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AJLA
In the seaof terrible ideas, this might have been my worst one. Not that there was anything wrong with going on dates. There was something to be said, however, about dates you didn’t want to go on, but you’ve promised your friend you would at least try.
So here I was, fucking trying, while my date—Johnny—kept on talking about his fish as if it was the most fascinating thing in the entire world. Maybe it was, but after he had repeated the same story about buying a whole new aquarium for “her” for the third time in a row, I wanted to ask him if he should maybe consider marrying his fish instead of another human being.
Not that we were anywhere close to talkingabout marriage, and the way this entire conversation was going, I was five minutes away from texting Anna to ask for an "emergency call" she so kindly offered to perform if things went sideways.
Well, things were definitely going sideways.
Johnny was a good looking guy—tall, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass. He was fit, but that’s about it. I had to admit, I wasn't feeling any connection even when we started talking over the app I downloaded days ago at Anna's suggestion, but I knew I had to at least try. I couldn't expect for my soulmate to suddenly waltz into my apartment, look at me and say "There you are". Yeah, those situations never happened in real life. I even put on a dress, dammit. Did my makeup, straightened my hair—I've even shaved my legs, not that I thought anything would happen, but you never know.
It was either going on this date or walking down the street to adopt a cat. I should have chosen the cat.
"So," I interrupted yet another rendition of Mimi's adventures, hoping we could at least have a proper conversation. "You said you're working as a financial analyst, right?" Talk about boring topics, but I simply had no idea what else to ask.
"Uh," his cheeks flushed, "Yeah. I'm working forthis, uh," he pulled at his collar, "company, you know." Queue an unnecessary chuckle spilling over his lips. Something in my gut told me he was lying.
My mom often said that women in our family had a sixth sense, and while I didn't want to lean on some old tale, I couldn't stop the shivers running down my body. Johnny looked like a perfect ten, the type of a guy my mama would love me to have, but my gut was telling me to get the fuck out of here and to get the fuck out of herefast.
The entire evening as I was getting ready, I wanted to cancel. I really, really wanted to cancel. I’d done it before, and it was always easier in the moment. But if I kept backing out, I’d never know if any of these men could be the one. I wasn’t going to meet the love of my life in my pyjamas, elbow-deep in doughnuts.
Johnny took a long sip of his red wine, smiled widely at me and opened his mouth only to dig an even bigger hole for himself. "So, what was it that you do?" As if we didn't discuss this already, not once but at least three times. We've been texting for two weeks before finally agreeing to meet.
At some point, I was sure that the guy was fake and someone was using photos of a gorgeous model to scam poor women on the dating apps, but I was wrong. Well, I was wrong about him scammingpeople with his looks, but his personality definitely should have been to be borrowed from someone else.
"I'm—"
"Oh, shoot," he chuckled again, looking at his phone, interrupting me.Again. "I really need to take this, okay gorgeous?" I almost gagged at the filthy nickname. "I'll be back in just a sec. You should order something, but no carbs, alright? I think we need to lay off carbs for a bit." My eyes widened, my pulse skyrocketed, and did he just... Did he just imply what I think he implied?
He missed me throwing daggers at him with my eyes as he walked away from the table, pulling his phone to his ear. He also missed my tightening grip on the fork in front of me, or my lips moving as I counted to ten.
That motherfucking, piece of fucking shit.
He just said I should lay off the carbs, didn't he? He just implied I was fat?
"Ma jebeš ti ovo," I said out loud, remembering where the fuck I came from. Fuck. This. Shit.
I wasn't going to sit here just to listen to someone who couldn't hold a conversation with another person even if their life depended on it, just to be told I should lay off fucking carbs. I wanted to meet people. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted thatfucking feeling in my stomach that I haven't felt for years.
I wanted it, craved it, and I knew that Johnny wasn't the guy for that. I didn't need to spend the next two hours pretending I was listening to him just to say I didn't. If there was someone out there for me, they’d probably show up when I least expected it, and I refused to waste my time on men who were as interesting as the monthly financial report.
My eyes flickered around the restaurant, over the other patrons sitting at nearby tables, obviously enjoying themselves, as I tried to locate the waiter assigned to our table when I sawhim.
Jesus, Mother Mary, and Joseph. Mohamed and all the other saints.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Just yesterday I finished reading a book with a main male character who looked exactly like this guy. Sitting in the shadowed corner of the restaurant, his eyes were already on me, head tilted as he scanned me, those dark eyes flickering over every single inch of me. He was sitting with two other men that looked like linebackers, but this guy... This guy was even bigger.
The suit he wore stretched over his shoulders, over his chest, almost ripping at the seams.His dark hair was in disarray, as if he kept running his fingers through the longer locks on the top, and when he turned fully toward me, my breath caught in my throat, threatening to choke me.
All those times I’d read that sentence, it had made absolutely no sense to me, but now... Now I understood.
I was breathing, but I really wasn't. People kept moving, time passed, but right now it was only the two of us, staring at each other, ignoring the rest of the world. My eyes dragged over his shadowed eyes, down to the stubble on his cheeks, the full lips that parted as I landed on them, and then back to his eyes, which seemed to be getting darker and darker.
My hand gripped the tablecloth as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did, because I had a feeling I needed to ground myself. To stop myself from getting up and walking over to him. And there weren't butterflies in my stomach, there was a stampede of elephants running through it, fucking with my focus and any rational thoughts.