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Matchmaking services, especially at this level, are way fucking more expensive than a subscription to a stupid app.
Our evening progresses painfully slow. I’m fairly certain I’ve had periods that have gone by faster and less uncomfortable than this. Hell, if it weren’t for the drinking, crabcakes, and exchanging of suggestive looks with Tate every free second that he gets, I honestly would fake sick to flee the scene of this crime, which is now what I’m calling our “date”.
Because it is a fucking crime to spend this much time with someone you can’t stand just to steal a few moments with someone you can.
The arrival of our check sparks another unfortunate conversation about who can pay and should pay for things in relationships. And while I’m not opposed to being wined or dined or having a cave man call me “mine”, I am absolutely against the notion that I “never” should pick up a tab.
Never?
Why not?
Why can’t I spend my money to treat the one I’m with the way they do me?
I skip continuing the irritating conversation, allow him to pay, and end the evening by pretending to go to the bathroom rather than my car after insisting he can go on ahead and that I’ll just walk myself out. Thankfully, there’s no kiss nor any attempt at a kiss, and his promise to call feels as forced as the rest of the evening.
Once I’m convinced, he’s gone, I slip back out of the bathroom to head for the front doors yet stop to stare at my table where Tate is collecting the bill. The disappointment of not having received my number isn’t only palpable, it’s painful. For a guy who is always smiling, always so seemingly cheery, to see such a disheartening expression is heartbreaking.
And that heartbreak gets my heels hastily clicking across the floor.
And that same heartbreak has me snatching the bill fold out of his hand.
And it’s the idea of never being the one to hurt him again that pushes me to scribble my phone number on the back of the receipt without a word.
Worst case scenario?
He never uses it, and I have to find amazing crabcakes somewhere else, a feat I will battle head on if I must.
Best case scenario?
He teaches me how to smile a bit more while I stay committed to making sure he never smiles any less.
Chapter 2
Tate
I am a lucky bastard.
I know this.
I’ve known this all my life.
How many others get to have this much happiness and excitement without sacrificing so much of themselves first?
How many other people get to simply wake up and have so many of their dreams just instantly fulfilled?
Maybe this happens to me more than most others because my dreams are never too high.
Never have been.
No reason for them to be.
Loving what you have and what you’re given and where you are and most importantly, who you’re with is the best shite my family has ever taught me.
And it’s honestly something I wish I could teach the masses to do a bit more.
Or at least better.
I give my short brown hair a scratch, tuck one arm behind my head, and continue to smile like a looney at the scribbled phone number.
