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Ew. So gross.
That was the perfect word to describe it. The only word, in fact. The entire date was just so fucking gross. She still couldn’t believe her sweet little roommate from Iowa,Gretchen Kaepernick, she of the wispy hair and baby blues, had set her up with this guy!
What the actual fuck was up with that?
Little Gianni was a slob. Actually, he looked just like her Uncle Nico, and that was not a good thing. Seriously, not good at all.
He wore his hair slicked back in a too tight ponytail that emphasized his rapidly receding hairline. As if that wasn’t enough to put her off, he was sporting an enormous paunch. Now, being a curvy girl, Elissa appreciated food and was in no way against men showing the same appreciation.
She liked bigger men. Always had. But bigger did not mean you had to be sloppy. Little Gianni’s stomach was literally hanging out from under a tight tan golf shirt that had definitely seen better days.
The man didn’t even look like he had ever played a sport of any kind. With it, he wore brown polyester pants that were three inches above his ankles and unbuttoned at the waist.
He didn’t look like he tried at all for this date. What kind of guy did that? His shirt collar was bent and wrinkled, and all three buttons were open to his chest, revealing a mat of oily, dark hair and pimples.
Somehow, he’d managed to tuck the back of the shirt in, but the front simply would not hold in that stomach. What worried her more were the tight brown pants.
As he sat back and stretched, she wondered if she should take cover. They looked like they were one bite from exploding off his body. Elissa shuddered at the image.
Please God, if You have an ounce of mercy, don’t let that happen,she prayed.
“Hang on, doll, I gotta take this,” he said, and turned to answer his cell phone.
It was ringing to the tune of ‘70s disco music she hadn’t heard since the last family reunion. Her eyes kept going to the huge stain on the front of his shirt. It was a little game she liked to callwhat the hell is that.
Coffee, she guessed.
“Up your ass, Bruno. I gotta have it by Monday,” he cursed into the receiver.
Elissa winced at the spectacle he was making of them both. There were only a handful of people there, but still.
Deep breaths.
Ew. Maybe not.
She coughed as the strong body spray, that he’d obviously used a ton of in lieu of a shower, bad move in her opinion, invaded her lungs.
Oh, this was so bad.
Elissa was, by no means, a snob. But this guy looked like he’d stepped out of a bad 1980s mafia spoof film. What’s worse, he kept smacking his lips together as he hung up the phone and looked her over from head to chest.
Thank fuck for the table, she thought, wishing she could hide her bosoms from his view.
“Ssssss,” he hissed, like it was sexy or something.
She just grimaced. Elissa might be able to forgive a lot of quirks, but she hated mouth noises. Really hated them. It was a super pet peeve of hers. Never mind his totally inappropriate and unwelcomed leer.
She started counting the minutes, willing the date to be over already. Plenty of people would tell her she shouldn’t be so choosy, but really? She was not this desperate.
Not yet anyway.
So, she was curvy and a little mouthy too. But was it wrong to want a man with good table manners? Even if men were thin on the ground for someone like her.
As a chef, she’d worked in a lot of restaurants and even as a personal cook for professional couples. She’d seen her fair share of unhappy couples and downright uncomfortable marriages. But as far as she was concerned, all relationships went downhill when good table manners were dismissed.
Good manners were merely a sign that a person was thoughtful and respectful. At least, that was what Nonna had told her. Gianni here had clearly missed that lesson as a child. Elissa had to work not to groan in disgust as he slurped a raw clam down his gullet.
Shudder.
