Page 105 of Good Touch, Bad Touch Collection
Another of my grandfather’s euphemisms was,If you’re on time, you’re late.He may have always smelled like cigar smoke and Mentholatum, but he was a bright spot in my childhood.
“Phew.” I exhale, my heart pittering like a hummingbird’s wings, reminding me I’ve been neglecting my cardio.
I fuss with the waistband of the dress where it’s digging in, take a cleansing breath, force a bored yet approachable expression onto my face, and push through the doors with measured steps.
Eighties soft pop music mixes with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversation as I scan the crowded space. My eyes land on a high-top table next to the bar and shocker, Frank’s early. For the first time. Things are looking up.
He’s older by six years, well-tailored, not bad looking, but, honestly, a bit of a douche.
But, this dating thing, I’m starting to wonder if it’s like a Tootsie Pop. It takes a lot of licks to get to the good part. So, I’ve resolved to not abandon a potential opportunity without putting in a reasonable, if not sometimes uncomfortable, amount of effort.
I swing my hair, squeezing my beaded clutch, wondering if I look desperate. This is an upscale area in midtown Detroit, but still, my red dress, fuck-me boots and sparkly bag may be a touch over the top for a Thursday evening.
I’m generally a levelheaded gal, but man, dating is an emotional minefield.
Frank stares at his phone as I weave through the humming chatter of the after-work crowd. I step into a vapor cloud of cologne surrounding a group of young guys throwing back shots with loosened ties and gelled hair.
“Hi.” I greet my date with a blink and a reasonably friendly, but not desperate, smile, holding my breath as Frank slowly raises his eyes.
I expect a flicker of something magical to ride across his features.
Instead, he looks at me like I’m serving him with a summons.
“Hey.” He mumbles, looking back at his phone, tapping on the screen as I stand there, feet together, sucking in my cheeks, channeling my inner Heidi Klum. And from the way the group of guys behind me are eyeing up my rear quarters, they approve.
“Hey,” I repeat. The enthusiasm I had walking through the door turns lukewarm as he finishes whatever important business he’s focusing on before leaning forward with an outstretched arm for a side hug paired with an odd, somewhat creepy moan.
“You look nice.”
Nice.
I looknice.
“Thanks,” I manage, as that ‘when can I leave’ feeling flutters in my belly.
“Drink?” he offers, waving his hand toward a raven haired, tattooed waitress standing at the service end of the bar.
“Iced tea.”
“Really?” He rolls his eyes with a patronizing snort. “It’s okay. You can loosen up a bit. It’s thirsty Thursday. Maybe it would help.”
“Help what?” I crease my brow, the beads on my purse indenting my fingertips as I intensify the pressure of my grip. “You know I don’t drink. It’s not a problem for me, I just don’t like how it makes me feel.”
He brushes his forehead with his fingers on a sigh, snapping his tongue over his teeth as my face heats. “I was just hoping maybe you’d loosen up. Let down those walls. A little less inhibition might be good.”
“I’m not inhibited, Frank.”
What am I doing here?
“Listen,” he grunts, impatience painted all over his face. “It’s datethree, I was hoping…” He reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer, retrieving a plastic card, and slaps it down on the marble tabletop with a lick of his already strangely wet lips.
“I’m—” I start, my brain working through the possible reactions to the Comfort Inn room key staring up at me.
He couldn’t even pop for a fancy hotel.
The waitress steps up as the pounding in my temples from earlier blossoms into a full-blown migraine.
“What can I get for you, sweety?” she says with a side-eye toward Frank. Her dark eyes are framed by killer swooping eyeliner as they flick to the room key Frank is now sliding in a slow circle in the center of the table.
