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The vibration in my pocket interrupted my thoughts. A phone number illuminated the screen. I knew the incoming text was from Tyler. I still hadn’t programmed his contact information into my phone.
Tyler: So sorry Marisa. Tyler Sanderson here. I’m OMW now. Got held upwith work.
Tyler: Not held up, held up. LOL. Meeting with a client ran over and Icouldn’t get in touch with you until now.
I laughed at the corniness of his crack of a joke.
Me: Okay.
Tyler: Be there ASAP! Again, sorry.
Part of me wanted to get up and leave. But I couldn’t do that to Catherine. I’d catch an earful. And I’d feel guilty. So instead, I decided to stay put and see this through. At least if I gave this the due diligence it deserved, I could at least tell Catherine I gave it a shot, and it didn’t work out. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty like I would if I’d said no. And if it turned out that Tyler and I ended up just friendly acquaintances, I guess that wouldn’t be the most terrible thing to happen to me.
I flipped through the cocktails and beverages menu. The pages were jam-packed with bright, colorful images—martinis, margaritas, beers, and wines. My eyes perused the list of options trying to make a decision. I placed my order and watched as the bartender made my drink.
My ears tuned into the conversation to my left as I took my first two sips of my drink. Two men with Irish accents. Oh my God. They sounded seriously hot—deep voices with a roguish quality and that toe-curling brogue. If what my imagination was concocting in my head was correct, these men would be undoubtedly rugged and handsome with manly chests, broad shoulders, and legs like tree trunks.
I turned my attention to the food menu since I had time to waste. Filet mignon, crab legs, or lobster tail? A big fat burger and fries, or tacos? Soup and salad?
No way was I going to eat soup and salad tonight. Even if it was technically a first date. I saved soup and salad for when I was eating at home. Alone.
When I went out to dinner, I liked toeat. And after the workout and day I’d had, I definitely wanted something of substance.
I skipped over the image of a huge salad topped with chicken. It looked yummy, but it was technically “a salad.” Sighing, I took another sip and moved to the next item displayed. Honey garlic glazed salmon looked tasty. I probably shouldn’t order anything with garlic in the title on a first date though. Not that a kiss was guaranteed. But just in case either of us wanted to, on the off chance that we did hit it off. I was still a bit skeptical, given the circumstances of our first meeting. However, when I’d seen him the other day, there was a lighter and brighter airiness about him. He didn’t seem so standoffish or guarded as he had on New Year’s Eve a year and a half ago. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. Even if he was now twenty minutes late. The next image, skewered grilled shrimp, caught my eye. I mentally put it in the “maybe” category.
I lifted my glass and muttered, “What should I get to eat?” There was a lot to choose from. I took a small sip of my drink, not expecting an answer.
“Depends how hungry you are,” a deep, purely masculine voice said.
Startled at not realizing anyone had approached, I went on the defense. The abrupt movement of me swiveling around caused my elbow to neatly clip the side of my glass, spilling the rest of my drink all over the bar. The liquid moved at lightning speed toward me. And my lap.
“Shit!” I jumped up. But not before the liquid poured onto the front of my pants. I snatched the napkin from the bar and blotted at the wet spot. “Dammit,” I said.
“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d spook so easily,” the deep voice said as his hand shot toward mine to help.
“Sneaking up on people tends to spook them.” He was right though. Trained as I was, I shouldn’t have had my guard down. “And, I don’t need your help.” I swatted his helpful hand away from my crotch.
“I’m really sorry. I honestly didn’t intend for you to spill your drink. And certainly not all over yourself.”
“It’s my fault. I should’ve . . .” My words stopped when I finally looked up, and my eyes met the deep blue sea of Tyler’s.
“Tyler,” I said, shocked but relieved it was him who was trying to dab at my privates and not some complete stranger.
His mouth was an embarrassed grimace. “I’ll pay for your dry-cleaning bill.”
I placed the napkin on the bartop as the bartender cleaned up the spillage. “My what?”
“Dry-cleaning. You know, to clean your pants.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s a vodka-tonic with lime. It won’t stain. And my pants are dark. It was more just the shock of you sneaking up on me.” I motioned to my pants. “And being wet.”
His brow shot up just like the corner of his mouth did. “How wet?” he asked, amusement in his words.
“Very funny,” I said, looking down at myself. “You can’t tell, can you?”
“That you’re wet?”
I shook my head with a laugh and slapped his arm playfully.
