I don’t know how to keep things in one tense I’m so sorry.
There’s gonna be smut and gross stuff later so be warned. This chapter is clean tho.
You stand in front of your body length mirror in your bedroom, checking over yourself for the fourth time. It had been a long time since you had last gone on a date – you couldn’t even remember the last time. Had you even been on one before, really? You weren’t sure. You glance at the clock beside your bed and panic. It was almost time to leave. You steal one more glance at the mirror.
You wore a white dress that clung to your hips and showed off a bit more of your cleavage than you would have liked, but it was the outfit your friend Jan had picked out for you. It also happened to be the same friend who set this date up in the first place. As you were pulling the dress down, something white in the corner of your room caught your eye and you gasped, throwing your hand over your mouth and spinning around.
Oh. It was a white pleather purse your mother had given you a few years ago, of course. What else would it be. You felt like kicking yourself. With a sigh you grabbed the purse and slug it over your shoulder. Just your ever-wanting eyes playing tricks on you. Wasn’t the first time, and it more than likely won’t be the last.
The ringtone of your phone makes you jump out of your skin and you quickly pick it up. “Yeeeees Jan, what is it?” you say as you pick your black cardigan up off your bed and head to your car.
“Just checking in and making sure you’re still going! You’ll just love Randy. He’s so funny. Trust me. You’ll have an amazing time. You’re going, right?”
You roll your eyes at her gushing. You highly doubt that you will be interested in this “Randy” guy at all. You’ve learned you have a very specific taste in men and you doubt you’ll find anyone like him ever again. Your heart twisted in pain and you quickly pushed the thoughts back down.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going. If I don’t you’ll never let me live it down. Also, what the hell is with this dress? I think I’m gonna be givin’ him the wrong impression.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I bet you look hot as hell. Anyways, have fun! Tell me all about it when you get home. If you get home.”
You just about gagged. There was no way that you were fucking this dude.
You quickly walk to your car after locking your house up, pulling your cardigan closer to your body as the evening Autumn breeze scattered leaves about and tussled your hair. Once you were in your car you turned the music up and started to zone out. You didn’t pay attention to the music, you were just trying to drown out your own thoughts.
Of course, it was no use. Your mind jumped right to where it shouldn’t. You were madly, completely, totally in love with a man who you couldn’t have anymore. The fact that you loved him as much as you did was sick, due to what exactly he does. But you didn’t care. Love is blind.
Before you knew it you were parked in the parking lot of La Belle, the chosen restaurant by Randy. It was some overpriced, fake French cuisine joint that you never wanted to go to. He insisted it was the best place in town, apparently. Tears were streaming down your face – you hadn’t realized that you had started crying. Taking a deep breath, you reached over and took a tissue from out of your glovebox, then wiped your face. Hopefully your face wasn’t too red. Not that it mattered, you weren’t exactly trying to impress anyone.
You stepped out of your car and once again pulled your sweater tighter against yourself, an ice cold chill down your spine. The hair on the back of your neck started to raise – which was odd, because you’ve only ever experience that when…
Your heart started to race and you quickly spun around, your eyes scanning the parking lot. Could it really be?
After a moment of searching you gave up with a sigh. Again your body was being cruel to you. However you’ve never felt it this strong before. You blinked away the fresh tears that wanted to spill over and walked into the restaurant. As you did, your nose picked up a very familiar scent, one of cheap cologne. This time you ignored it, not wanting to have a full on break down in front of searching, judgmental eyes.
You spotted the man that Jan had set you up with and gave a tiny frown. He looked nothing like the photo she had sent you. He smiled when he saw you and stood up, beckoning you over.
“Hi! You must be Y/N! I’m Randy,” he beams, pulling your chair out for you. You give a small smile in return and sit down.
He sat down across from you, his brown eyes searching your face. You hoped the dim light from the candle on the table hid how red your face was.
“I ordered us a bottle of wine – hope you like reds,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face. Oh boy, he was already trying to get you drunk. Go figure. You nod and look away as his eyes travel down from your face to rest on your chest. Quickly you pick up your menu and look it over, internally gagging over the food offered here. How pretentious could a place get?
“So, Y/N, what do you do for a living?”
“Oh, I do graphic design. Don’t get out much since I’m always at home working, I also like to do photography on the side, “ you respond, toying with a lock of your hair.
“Ah, I see. Interesting, I…” you tune out his words, not really interested in what he does. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty, but again this wasn’t your idea. Your eyes flick over to a waiter walking to your table, holding a tray with a large bottle of wine resting on top of it.
Before you even knew what was happening, the waiter was falling to the floor, the bottle of wine crashing down with him. It shattered on the ground near his face and you thought for a sickening moment that some of the glass was going to slice right into the tender flesh on his face. Thankfully, he was lucky tonight, and he didn’t get a single cut.
A few people turned their heads and were watching the incident with interest shining in their eyes. Oddly enough, the man that was sitting alone at the table right next to where the waiter fell didn’t look or even flinch when it happened, nor did he offer to help the man up.
“Aw hell, I think that was our wine!” Randy fussed, peering at the scene. How did he even manage to trip like that?”
Your eyes linger on the back of the lone mans head for a moment before you tear them away.
The rest of the date after that moment went by pretty uneventful. You got another bottle of wine and the waiter had apologized pretty profusely, saying he didn’t know what happened. You got a pretty basic salad and had a few glasses of wine, but not enough to get you tipsy. Before you knew it, you were headed out of the restaurant and making your way to your car.
Randy was clinging to your elbow, who had obviously had much more to drink than you did.
“Are you positive you can drive yourself home? I’m totally sober, so I could-- I could, you know, drive you home,” he says, his hand tightening on your elbow. “Or, you could just come over to my house… I live right around here, you can lay down, or…” he murmured, drawing closer to you.
You immediately pull away and take your keys out from your purse, trying not to make a face.
“No, really, I have work to catch up on, and I’m fine to drive myself.”
Randy frowns and looks you over. “Well, my bed is, like, really comfortable. And I-”
“It’s a lot of work. I had fun, have a nice night!” you say as you jump into your car and start it before Randy can get another word in. You throw the car in reverse, and drive home.
Once you get home you jump into the shower and wash off the grime you feel you caught from Randy. You slip into your pj shorts and shirt and go back to your room, then sit on your bed, letting the tears that have been building up through the day flow freely. This had become something of a nightly ritual.
For a second time that night your phones ringtone made you have a heart attack. This time was unusual because by the time you had finished showering and getting ready for bed, it was 3AM. Who on earth would be calling at this time? The caller ID read “Unknown”.
‘Probably Jan with some new phone or tonight's lovers phone,’ you think as you hit the green button and bring the phone up to your ear. Your heart beats fast, once again hoping it was him.
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