“That’s crazy,” I say—something I’ve already said twice. Get it together, Claire.
I’m saved by an older man in dark jeans and a gray T-shirt with something spilled down the front of it, bringing us our food. At least we can focus on that now instead of which stars Colin has fetched refills for.
“Smells amazing,” I say, picking up a serving spoon and dishing myself up some pad see ew, ready to dig in.
My Apple Watch buzzes against my wrist, and I look to see that I’ve got a text from Sam asking how the date’s going, followed by abunch of heart eyes and dancing ladies. Sam is an emoji overuser. She’s also at work right now, so she shouldn’t be on her phone.
I don’t respond. I try not to use my phone while on dates because it’s rude. But I have to have a way to receive texts just in case there’s some kind of PR emergency. Which, for me, has only happened twice, but is a regular occurrence for Simone.
She once left her nephew’s birthday party—someone she treats like her own child, since she can’t have any of her own—to save an A-lister who had accidentally sent some nudes to a gossip site instead of to her boyfriend.
Well, accidentally on purpose. It’s a whole thing in this industry.
Colin lets out a little moaning sound, and I look up from my watch to see that he’s leaning his head back with his eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned. He looks as if he’s having an out-of-body experience. Or maybe even a seizure.
He slaps the table, making it shake, and I jump a little in my seat.
He moans again. “This curry is insane,” he says.
Okay, not a seizure. Colin just really likes his food.
I look around the room, giving polite smiles to some of the other customers, letting them all know that everything is fine and my date is just having a moment with his green curry. Perhaps, in the future, he should consider eating in the privacy of his own home if this is how he wants to enjoy his meal.
“How was that?” he asks me when he’s finished whatever he was just doing and his eyes are back on me.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, not following.
He sets his fork down, rubbing his palms together. “I’m auditioning for a commercial next week. For the part ofman who really likes his food. It’s method.”
You know what? I take it back. I want to hear about the celebrities Colin has met. Every one of them.
“Ah,” I say, nodding my head. I probably should have guessed that Colin is an aspiring actor since that’s what most of Sam’s coworkers are doing: waiting tables until they land a role.
Sam knows I don’t date actors, or aspiring ones. Not because I hate them, but because of . . . well, things like this. I’m guessing that’s why she didn’t offer this information. She was probably hoping Colin would be so perfect for me, I’d overlook that minor detail.
I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt and guess that she didn’t know he was into method acting, because if she did and still set me up on this date . . . well, I might have to throttle her.
“I think I can do better,” he says.
“Why don’t—”
He cuts me off by throwing his head back and moaning, even louder this time. Everyone is looking our way. The entire restaurant. The man who brought us our food is standing just outsidethe kitchen door, frozen in place while taking in the scene as he holds a plate of something hot and steamy.
That’s it. Sam is dead to me.
“That is incredible,” he yells throughout the small room, slamming a fist on the table this time. My fork rattles against my plate.
I need an escape plan. I don’t think I can take another minute of this.
My watch buzzes on my wrist, and I’m sure it’s another text from Sam. Whoever it is, I’m going to pretend it’s an emergency and get out of here.
Tessa:911
My eyes widen at my watch. Did I just will a crisis into existence?
I grab my phone out of my purse, which is hanging on the back of my chair, while my date continues moaning over his food, this time swinging his head back and forth as he exclaims how perfect the flavors are.
