The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 10 - The Date

I don't like Shaun. This date is a disaster. I'm bored and I want to go home. What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to this? Ugh. Probably the same thing I was thinking when I let her pick out my dress and do my hair and makeup.

How bad can it be?

The answer to all the above is very, very bad.

We're in a dark, smoke-filled bar, ears pulsing with techno music. I'm wearing a short, dark blue dress with a fair exhibition of cleavage. I have soft, flowy curls, smoky eyes, winged eyeliner and a pair of nude, six-inch pumps that cost more than my left kidney, all for a boy whose shining moment was when he asked the waiter if they have house-infused gin. It's already questionably safe to be in here without a hazmat suit. If their gin is infused, it's not with something FDA-approved.

Actually, Shaun shone quite brightly when he walked through the door too. The blond, burly waiter had just brought us our drinks when the boys arrived. Sosa squealed and flew into Sir Derek's arms as soon as she saw him, leaving ample time for me and Shaun to eye each other awkwardly. It didn't take me long to admit that he looks nothing short of a Mediterranean demigod.

Tall, tanned and incredibly fit. His arms are beautifully sculpted under his short-sleeved shirt. He has closely-shaved chestnut hair, eyes green and endless like those fields in Irish butter commercials and a smile that would make a blind nun weak in the knees. But that's it. That is where the shining stopped. And after listening to him talking incessantly about the imminent possibility of increasing the whatsit power of the Whatnot network to get faster connections in the Wherenow region, I can safely say that my knees are very firm and strong.

I drum my fingers against my empty glass and vaguely wonder if business drinks with Jeremy and his corporate drones would have been the better choice.

I notice that the boys' glasses are still full. They haven't even touched their second round. Meanwhile, Sosa and I have finished our fourth and I don't know about her, but I definitely need a fifth.

Sosa catches my eye across the table and telepathically chastises me for not even trying to get to know Shaun. I tune in to the same frequency and warn her that I am very close to jabbing the cocktail umbrella in one eye and the stirrer in the other.

"Should we go get more drinks from the bar, babe?" she asks Derek, interrupting the boy-talk.

Derek looks back at her somewhat confused. "I'll signal the waiter," he smiles.

"No. Let's go to the bar," Sosa insists meaningfully. Then she leans towards him provocatively, her gold-sequined dress shifting precariously up her thigh, and whispers something in his ear. She lifts one red-nailed hand and curls it around the back of his neck, playfully stroking his arm with the other. I notice her right foot brushing lightly against his shin. Derek's eyes go wide and then wider and his cheeks flush red. I see him trying to swallow but his mouth has gone dry.

I press my lips together to hold back my smirk. She's good. Derek stands up and heads over to the bar without another word, Sosa hot on his heels, winking at me as she passes by. Shaun is ogling at them wide-eyed, clearly wondering what all that was about.

"So, Shaun," I start at the same time as he opens his mouth to speak.

"Oh, sorry, go ahead," I say politely, ready to hear him talk about anything that's not made of metal and isn't expected to transport data across the planet.

"No, ladies first," he smiles shyly.

"Um, I was just going to ask you where you're from."

"Sliema. I have a studio apartment on the front."