, but I phrased the word like I was asking one.
“My biggest pet peeve is people asking me if I play basketball because I’m tall.”
Ah. I did assume he played that sport.
“Yes. Well, one of mine is people interrupting me, but I didn’t point that out when you were so keen to tell me about your assistant and her aversion to business casual dress.”
I raised my brows, and his mouth tilted upward before he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. His lip turned white where his teeth were embedded in the sensitive flesh, and I stared, transfixed like I was watching myself have this conversation from a high vantage point above the bar.
Was he scolding me?
“Don’t make light of this. Please, Emma.” He patted the hand on my lap, almost like soothing a petulant child. “I’m being serious. Asking me if I play basketball is all but a dealbreaker.” He shook his head like the words caused him physical pain, and I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
A dealbreaker?
“A dealbreaker?” I parroted the words back to him and grasped my empty wineglass, willing it to refill. “What does that mean, exactly?”
After dragging one hand down his face, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet, placing a ten on the bar. “This will cover my beers. Maybe your wine. It was nice meeting you, Emma, but you’ll do well to stop making assumptions. Enjoy your evening.”
I sat, speechless, with my mouth agape like a fish, processing what happened. The time it took me to get the bartender’s attention and pay the rest of the bill—the ten barely covered one of his double IPAs—was laughable. I moved at a glacial pace, my limbs tense and heavy, feeling like I worked out for hours without a break.
By the time I made it to the car, I was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally, and probably many other multi-syllable words ending in -ly. My brain didn’t have the energy for anything other than putting one foot in front of the other.
Was I in the wrong?
Was I careless in asking about basketball?
Is this entire endeavor pointless?
Those words. The cutting, biting insults I conjured about myself dug into my psyche, leaving me dull and aching in the warm summer night. My eyes stayed at my feet, focusing on the crunching gravel of the parking lot as I took measured footsteps toward my car. My mother would be appalled that my head wasn’t on a swivel, taking in my surroundings, and I could almost hear Miller’s voice reminding me to always keep my keys in my hand so I wouldn’t fumble for them in the dark.
I opened my car door—locking it immediately, Mom—and dug my phone from my clutch. I gripped it so tightly my knuckles turned white, but I needed their calming presence to drown out the pressure in my chest from the things he’d said.
Me:The date’s over.
Marietta:Will there be a second one?
Rose:Do we need to form a posse and kick his ass?
I huffed as this barely audible laugh slipped past my lips, and I turned the air conditioning higher, smiling at how willing the girls were to come to my defense.
Me:There will not be a second date.
Me:Apparently, I make assumptions, and it’s a dealbreaker.
Angelina:I don’t understand.
Me:Me either.
Rose:Yoga in the morning, then lunch at B’s Bar?
Marietta:Endorphins and carbs for the win. I’m in.
Angelina:Same.
Me:You had me at carbs. I’m going to need them before I try the app again.
Rose:We got you. See you tomorrow.
