Page 3 of My Killer Blind Date

I grit out a smile. I promised George I’d give this guy a fair shake, and a fair shake I shall give him. Promises to friends are sacrosanct. Anyway, I can’t be too hard on Brian. Being insufferable from time to time is probably, definitely, just part of the human condition.

‘So did I tell you the story yet where I was able to literally save my company one million dollars because of a clerical error I caught in a vendor contract?’

I smile. ‘Mmmm, I don’t think so—’

And he’s off again.

I gulp my glass of water and fortify my soul to keep on enduring. Finally, about a dozen French fries later, he wraps his story up and reaches for his beer. My cue!

‘So, Brian – what do you do in your free time?’ It’s been all work stories so far; this will hopefully take the conversation in a more interesting direction.

‘I like to work out at the gym.’

OK, I can work with that! ‘Let me guess – Zumba?’

He gives me a slightly confused look. ‘Weight lifting.’

‘Oh, cool.’ Yeah, maybe my joke was lame. There’s a short silence. I clear my throat. ‘Do you have any … unusual hobbies?’

‘What do you mean, unusual?’

‘I don’t know – do you …’ I spin my hands. Give me something, Brian. ‘… bake? Cosplay? Collect anything weird?’

He narrows his eyes. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know … Star Wars figurines? Magic: the Gathering cards? Ceramic squirrels?’ I shrug helplessly. ‘Sorry, bad question.’

‘But hey,’ he pivots, ‘you still hungry?’ He gestures to the empty plate of fries – whoops, I hadn’t realized I ate the last one.

‘Um, I don’t think so.’

‘So do you travel much?’ he asks, but before I can answer, he jumps back in. ‘Because I love traveling, whenever I can, and last month me and my buds did this amazing last-minute trip, you’ll never guess where—’ As Brian describes their five-star accommodations in Cancun and how he surfed like a pro on his first try ‘—and swear to God I’d never even touched a surfboard before, my natural sense of balance is insane—’ I fight to pay attention. But the longer Brian talks, the further my spirits sink.

Technically, he’s done nothing wrong. Well, except for show zero interest in anything about me. Then again, maybe he’s nervous, and this is nervous talking. Maybe he’s lonely and just needs a listening ear.

So why do I suddenly feel like crying?

Ooooh, you actually thought this could work? says a voice in my head. Admit it. You wouldn’t be disappointed unless you’d been a teensy bit hopeful. Underneath all your fake cynicism, your pure little heart was just hoping that after your two self-imposed years of celibacy, you’d meet someone amazing tonight, wasn’t it?

Ugh. Fine. Yes. Who doesn’t want to meet their better half, their missing piece, their soulmate?

If I even believe in soulmates. I don’t. Outside of fiction, I’ve yet to see any real-life proof. Unfortunately, my stubborn lizard brain believes otherwise.

‘So what do you do?’ Brian says suddenly, breaking through my haze, and I’m so surprised he finally asked me a question, it takes a second for words to actually assemble in my brain.

‘Oh … a little this, a little that. I, um – I worked in an office.’ That’s safer than the Uber driver of corpses.

‘Worked?’

Dang it. I was hoping he’d miss the past tense.

‘Until I got laid off,’ I say with a regretful little smile. Best to leave it there. The story is not exactly first-date material. Too depressing. God, do I have any cheerful anecdotes? Failed job, dead friend, current employment as ferrywoman of the deceased …

Brian nods appreciatively, looking me up and down. ‘OK, OK, I can see that. Yeah, you do kinda have that sexy secretary vibe.’ He leans close, clearly feeling that we’re vibing more than we are. ‘And I’m into that. In case you were wondering.’

‘Uh …’ I laugh awkwardly and lean back a little, but he just leans in closer. Oooh, his breath reeks of gin … wait a minute … he hasn’t had that much to drink here. Did Brian pregame? I’m now noticing his flushed cheeks, his dilated pupils.

‘Maybe you could come back to my place.’ His grin goes extra crooked. ‘I’m afraid I might need to be sent to the naughty boy corner.’