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“Hi, Sarah. My date was a bust, and yours doesn’t appear to be any better. What do you say? You want to see if we match?”
5
Sarah
Do I want to get out of here? Hell yeah, I do.
Brad is a disgusting pig of a man. When I sat down, he stared blatantly at my chest and called them the perfect buns for his hotdog. Gross… just gross. Who says shit like that? Not a grown man, that’s for sure. But Brad isn’t grown. He’s a fifteen-year-old stuck in a thirty-something-year-old body.
He was initially upset about my lack of makeup, but assured me my breasts and wheelbarrow hips more than made up for it. I don’t know what wheelbarrow hips mean, but I have a pretty good idea it’s something sexual. And I don’t want any part of any… naked activities with him.
He also talks about himself way too much. I know his whole damn history, right down to how many poor females he’s conned into bed with him. Tossing out the number like I should be impressed and begging him to take me right here, right now. Who is vetting these people? I mean, they conduct the interviews in person, can’t Rebecca or her cronies tell if someone is lying or not? If they have a little something called decency? I guess it would be hard to since they lack any themselves.
Case in point, Tiffany, who practically threw herself at Mark from the moment she approached the table. How do I know? Because as luck would have it, his table was by mine and I’ve spent most of this evening secretly watching them. Hey, just because I can’t have him doesn’t mean I can’t lust after him.
But now he’s here offering me the chance to say eff it all and follow him out of this place. Thank God he came when he did. I was this close to melting down. The noise, the pressure of being around so many strangers without a friendly face in sight, save the one I’m not supposed to want, and Brad’s obnoxious behavior was not doing my nerves any good.
I’m tempted. My brain seems to like Mark, not screaming at me to fold within myself and hide as it does with others. I feel an odd sense of comfort around him. Like I did when I first met Amber. I have a sense he’ll respect my boundaries and not try to invade them when I need to recharge. Don’t ask me why I feel that way—I just do.
But the question is—Is he worth losing my job over?I hardly know the man, having only shared a few heated glances and very brief exchanges. Amber did say I would meet my future here. She was downright insistent about it. I wonder if she knew something I didn’t.
“Who the hell are you? This is my score… go get your own.” Score? Can this man possibly get any worse?
Mark glares at Brad, nose flared and fist clenched. If I don’t do something, this will quickly spiral out of control. Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of my hands.
“See, I told you! The slag is trying to take my man!” That’s a Tiffany screech if I ever heard one, all nasally and witch-like. It’s soon followed by a shrill hiss. Rebecca has arrived.
“What did I tell you, Sarah? To keep your hands to yourself. Look what you’ve done!”
I’m done. I. Am. Done. No money is worth this stress. I’ll find something new, something better.
Leaping up from my seat, I unleash my fury on an unsuspecting Rebecca. “What I’ve done?! Look at what you’ve done! Bribing me to pose as a client’s date to save face,” I start ticking off their infractions one by one. “Using the clients for your own trashy means. Oh, and let’s not forget lying about your matchmaking abilities.”
I turn to address the entire restaurant. This is the loudest and most spotlight-grabbing I’ve ever been in my life, but these people need to know how their money is being wasted. “Yeah, that’s right, Forever Love is a fraud. They don’t personally pour over files. They don’t pour over shit. They take your info, plug it into the system, then hit a button, and out pops your match. How do I know? Because I wrote the freaking program. A program I was told to dumb down to ensure repeat customers. None of these people are your real match. You guys just share two things in common. And not even the important ones.”
I let it all out, knowing I’ll be jobless by the time I’m finished, but I really couldn’t give two shits.
The whole time, Mark stands there with a look of awe and pride on his face. I don’t know where the pride comes from, but I’ll take it. I’m pretty damn proud of myself. But I can also feel my energy depleting. I need to get out of here quickly before I fall headfirst into a meltdown. I only have one last thing to do, then I can call it a night.
Getting right in Brad’s pockmark-ridden face, I target him next. “You, Brad Cooper, are a disgusting, worthless piece of garbage. For the record, no woman likes to be told she has wheelbarrow hips or great buns for your hotdog. As a matter of fact, do us all a favor and embrace celibacy. We do not want you touching us. Furthermore, I think you lied about your number.”
Now I’m done.
“He told you had what kind of hips?! You motherfu—” Yeah, Mark knows what that means, and he is not happy about it. Time to get us both out of here.
“Let’s go,” I tell Mark, pulling him away from the table. Everybody is quiet, stunned by my outburst and whistleblowing. If we go now, we can avoid the inevitable shouting that will happen once the shock wears off.
“No. I want to go back there and have a little talk with Brad. No one should be thinking about your buns or wheelbarrowing you but me.” I really need to find out what this wheelbarrow thing is all about. I’m more convinced now than ever that it is a sex position. One Mark seems to want to do with me.
“I really need to get out of here.” I sound like I’m pleading because I am.
Please understand me… please. I know I haven’t told you about my introversion, but I need you to listen to me.
No questions, no strange looks. Mark hears me, registers my distress, and simply picks me up in his arms, carrying me bridal style through the restaurant and out the door. I hide my face in his neck, breathing in his smooth, rich scent.
Once we get outside in the cool air and away from the crowd, I start to feel better, not as overwhelmed as before but in need of some serious me time.
“You okay, baby?” I raise my head and smile at the genuine concern swimming in Mark’s ocean-blue eyes. He understood. Maybe not the why, but he understood the urgency.
