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I take ten minutes to put my food away and clean up my mess before I quickly change out of my loungewear, slipping into a black, off the shoulder, batwing sleeved sweater and a pair of medium-washed skinny jeans. I dress it up a smidge with three-inch black strappy sandals on top of a stable block heel.
After putting on a touch of makeup and removing my hair from a ponytail, I run my fingers through the locks, careful to detangle it without ruining the curly strands.
Snatching my purse from the counter, I head out into the hall and make it to the elevator. Three floors down, it opens up on the first level. I stroll down the hall, heading for the front doors but come to a halt with a gasp when a man exits his apartment in front of me, making me nearly bump into him.
I recognize him as another new transplant. We’ve talked a few times in passing while we check our mail or when we’re passing each other as he leaves and I come home. His name is Fred and he moved in a week before I did.
“Sorry,” I say with an embarrassed laugh. “You scared me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he repeats with a grin, checking to make sure his door is locked.
Fred is classically handsome with his strong jaw, high cheekbones, dark hair and light blue eyes. His face is as smooth as a baby’s, and he’s probably only a few years older than me. He gives offI came from moneyvibes, and probably works in his dad’s law firm or something. He’s not bad to look at, but definitely seems like he’d be kind of boring.
“You heading out, too?” he questions.
“Yep. Figured I’d go to the casino and see if I can get lucky,” I say with a smile.
“Ace’s High?” he questions, showing off his perfectly straight teeth with a wide grin. “That’s where I’m going.”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Want to catch a cab together?”
“I was gonna walk.”
“Yeah, no. I’m not walking three blocks in these heels,” I say with a laugh.
He looks down at my feet before meeting my gaze again. “I get it. I’ll ride in a cab with you.”
Once we’re outside waiting for a car to show up, I ask him, “You meeting friends there?”
He runs his palms over his jeans. “I’m supposed to be meeting a girl there.”
“Oh yeah? First date?”
A cab pulls up and we get in the back and tell the driver where to go.
“Yeah, blind date, actually.” He chuckles nervously. “I didn’t even think people still did that and here I am.”
I laugh with him. “I like it. It’s kind of old fashioned. Well, I don’t know if that’s the right way to explain it, but nowadays people have apps to meet future partners. It might be kind of fun to get to know someone face-to-face rather than through text.”
I say these things knowing I’d never go on a blind date. My anxiety wouldn’t allow it.
“But through apps, at least you can filter them out before wasting your time,” he says.
With a laugh, I say, “Then why are you doing this?”
“Have you ever had parents meddle in your life?”
“No. Kind of the opposite, in fact.”
He frowns. “Sorry. I know I should appreciate that they care but it’s not like I’m old. I still have time.”
“I understand.”
We get to the casino and he holds the door open for me before slipping the driver some cash.
“I could’ve paid half,” I say, “But thank you.”
“It’s no biggie,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
