At least I made it on time.
It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous now and I keep checking my phone to see if he’s messaged. I’m sure it’s just traffic. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe and stop myself from tapping my foot again. The red stilettos are too pretty to ding up over a date that never happened. I contemplate ordering a second glass after finishing the wine… or maybe a drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes. Not that I’m counting.
Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.
He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.
He’s still cute though. I remind myself and force any hint of my thoughts off my face. Those pictures did not prepare me though.
Deep breaths. We’re doing this!
I swallow and extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.
“Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry. Oh my goodness my heart is racing with nerves out of nowhere.
“Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. Oh, he’s a hugger. My inner voice sounds as shocked as I feel. The nervous laugh that leaves me probably gives that away. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.
He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that my mouth is even hanging open a little, but I honestly can’t help it.
Alarm bells are going off in my head, telling me to get out, right now. He is nothing like the person I’ve been talking to.
“How about a drink?” Jason suggests. I could use about a dozen right now to settle down, but my legs feel like Jell-O.
I picture Charlie, my stool, a cool glass of something he whipped up for me.
Oh, my gosh, I blink away my crazy. Pining after Charlie is literally insane.
“Um, okay,” I say, reaching for the menu so I can order the special I wanted and pretend like I’m not hung up on someone so unavailable.
“No no,” he says playfully. “I’ll pick something you’ll love. I’m kind of a craft beer aficionado.” He grabs the menu, taking a seat at the bar before turning back to me with a charming smile and saying, “And I’m really good at guessing what people like.”
“Oh. Well okay.”
I try to talk myself out of the obnoxious first impression I got, after all, Charlie makes me surprise drinks all the time. And there I go again… what is wrong with me?
The drink I was eyeing up was something called a Burial Shadow Clock, but maybe he'll know that. Or maybe he’ll introduce me to something I didn’t know I liked. That thought eases me and I find myself smiling. I take another peek at Jason but find myself comparing his smooth jaw to Charlie’s stubbled one and suddenly I need that drink right this second.
I let out a bit of the tension in my body and take a seat next to him. Staying positive is my main goal. Jason’s not quite how I thought he’d be, but I’m sure the same is true for him.
He skims the menu, then calls the bartender over, ordering two stouts. The bartender asks him whether it’ll be cash or card, and Jason looks to me.
“What’ll it be?” he asks.
“Oh! Uhh… Visa, please.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
I turn and get my wallet from my purse, fumbling to get my credit card to start a tab. I already paid for the first glass and stare at the empty glass, wishing it was full again. The tight smile stays on my face as I hand it to the same bartender as before. It’s only when the man side-eyes Jason that I realize he’s not reaching for his card. Jason taps his hands on the bar top and looks past the bartender to the television screens behind him.
The bartender gives me a dubious look, then goes to run the card. Shake off the unease. It’s fine. I’ll get the drinks and I bet he’ll get dinner. Maybe that’s the way it works normally? Or maybe… maybe he’s thinking something else, I don’t know.
Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, I try to shake it off. I’m a little more than put out that Jason assumed I could pay for his beer as I watch the bartender pour it, but unsure how to say so. I glance at him, biting down on my lip, and he smirks.
“I like to let the woman pick up the first tab,” he says. “Not that I can’t buy a drink. It’s just, you know, figure out if they’re gold diggers, you know?”
Gold digger? One drink. No dinner with this guy unless things change around tremendously. Making myself that promise I glance between the second pint the bartender is filling and my date.
Jason stares at me expectantly, like he really wants a response to his comment. My lips curl down into a partial frown as I offer, “We could have split the check.”
“Yeah, but I want a woman who earns, you know what I mean? A woman who knows how to be aggressive about what she wants.”
I’m a little flabbergasted at that, and I know it shows on my face. Luckily the bartender shows up at that moment, setting two dark beers down in front of us.
This has got to be new-date-jitters. I couldn’t have been so wrong about this guy.
“Oh,” I say, looking at the beer’s dark chocolate color. It reminds me a bit of chocolate milk for some reason. I don’t normally drink beer, but when I do, I’m a pale ale kind of girl. Feeling my stress level climb higher and higher, I purse my lips a little and wonder what I’m doing here.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asks, drawing my attention to him.
Oh so much is wrong, but I stick with the polite answer, “I don’t usually care for dark beer much, but I’m excited to give it a try.” A small smile slips onto my face when he grins at my statement.
“You will,” he nods, picking up his pint glass for a toast. “What should we toast to?”
“How about to new experiences?”
“No, no,” he corrects me. “To us.”
He clinks his glass against mine, and it spills a tiny bit of the beer over my hand onto the bar top. I can practically hear him guzzling still after I take a sip of the beer, ignoring the spilled beer and simply laughing it off. Two small square napkins is enough to clean it up anyway. The bitter taste in my mouth sits on my tongue. Yup, nope, I don’t like dark beer.
Sitting easily on the stool as I take another sip of the beer. It’s indeed like chocolate milk… if chocolate milk is rancid and bitter.
I take yet another sip, thinking that maybe I just need to close my eyes and let it wash over my tongue…
Nope. I sit my beer down and push it away, relegating it to the far edge of the bar.