It's Just Pretend

Morning After - Reminiscing 1

"The point of a first date is to see how well you connect—not how much you spend on dinner or how good you read lips over drum solos"

- Ramsey Solutions

It was a lovely evening. A cool breeze carried the scent of the night, crisp and fresh, as I rushed to finish getting ready. He was right on time. That in itself was impressive. You never truly know what—or who—you'll meet on the internet. Yes, I said what, and you know exactly what I mean. A quick Google search of online dating horror stories would confirm my paranoia.

But here I was, letting him pick me up. To be fair, I don't drive, and what kind of fool would I be to pay for an Uber or race to catch the bus when he offered me a direct ride? Besides, an extra ten minutes together meant more time to assess him before I was stuck at a movie with a potential psycho.

I know what you're thinking—why the hell would I give a stranger my address if I'm so cautious? Call me delusional, but I don't think he's a creep. Yes, I know we've only been talking for a week, but I've been taking notes from the girls on TikTok and Instagram. If a guy doesn't plan a proper date outside of "come over to my place," then he's out. This one? He passed the test. So far, green flags all around—but let's be real, red seems to be my new favorite color these days.

Unfortunately, while he was punctual, I was barely making time. I mean, I had just gotten off work at five, spent an hour on the bus, made a pit stop at Dollar Tree, and finally got home at 6:20. How did he expect me to be ready in an hour? Unbelievable. And I couldn't just take a quick shower—I needed an everything shower. Shaving, exfoliating, body scrub, body wash—the works. And no, before you even think it, I wasn't planning on sleeping with him. I barely knew him. But if something unexpected happened—say, I ended up in the hospital—I needed to be clean and in good underwear. My aunt drilled that into my head growing up, and it stuck.

I finally settled on my outfit. A backless red bodycon dress that hugged my curves just right. Bold choice, maybe, but red was my new obsession. Plus, it was perfect for showing off my brand-new back tattoo—a lion stretched across my back, its fierce gaze burning with quiet intensity. The intricate details of the mane cascaded down my spine, each strand of fur meticulously shaded to create depth and movement, as if caught in an invisible breeze. The artist had captured the wild strength in its piercing eyes—golden with a touch of shadow, a perfect blend of power and wisdom.

Its muscular form wrapped around my shoulder blades, powerful and regal, the subtle highlights giving the illusion of life beneath my skin. The lion's mouth, slightly parted, revealed sharp fangs—not in a snarl, but in a silent promise of dominance and protection. Clawed paws rested just above my lower back, grounded yet poised for action, marking me as both warrior and queen. 

Hair? High puff. I was between styles, and my tender head needed a break before I put in braids or threw on a wig again.

I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. Cute, sexy—but not screaming "I want to jump your bones." Perfect.

Only two minutes late. Not bad. I stepped outside, and—damn. He was breathtaking in real life. The pictures hadn't lied. Same haircut, same little smirk that hinted at a dimple. Wait—was it one or two? I'd have to make him laugh to find out. His lips? Surprisingly inviting for a white guy. And his build? Endomorph, but fit—a definite snuggle buddy. I bet I'd melt into him if I hugged him.

Was that my lack of recent sexual encounters talking, or did I actually like him? Or was I just being delusional? And to think, once upon a time, I swore I'd never date outside my race. Yet here I was, on a date with a white man, and I hadn't even made it out the door before my mind was running wild.

I paused in the doorway, giving him a chance to take me in. He had already stepped out of the car, waiting to greet me and open my door—just like he'd promised.

Nice.

His outfit? A flannel-looking peach shirt left open over a black t-shirt, tan pants, and black-and-tan shoes. Not bad. Effort was made. Style could use a little guidance, but at least he wasn't embarrassing. Unlike the last guy, who showed up dressed like he was interviewing to be a CEO while I was in sweats and a hoodie.

"Hey," he said, offering his hand.

I ignored it and went straight for a hug.

Take a sniff, guys. That's my desperation and delusion you're smelling. But seriously, maybe I should've just shaken his hand and played it cool. Too late now.

His car was a Jeep Cherokee. Nothing too fancy, nothing too shabby. It got the job done. Clean, too—no trash, no random junk thrown around. Just a slightly dusty dashboard. He'd mentioned earlier that the AC didn't work. Honestly? Fine by me. Nine months of winter made an AC practically useless anyway.

The date itself? Surprisingly good. Thoughtful, attentive—everything a girl could hope for. And those theatre seats? America really cracked the code with those adjustable handles. Cozy movie snuggles should be a requirement. Not just for couples, but for comfort in general. And let's be real—bigger folks deserve that space, too.

He was warm. A human heater running at the perfect temperature for me. My first impression was spot on—this man was made for cuddling.

At 5'4", I melted into him, my body molding perfectly against his side. Maybe a little too much for a first date, but I couldn't help it. He was touchy—not in a creepy way, just present. A hand on my arm, a soft caress on my back, fingers tracing absentmindedly along my skin. Sometimes his hand drifted to my knee, never crossing any lines, just there. It wasn't sexual, just a quiet, reassuring presence.

God, I needed more of that in my life.

I know what you're thinking—partner? Sis, take several steps back. It was just an example. Relax.

Listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, my leg draped over his—it was too comfortable. Too easy. Dangerous, even.

This is why I avoid dating. It's been an hour, and I already feel like this? Yeah. I need a therapist.

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The first half of Part One... I'm proud of myself. Onto part 2... shall we?