AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I will be fine, Ollie. We are meeting in a popular restaurant, with lots of people around. I will watch my drinks around him and leave if I get any crazy stalker vibes from him. OK?” I add when he remains looking unconvinced.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “You’ve never been interested in this online dating stuff before.”
“It’s time for me to get back out there and meet people. I’m never going to meet ‘the one’ hanging out with you and Amy. Not that being with you guys isn’t fun,” I add when he winces. “I just need to find someone for me.”
Oliver looks like he is going to argue and stops himself. He pauses and just looks at me for a long moment before saying in a soft voice, “You look beautiful tonight, Lilly.” My breath catches at his compliment, and I stare at him in silence for a beat. When it looks like we have nothing else to say to each other, and now that he has messed with my mind just before my date, Oliver says goodbye.
“Be careful tonight, Lilly. And don’t forget to make sure your phone is fully charged, just in case you need rescuing.” And with that, he disconnects the phone. I blow out a deep breath and get back to the task of getting ready, my heart no longer in this date at all.
CHAPTER 15
Lilly
Two hours and two glasses of wine later, I am waiting at the bar of this very nice restaurant, tapping the toe of my stiletto heel impatiently against the leg of the bar stool. Grant is late. And not just “stuck in traffic” late, but “I’m too important to be on time” late. At first, I thought maybe he was trying to find a car park, something I did not have to worry about, having decided against driving to the restaurant and to take an Uber instead, and I cut him some slack, but that was twenty minutes ago. When does being late turn into being stood up? And I can’t even pretend to look busy by scrolling on my phone, as it is at this very moment sitting at home plugged into the charger. Thank you for that, Oliver. Deciding to just call it a night, I glance down at the menu in order to get some takeaway food to bring home with me, with plans to spend the rest of the evening on the couch looking up nearby convents to join, when I hear my name. I look up and see someone who vaguely resembles Grant making his way across to the restaurant to where I am sitting. Maybe Grant’s shorter, older, less good-looking cousin is here to meet me and tell me Grant has been in a terrible accident, or something similar, and couldn’t make our date?
“Lilly, is that you?” Pseudo-Grant asks when he stops in front of me.
“Uh, yes?” I reply, my voice filled with suspicion. Who is this guy?
“Wow, you look just like your photo. That almost never happens,” he replies with a happy grin. Wait, is this guy actually Grant?
No way this guy is Grant!
“Grant?” I ask, filled with disbelief. This guy looks nothing like the guy in the puppy photo. That guy had muscles apparent from his tight T-shirt. And he had hair. The guy in front of me is sporting an impressive beer gut and is definitely trying to cover up a receding hairline with a rough-looking comb over. Ugh. This is the worst.
“Yes, it’s me.” He grins, looking me up and down like he just won the lottery. “Have you been waiting long? I was just sitting outside on the phone when I noticed the time.”
Great, this guy is not just misrepresenting himself to hapless women online, but he is arrogant to boot.
“I’m really sorry for keeping you waiting,” he adds, perhaps noticing my unimpressed expression. “I hope I haven’t blown this.” He nervously pats his thinning hair.
With a feeling of remorse, both for judging him on his tardiness (I am usually the late one, so I guess I can cut him some more slack), and for being so superficial about his looks, I decide to start the night fresh. So I hop off my stool and say, “That’s OK, do you want to grab a table and get something to eat?”
Grant 2.0, as I now refer to him in my mind, releases a relieved breath and smiles. “That sounds great. Shall we?” He waves me past him, and as I walk by, I note he is not much taller than me in my heels. Which makes him five feet seven at the most. Six feet tall, my arse.
To get the date back on track, I make small talk with Grant 2.0 while we look at the menu. Given I already read it front to back twenty times in the last hour and pretty much have it committed to memory now, I watch with increasing impatience as Grant deliberates what he wants to eat. The waitress gives a loud sigh as she waits to take his order, and I feel like kicking him under the table to make him get a move on. I am at the point of being hangry.
“I will have the steak, well done. And a side of fries. No salad,” he orders finally, having spent five long, agonising minutes to settle on the most boring food option on the menu. I decide to be more adventurous and order the seafood risotto with a side of garlic-roasted Brussels sprouts.
“I like a girl that can eat,” Grant 2.0 declares after our waitress leaves, sparing me a sympathetic glance as she goes. This terrible date must be obvious for everyone to see. “I hate those stick-skinny girls who only eat lettuce,” he adds with unfounded bravado, looking at me like he wants recognition for being so evolved.
“I think a man or woman should eat what they want,” I reply, “even if that is just lettuce. Who are we to judge?” I add, giving him a pointed look.
“Right, right,” he backtracks. “Very true.”
We sit in silence for a moment, me because I am uncomfortable and Grant 2.0 because he is on his phone. Is this guy serious?
“So, Grant,” I say in a loud voice, causing him to jump and pulling his attention off his screen. “Tell me a bit more about what you do for work.” Big mistake, Lilly. For the next twenty minutes, I am forced to listen to Grant drone on and on about mortgages and interest rates and the Reserve Bank and… Oh, look, here is our food. I hope that having something in his mouth might shut Grant up for a bit as I dig into my risotto, groaning in delight. This dish almost makes this whole horrible night worth it.
“You like that, hey?” Grant 2.0 says with a suggestive wink. Oh, gross.
“Yes, it is delicious,” I reply, not engaging with his innuendo. “How’s your steak?”
Grant 2.0 uses this opportunity to tell me all about his knowledge of beef and the best way to grill a steak, and hey, do you want to learn all about my new barbecue and its smoking feature? I sigh, bored out of my mind, wondering how long I have to sit here until I can leave. Basic politeness dictates that I finish my meal, even though I do not owe this guy anything. As I tune back in, I hear that Grant 2.0 has moved on to another apparent favourite topic of his, sports. Oh boy, this is going to be a long night.
When Grant 2.0 finally finishes his meal, taking extra long to get through it because he has spent so much time recounting the play-by-play of the latest football- / basketball- / something-ball that happened last night, I decide it is time to go. This date is done.
“Would you like to come back to my place for a coffee or dessert? Maybe Netflix and chill?” he asks, clueless to the situation at hand, and also, who uses the phrase “Netflix and chill” on a date?
